F.L.A.S.H
I stuttered, showing her the paper.
“As legit as it comes,” Aunt Molly replied, “The Ryder’s are looking for an Assistant for Justin Star Mckayla, Justin. Frickin. Star,” she spelled out, “you can get this job. You know Chris Ryder courtesy of Britney, just talk to him and the job is yours. Spend a few weeks with them, write a bomb ass story like you usually do and Bam!” she clapped, “just like that, you win.”
I looked down at the sheet, my hand shaking slightly before looking back up at her, “a day in the life of the Ryder’s?” I asked, unsure of my own words.
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