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were talking earlier, you informed me that you have accumulated a significant amount of debt,” Laurel said to me.
    “Yes, that’s true,” I acknowledged.
    Laurel nodded. “I am a fan of performance-based compensation, as you’ve likely concluded already.”
    “Yes, and your offer is very generous—”
    “Kiss-ass,” Sage cut in. “And what are you wearing, anyway?” she asked me, apropos of nothing at all. Rose giggled.
    I turned back to Laurel, smiling tightly. “But I’m not sure your granddaughters are very receptive to the idea, so I’m afraid—”
    “If my granddaughters are admitted to Duke,” Laurel interrupted, “you shall earn a bonus that will allow you to eliminate that debt. In its entirety.”
    Holy.
    Fucking.
    Shit.
    “Now. As you were saying?” Laurel set her hands on her lap once again.
    “I . . . I . . .” I stammered. Then I looked at the twins, who looked as shocked by this proposition as I was.
    “You’re
bribing
someone to tutor us?” Rose asked.
    “Paying, actually,” Laurel corrected her. “So, Megan?”
    My initial inclination was to do a happy dance around her office—I’d scored nearly perfectly on the SAT and graduated magna cum laude—but a brief moment later, reality set in. The issue here was not
my
academic abilities, but the twins’. Studying isn’t a skill that can be developed overnight. Could I take two spoiled brats, who’d thus far majored in ennui and partying, and transform them into scholars? It was like asking a Neanderthal whose idea of seduction involved a club and a cave to discover the merits of dinner, a movie, and aromatherapy massage. But still. It was a hell of a carrot for me, to go along with the stick Laurel had just smacked against her granddaughters’ Cosabella-thonged behinds. No wonder Angel Cosmetics was so successful.
    “I trust that meets with your approval?” Laurel’s eyes met mine.
    I made a quick decision, heavily influenced by dollar signs both certain and chimerical. “Okay. I mean, um, yes. I’ll do it.”
    Laurel smiled. She even looked relieved. “Excellent. I will be leaving in the morning on a business trip to Paris, but I shall check in on a regular basis.” She rose gracefully. “Megan, a bookstore in Miami sent me everything you’ll need—Kaplan, Barron’s, and Peterson’s SAT prep materials, SparkNotes, Cliff’s Notes. If there’s anything else, just tell Mr. Anderson. Why don’t the three of you get to know one another and then get to work? Please excuse me.”
    She crossed her office and summoned the elevator. A moment later, I was alone with the Baker twins. Sage regarded me coolly.
    “Listen, Molly, Mandy, or whatever your name is—”
    “Megan.”
    “Whatever.” Sage flipped her hair. Again, again. “You understand we’re not studying, right?”
    “I’m pretty sure I just accepted a job.” I attempted a laugh.
    “Okay, there’s a little problem, Frizzy. You don’t mind if we call you Frizzy, do you? It describes your hair so well.”
    “I prefer Megan,” I answered her, feeling very thirsty and more than a little panicky.
    “Uh-huh. So listen, Frizzy.” Sage did the hair-tossing thing again. “I
puke
cuter than the outfit you’re wearing.”
    Rose snorted a giggle. Sage turned to her sister. “Rosie, you know who Frizzy looks like?”
    “Who’s that, Sagie?”
    I felt like I was being set up for some particularly cruel knock-knock joke.
    Sage turned back to me. “Actually, it’s not really a who but a what: baboon ass. Bright red and fat all over.”
    I was right. Except it wasn’t a knock-knock joke, and it didn’t entirely make sense. Still, I felt my cheeks turning a deeper shade of baboon-ass red.
Fifteen hundred a week
, I told myself.
Fifteen hundred a week
.
    “Just out of curiosity, Sage?” I asked. “Does it give you pleasure to insult someone you just met?”
    Sage put a slender finger to her lips as if pretending to ponder this, then she stood up. “Actually