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Authors: Rachelle Ayala
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grown up, and from the looks of it, she was much more than a pretty face. He’d bet she had a lot more substance behind her than the sexy outfit and makeup would suggest.
Too bad he’d never know.
Chapter Eight
~ Brittney ~
I wash the remnants of Lacy’s garish makeup off my face, kicking off the horrid furry stiletto boots. I can’t get the fishnet stockings off fast enough. Ooops. Guess this pair’s going into the trash. The fur-lined tube is next. I shimmy out of it and throw it in the closet. It’s probably too stretched out for Lacy to wear, and I’ll never need it either.
There’s no time to shower, so I spritz cologne and pull on a pair of jeans, leaving the oversized Shopahol shirt on my back.
Lacy knocks on my bedroom door and steps in with the makeup case. “Remember what Owen said.”
“Not tonight, okay?” Can’t she ever leave me alone?
She’s always been way too bossy, being five years older than me. Family lore says it took my parents five years to recover from the horror known as Lacy Reed, from colic to night frights, prolonged toilet training to trips to the emergency room, and having to baby and childproof from carpet to ceiling, before they were brave enough to adopt me.
Of course, I slept through the night right away and always ate my baby food. I figured out the potty before I was two, and I learned to say “pwease” before I could say “mama” or “dada.” I even dressed myself and got ready for daycare before the parents woke, whereas Lacy had to be dragged kicking and screaming from her bed.
“You’re going to miss dinner if you leave now.” Lacy puts on a concerned look. “Are you sure you have to go in? I thought you could do everything remotely.”
“We can, but forcing people to go in is a way to motivate them not to make mistakes. Everyone responsible for the broken build has to report to the Broken Build Bullpen. Since the build broke in ScrapCloud code, I have to be there to police the fixes.”
“Sounds like punishment.” Her eyebrows crease and her lips twist. “That’s not very motivating.”
“Whatever. You’re no longer working there so it’s not your business.” I grab my laptop bag and turn toward the door. “Not all of us are lucky enough to snag the VP of Marketing.”
“Actually, Brandon gave notice,” Lacy says. “He’s starting a new venture, Appaholics Anonymous, a platform for building and delivering apps and getting paid per use.”
My jaw drops and I wave my hand at her. “How come no one tells me anything?”
“I just told you, didn’t I?” She twirls a strand of her curly red-brown hair around her finger. “It’s a subscription service. Customers pay a flat fee and can download and use as many apps as they please for free. Our platform monitors their usage and pays the developers for the amount of time and features the subscribers use.”
“Uh, sure, sounds wonderful.” I really don’t have time to shoot the breeze with her.
“You should develop a Scrapbooking App for us, strip some of the premium features and set it up on our platform. Then users who really like it can make in-app purchases.”
“Sure, talk later.” I sidestep her, not an easy feat given her big belly. “This explains the sudden push from Jewell for a streamlined shopping app.”
“Yep, but don’t tell anyone. Jewell’s not on board. He’s claiming Brandon’s ideas belong to Shopahol, but we can prove that Shopahol is not in the app delivery business.”
“Unless we develop the platform before yours gets funded and prototyped.” The wheels in my mind are turning. I’d hate to backstab my sister, but Jen had pulled me aside Friday and told me to add an app showcase to the scrapbooks and allow users to share their friend’s apps on a trial basis.
Lacy’s eyes narrow. “You’re not going to spill all this to Jen, your idol, are you? I’m your sister, after all.”
“Of course not.” I zip my lips. “I’m not going to get
Too bad he’d never know.
Chapter Eight
~ Brittney ~
I wash the remnants of Lacy’s garish makeup off my face, kicking off the horrid furry stiletto boots. I can’t get the fishnet stockings off fast enough. Ooops. Guess this pair’s going into the trash. The fur-lined tube is next. I shimmy out of it and throw it in the closet. It’s probably too stretched out for Lacy to wear, and I’ll never need it either.
There’s no time to shower, so I spritz cologne and pull on a pair of jeans, leaving the oversized Shopahol shirt on my back.
Lacy knocks on my bedroom door and steps in with the makeup case. “Remember what Owen said.”
“Not tonight, okay?” Can’t she ever leave me alone?
She’s always been way too bossy, being five years older than me. Family lore says it took my parents five years to recover from the horror known as Lacy Reed, from colic to night frights, prolonged toilet training to trips to the emergency room, and having to baby and childproof from carpet to ceiling, before they were brave enough to adopt me.
Of course, I slept through the night right away and always ate my baby food. I figured out the potty before I was two, and I learned to say “pwease” before I could say “mama” or “dada.” I even dressed myself and got ready for daycare before the parents woke, whereas Lacy had to be dragged kicking and screaming from her bed.
“You’re going to miss dinner if you leave now.” Lacy puts on a concerned look. “Are you sure you have to go in? I thought you could do everything remotely.”
“We can, but forcing people to go in is a way to motivate them not to make mistakes. Everyone responsible for the broken build has to report to the Broken Build Bullpen. Since the build broke in ScrapCloud code, I have to be there to police the fixes.”
“Sounds like punishment.” Her eyebrows crease and her lips twist. “That’s not very motivating.”
“Whatever. You’re no longer working there so it’s not your business.” I grab my laptop bag and turn toward the door. “Not all of us are lucky enough to snag the VP of Marketing.”
“Actually, Brandon gave notice,” Lacy says. “He’s starting a new venture, Appaholics Anonymous, a platform for building and delivering apps and getting paid per use.”
My jaw drops and I wave my hand at her. “How come no one tells me anything?”
“I just told you, didn’t I?” She twirls a strand of her curly red-brown hair around her finger. “It’s a subscription service. Customers pay a flat fee and can download and use as many apps as they please for free. Our platform monitors their usage and pays the developers for the amount of time and features the subscribers use.”
“Uh, sure, sounds wonderful.” I really don’t have time to shoot the breeze with her.
“You should develop a Scrapbooking App for us, strip some of the premium features and set it up on our platform. Then users who really like it can make in-app purchases.”
“Sure, talk later.” I sidestep her, not an easy feat given her big belly. “This explains the sudden push from Jewell for a streamlined shopping app.”
“Yep, but don’t tell anyone. Jewell’s not on board. He’s claiming Brandon’s ideas belong to Shopahol, but we can prove that Shopahol is not in the app delivery business.”
“Unless we develop the platform before yours gets funded and prototyped.” The wheels in my mind are turning. I’d hate to backstab my sister, but Jen had pulled me aside Friday and told me to add an app showcase to the scrapbooks and allow users to share their friend’s apps on a trial basis.
Lacy’s eyes narrow. “You’re not going to spill all this to Jen, your idol, are you? I’m your sister, after all.”
“Of course not.” I zip my lips. “I’m not going to get
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