Dalia’s POV
I guess Jessie was right after all.
Our outfits really did work—they felt like VIP passes.
The receptionist didn’t even make us wait. The moment we introduced ourselves she processed us right away, like we were important guests instead of two stressed immigrants pretending to be sophisticated Manhattan women.
She even handed us hot drinks while escorting us to what looked like a full-on conference room. Super friendly.
Honestly, she was so friendly it was almost scary.
“Our boss will be here shortly, ma’am,” she said with a professional smile. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Um… do you have some biscuits?” Jessie asked.
With sincerity. With confidence. With zero shame.
I almost dropped my soul.
“Oh! We don’t usually have biscuits here,” the receptionist rep
