You can find advanced chapters on my patreon.
Patreon.com/simpysensei
___
The first-class cabin of the flight to London was incredibly peaceful.
The lights were dimmed, soft jazz played through the speakers, and most of the passengers were asleep.
Except for Evans.
Michael sat comfortably in his wide leather seat, calmly reading the latest script revisions for A Good Girl's Guide to Murder.
Next to him, his manager was having a full-blown existential crisis.
Just so you know, he is going to become a father. His wife of 5 years already gave him an ultimatum: give her a baby or be divorced. Well, he is terrified of becoming a dad, but he loves his wife more.
Evans was sweating. He was frantically swiping through his iPad, his eyes wide with terror. He looked like a man trying to defuse a bomb with a pair of chopsticks.
"Michael," Evans whispered loudly, grabbing Michael's arm. "Michael, look at this. Do you know what meconium is?"
Michael did not look up from his script. "No."
"It sounds like a radioactive element used to build spaceships, Michael! But it's not! It's baby poop! Why does it need a Latin scientific name? What are they hiding?!"
Evans rubbed his face with both hands, messing up his usually perfect hair. "I can't do this. I'm a manager. I deal with contracts and percentages. I don't deal with biohazards!"
"You will be fine, Evans," Michael said, turning a page. "People have babies every day."
"Normal people!" Evans hissed, his voice cracking. "I am not normal! I tried to negotiate with the ultrasound technician yesterday! I asked her if we could push the delivery date back to Q3 because Q2 is going to be very busy with the Netflix shoot. My wife threatened to throw a chair at me, Michael!"
Michael finally looked over. Evans was holding a small, terrifying-looking plastic device.
"What is that?" Michael asked.
"It's a 'Snot Sucker'," Evans said, staring at the plastic tube as if it were a murder weapon. "You put one end in the baby's nose, and you put the other end... in your mouth. And you inhale."
Michael's face cracked like glass. He slowly blinked. "You are making that up."
"I wish I was!" Evans shoved the box into his bag, terrified of it. "And the soft spot! Michael, they come with a soft spot on their heads! It's a structural flaw right out of the factory! Who designs a human with a self-destruct button on top? If I drop my phone, it cracks. If I drop a baby... I go to prison!"
"Then do not drop the baby."
"You can't control them!" Evans gripped the armrest, his knuckles turning white. "If Netflix executives say no, I give them analytics. I show them pie charts. You cannot show a baby a pie chart, Michael! They don't respect the data! If they want to scream at 3:00 AM, they just do it! There is no contract! There is no NDA!"
Suddenly, from the business-class cabin just behind them, a high-pitched wail echoed through the plane. A baby had started crying.
Evans completely froze. His eyes darted toward the curtain separating the cabins. He looked like a soldier who had just heard enemy sirens.
"They know," Evans whispered, sinking lower into his seat. "They can smell my fear."
"It is just a baby on an airplane, Evans," Michael sighed, taking a sip of his ginger ale.
"That is exactly what they want you to think," Evans said, pulling his sleeping mask down over his eyes and breathing heavily into a paper airplane sickness bag. "Wake me up when we land in England. Or better yet... just leave me on the baggage carousel."
Michael gave a quiet huff of laughter, shook his head, and went back to reading his script.
He was going to need to buy his manager a very large drink when they landed.