A/N: You guys don't know what Angel did? (gasps) It's so obvious! Other questions... The 1... Cut. 2... Cut. etcetera etcetera, it's just Fang's distant past. You'll know in the later chapters. Next question, all the Flock will be here. Then, the Flock are all human. Without wings.

Fang: Please let it not be what I think it is.

Me: Ten words! (gasps) Fang! You said ten words! Highest by far, this day!

Iggy: (sighs) Wow. Don't you think that's a little...

Me: Shut up! Here. (hands out a piece of taco-flavored pizza) Choke on this.

Fang: Can't I choke on one too?

Me: Yes, you can. Have fun choking!

Iggy: Mmrhphghf! Mfhrpfhrmm! Mrghpmgrhfrhpmm! (Translation: We're having fun! More! More!)

Me: Fridge!

Chapter 2

Max POV

I never would have thought that I would actually apply to be a maid/nanny and work for a multi-millionaire dude.

Never. It never crossed my mind. It never did. I wonder why.

Well, since we're on the topic, I might as well tell you how it happened.

I was busy reading The Hunger Games while lying on my bed and my head was dangling on the side of the bed. A plate of Mom's chocolate chip cookies was resting on my tummy when my door burst open.

I suddenly sat up, which caused my cookies to drop all over the floor. I hope the five-second rule still applies.

I picked up the (still delicious) cookies, shoved the cookies on my mouth and turned to see who was at the door.

"Nudge?" Actually, since my mouth was full, it more like this: "Nuhhs?"

Nudge is my 17-year old stepcousin. She's a fashionista; she's wearing the most ridiculous article of clothing I have ever seen, so it's normal for me to see her dressed that way.

I swallowed the cookies and opened a can of Sprite. I chugged it down quickly. "What are you doing in my apartment?" She walked over (in six-inch stiletto pumps) and sat down on my bed.

She held up a piece of paper and waved it in front of my face. I grabbed it from her because I had the difficulty of reading because of her waving.

It read:

Wanted. Maid/Nanny. Must be at least 20 years old and is good with kids. Preferably women only. Contact 1-877-1232 or 1-217-2341. Visit 1110 Farnsworth Avenue.

"What's this for?" I asked her. I gave the ad back to her.

"Don't you see? You're in need of a job. You're 20 years old! You're good with kids! You're a woman! Max, I'm helping you find a job! You said you need the money, and I bet the person who made this ad would pay you more money than working in McDonalds! You-"

"I get it," I held up a hand to stop her. "But Nudge, you really don't have to do this. I'm capable of finding my own job."

She smiled. "I'm helping you. Mom wanted to hire you, but you turned her down. Max, please. At least try. You're still in college. You need more money."

I nodded. I grabbed my bag and was on my way out of the door when Nudge grabbed my arm. "Where are you going?" She turned me around.

"To get the job?" I obviously answered.

She shook her head and sighed. "No, no, no. You are not going to wear jeans to that interview. You are coming with me, to my house and we are going to give you a makeover."

"What?" I shouted. "It's just a job for a maid/nanny! I'm not applying to be the President of the United States!"

"I don't care, so shut up!" She dragged me to her Mercedes-Benz convertible and drove to her house.

Did I tell you she's rich?

Never again would I have a makeover.

It's pure evil torture. I feel like a different person after that makeover. Different, I mean, really different. A woman. Ugh.

"You know, I'm never gonna forgive you for this. It's just an interview! Again, I'm not applying to be the President of the United States!" I threw up my hands in frustration.

Who am I kidding? I can't stop Nudge. Once she decides something, she finishes it. So, as I felt my hair being pulled into a messy ponytail, I'm just gonna waste my energy convincing her to stop.

"There!" Nudge clapped her hands. "Just one more brush..." She stuck out her tongue in concentration. "There! You look perfect, Max!"

I stood up and faced the full-length mirror.

Oh, my God.

"This is not me. Who is that devil?" I asked myself.

"That's you, Max. A hot devil." She grinned at me. I glared at her in the mirror.

I'm wearing a skirt. The kind that only women lawyers, attorneys, entrepreneurs, and other sophisticated jobs. I'm also wearing panty hose. Jesus. To complete the whole first-woman-President look, add black stiletto pumps, a navy blue and white striped blouse and a diamond bracelet.

I hate me.

"Oh, God. I'm going to embarrass myself in that interview," I murmured to myself, while watching Nudge grin like the Cheshire cat.

Luck can only make me get that job.

A/N: I wanted this story to be in just Fang's POV. But, Iggy was arguing with me (glares at Iggy) that I should alternate POVs. I didn't want to. But we compromised. I promise there will be some Max POV chapters. Mostly, it will Fang's.

Iggy: And I get what I want for breakfast.

Fang: Bacon.

Iggy: Yep. Everyday.

Me: It's just for breakfast! So don't go all grinning like the Mad Hatter!

Iggy: What? (face fells) I-I thought...

Me: You thought wrong, bird kid!

Fang: (sighs) RnR?