“Holy shit, D! You’re a total celeb now,” Emma emphatically announces as she unreservedly charges into my bedroom.

“Language. Watch your language young lady,” I nag, wondering what the hell she’s so wound-up about.

Emma can be quite the drama queen, as is the case with most sixteen-year-old girls. Come to think of it, I’ve known her to be prone to dramatic tendencies since I became her nanny five years ago.

“My language? Ha! You should talk.” She giggles, peering down at the tablet she’s holding. “At least I didn’t get called a potty mouth in front of a gazillion people.”

Emma plops down beside me on my bed, seeming to ignore the practically infinite amount of candy bar wrappers that are scattered about.

Ever since I returned home from that ill-fated train ride and equally ill-fated job interview, I’ve been dolefully feasting on a substantial assortment of junk food while binge-watching Pretty Little Liars. To think how promptly my day morphed into a Mt.-Everest-sized heap of crap. I mean honestly, from that bitchy breakup text, to a less-than-to-be-desired occurrence with the Rude Hottie Guy on the Metro, to an it’s-never-gonna-happen-job interview with said Rude Hottie Guy—without a single measure of doubt, today will go down in the history of what-the-fuck? days.

By the time I got home, I wanted nothing more than to indulge in a pity-party-junk-food-fest in my bedroom, taking full advantage of Emma being at school and Stacy being at work.

However, now Emma is home from school…calling for me to put on my nanny hat as her big brown eyes switch from gleaming up at me, to being engrossed in whatever the heck she finds so intriguing on her tablet.

Aiming the remote control toward the TV, I push the button to pause Pretty Little Liars and turn over to face Emma. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

Emma peers up at me with utter amusement darting from her eyes. She passes her tablet over to me. “Here. Take a look at what’s trending all over TMZ’s YouTube Channel right now.”

I grab the tablet, fully expecting something related to some band she’s into. Instead, it’s a video with the tagline: Bombshell Brunette “Miss Potty Mouth” and CraveMe CEO, Antonio Michaels, Have A Feudal Exchange On The Los Angeles Metro.

Holy Shit.

No…

Emma lets out an ear-piercing squeal as she reaches over to press the play button on the video. “I want to watch it again,” she says. “It’s quite hilarious.”

I can feel my heart pounding in painstaking anticipation.

This truly cannot be happening.

Seriously…

A video?

A viral video.

Apparently, the daft streamer captured the whole-entire-incident—at least from the moment I can be seen and heard telling Antonio Michaels exactly what he was expertly portraying: A First-Class Jerk. And, of course, the now-viral video, that has over two-million views, ends with the High and Mighty Antonio Michaels referring to me as…Miss Potty Mouth.

Emma cocks her head to the side, and even though I turn my head to shamefully avoid eye contact, I can literally feel her laser-beamed judgmental gaze upon me. “Miss Potty Mouth?” She laughs. “You must admit, D, this video is superbly epic.”

“Oh, you’re right. It is indeed epic. An epic fail,” I say, beginning to feel queazy from all of the junk food consumed. Or queazy from the viral video, perhaps. “And stop calling me D,” I demand, attempting to surreptitiously change the subject.

“Fine. Shall I call you Miss Potty Mouth instead?” Emma laughs, and I pick up a pillow and playfully smack her across the head with it.

“You’ve gotta spill the details, D.”

“Believe me, Emma. There’s really nothing to spill. I had it out on the train this morning with another commuter. The guy just so happened to be the CEO with whom I had a scheduled interview.” I cover my face with a pillow and mumble, “So, you know, just another day in the life of Daniella Belle.”

Emma removes the pillow from over my face, and her frivolous gaze meets my solemn one. “D…it was Antonio he’s so hot Michaels. So, you’re a total fifteen-minute celeb, now.”

“A fifteen-minute celeb?” I look at Emma, feeling a little dazed.

“You know…fifteen minutes of fame? Duh.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh right. Duh.”

Emma glances at the digital clock on my bedside table, then reaches for the remote control to my TV. “It’s 2.59. TMZ comes on at 3. Your incident is bound to be their top story.”

With the remote in hand, Emma un-pauses Pretty Little Liars and scrolls down the channel program guide to TMZ. Sure enough, their lead story is me and Antonio Michaels on the Metro.

Great. What’s next? I’ll get struck by lightning?

Like a groupie, Emma becomes fixated on the popular gossip TV show, now reporting on me as the mystery bombshell potty mouth. I turn over on my side, pulling the cover up over my head as if the thin sheet is enough to shield my trivial embarrassment.

All I wanted was a chance at a job with a well-known lingerie company in hopes that someday I’d be able to share and implement the designs of my very own lingerie line.

But that opportunity has been neglectfully thrust out the window, now lavishly flowing in the wind, off to who-the-fuck-knows-or-even-cares-where land.

I’ll get over it. I always do.

Emma squeals, shakes the side of my hip, and yanks the cover from off my head. “Look, D! A live TMZ crew has caught up with Antonio. Just look at him. He’s so yummy!”

I turn to watch the TV and just like Emma squealed about, TMZ seems to be following Antonio Michaels as he exits his office building.

And yes. Admittedly he is looking absolutely yummy.

But he’s still a jerk. A yummy jerk.

Emma turns up the volume, and I can’t help but sit up, now becoming fully hooked on what’s unfolding.

“Mr. Michaels,” a TMZ reporter calls out.

The camera swiftly zooms in on the reporter as he gallops toward the lingerie empire CEO.

Acting as though rightfully determined, the popular TMZ reporter shoves a microphone in Antonio’s face. “Please tell us what you know about the woman on the train. Is she some sort of acquaintance of yours? A scorned ex-girlfriend, perhaps?”

Antonio snickers as his lips curve into a sportive grin. “All I can say is I too am fervently trying to find the mystery woman, so if you guys happen to bump into her, please feel free to let me know.” He chuckles and appears to look directly into the lens of the camera. Producing what is unarguably a flirtatious gleam, he candidly blasts to all TV viewers, “Miss Potty Mouth, if you happen to be watching this, I’d still like to continue with that interview. Seems as though you could very well be just what I’ve been searching for—a no-holds-barred fireball.”

And just as I forecasted…

There goes that lightning strike.