According to my research, La Guardia Airport is about twenty minutes from Brooklyn, my new home. Thanks to the snow, the trip is taking a bit longer than normal, but I love it. It gives me a chance to really take it all in. As we drive, I can see the New York skyline standing tall and proud in the distance, its bright lights illuminating the night sky. My excitement is bubbling over. I can’t wait to get out there and explore. I will have to wait until tomorrow though as it’s already after nine thirty p.m.
We arrive at my apartment and Anthony helps carry my luggage up to my door. He pulls out my key from his pocket and gestures for me to enter.
Wow. What a hole. My apartment, or rather, my room, is tiny. Actually, I'm pretty sure my niece’s nursery is bigger than this. To my right is the "kitchen," a small fridge, some cabinets and an oven with a stove on top. There is no seating in the room except for a small sofa. The coffee table in front of it will obviously double as my dining table. The company had offered me a partially subsidized apartment in the city but even with the discounted rate, it was too expensive so I declined. I’m regretting my decision.
"Well, at least the bed is a double." I comment to Anthony.
"We've all got to start somewhere, Ms. Manning, Welcome to New York." Anthony hands me my key and an envelope. "It was lovely to have met you." With that, he smiles, nods his head and leaves.
I close the door behind him and open the envelope.
Ms. Manning, welcome to New York. We hope you had a pleasant flight and are happy in your new apartment.
We appreciate your eagerness to join our team in New York and would like to invite you to our annual New Year’s Eve Masquerade Gala. Aside from the mask, you will be required to dress in black or white formal.
A car will pick you up at 6:30p.m. sharp and bring you to the Waldorf Astoria. We look forward to meeting you.
Sincerely,
Mr. Lincoln Whitmore, CEO, & Vivian Michaels, Assistant to the CEO.
"Shit!" I curse out loud. What the hell am I going to wear to that? The Waldorf Astoria is mentioned in my travel guide. It's one of the finest hotels in New York.
I groan and take a deep breath. I'll worry about it tomorrow. For now, I need to find the thermostat for the heating. It's bloody freezing in here!
After a surprisingly relaxing shower, I climb into my fresh sheets and try to read. My eyes are so heavy, exhaustion finally takes over and I sleep. And sleep. And sleep.
****
I wake feeling disorientated. I sit for a moment and remind myself of where I am. I check my phone; it’s six p.m. Holy shit! I slept for eighteen hours! On the plus side, I'm not tired anymore, and it's Saturday night. Time to explore. I take a hot shower and go in search of an outfit.
I didn't unpack earlier so I crouch down at my suitcase and find the warmest items of clothing I have. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven't eaten in more than twenty-four hours. Food first, then exploring.
I open the wardrobe next to my bed to quickly hang my work clothes before heading out, and that’s when I see it: a gorgeous black full-length gown. I pull it out and hold it up against my body. The fabric is so soft and the size looks perfect. On the floor beneath the dress is a shoebox. My eyes glaze over when I see the familiar designer name. I carefully lay the dress on the bed and kneel in front of the shoebox. My hands shake slightly as I open the lid. Sitting on top of the tissue paper is an envelope that simply reads, Harbour. I wipe my sweaty palms on my towel covered legs and remove the note.
It's from Pierce.
Harbour, honey, you made it!
You're where you always wanted to be. Except for your shitty apartment. Yes, I Googled it. If you need cash to move, call me.
I heard that Cinderella was invited to a ball so, considering I'm a bit of a fairy sometimes, I decided to play the role of your godmother.
The dress is fucking sexy, and yes, it's in your size. The shoes, well, they're Louboutins, so you know they're going to be perfect. The mask is also a good fit as the holes for the eyes are extra-large to accommodate your alien-like features.
I also booked a stylist to be at your “apartment” at four p.m. on New Year's Eve to get your hair and makeup done. The Waldorf is an exclusive venue. You need your fairy godmother’s help. Trust me.
(Luckily, I'm not there to hear you bitch and moan about me spending all this money on you.)
Now go, my child, find a sexy man, and get your kiss at midnight, otherwise the clothes will disappear and you'll be starkers in front of your new workmates.
I love you and miss you already.
Call us when you can.
Love your F.G (Pierce)'
I wipe the tears cascading down my face and peel back the tissue paper. Holy shit. My first pair of Louboutins are peep-toe stilettos and covered in black studs. I squeal loudly and clutch them to my chest. They're perfect. Exactly what I would pick if I had an obscene shoe budget. Dressed in nothing but a towel, I slip on the immaculately-made shoes. I feel sexy instantly. I stand and test them out. God, they're comfortable! I will definitely feel like Cinderella at the ball: only difference is, there is no chance in hell I'm leaving a shoe behind.
****
New Year's Eve has finally arrived. I spent the previous day exploring my new city. I strolled through museums, visited libraries to appease the bookworm in me and ate at popular but inexpensive restaurants. I did the typical touristy things: visited Times Square, Stratton Island and even took a photo with the naked singing cowboy who graciously held up a sign that read, Pierce rocks my jocks.
I learnt early on that the best way to stay safe was to pretend you're a local. It was hard to do when my eyes were constantly admiring the sights. I was awestruck. I had to pinch myself several times throughout the day.
Constantina, the stylist to the stars, arrives at four p.m. sharp with her entourage. When I open the door, my cheeks flush thinking of these well-dressed women coming into my shit-hole apartment. That and the fact that I'm not sure the four of us will even fit in here. I invite them in and watch their lips purse in disgust.
Constantina points to each of the girls. "This is Mary, Melanie, and Narissa. We have a lot to do so let's begin." I sit on my new desk chair, a proud thrift shop bargain, and they all begin the laborious task of turning me into a girl worthy of the Waldorf.
Mary is responsible for my nails; Melanie is on hair and Narissa on makeup. Constantina pulls out the dress and gasps. I smile, thankful that the 'stylist extraordinaire' is at least impressed by that. Wait until you see the shoes.
She comes over and begins barking orders at her minions. It's all a blur to me but I'm pretty sure she gave them instructions of what nail color, makeup and hair design would suit the dress best.
After ninety painful minutes, they finish. Constantina dismisses the girls and stays to help me put my dress on. I hesitate to remove my robe, even though I'm wearing a newly-purchased sexy Victoria’s Secret ensemble.
"I've seen it all before, Ms. Manning." She rolls her eyes dramatically.
I slip off the robe and step into the dress. Before she pulls it up she asks me to remove my bra. Panic flares inside me. Why did I not try on the dress earlier? No bra? I'm a C-cup. I need some kind of support. As I remove it, she assures me that the dress will sit fine and my "above average chest" will not look "inappropriate." Just to be sure, though, she hands me two nude nipple-cover pasties.
"Put these on. It's cold out there," she mutters.
I obediently do as I'm told and let her slide the dress into place.
It feels amazing against my skin. It has long, fitted sleeves and is skintight until it flares out at my hips. There is also a split up to my mid-thigh. The dress would've been perfect if not for the very low V down the front and completely open back.
"I don't even show this much skin at the beach! I'm gonna freeze in this," I shriek. Again, I chastise myself mentally for being distracted by my sexy shoes and not looking at the dress properly.
"Yo
u only have to make it from the car to the venue. If you want to look spectacular you have to deal with it." Again, she rolls her eyes. I'm so close to losing it at this woman.
"Look, if you haven't already noticed, I'm not from around here. I'm not used to this kind of temperature." Without a word, she takes out the shoes and I put them on.
"I'm serious, lady; I'll freeze my ass off!" Constantina nudges me into my tiny bathroom, closes the door behind us, and points at the hanging mirror.
I gasp. "Holy crap, you ladies did good." I can't believe it’s me in the mirror. I look like I belong on a red carpet with lots of flashing cameras. I feel beautiful. The dress may feel a bit revealing, but in the mirror all I see is a sexy but classy woman. For the first time since arriving two hours ago, Constantina smiles, and sees herself out. Well, I guess she did, because I’m too dumbstruck to notice anything but my reflection. I head out to grab my purse when I notice a big white box on the bed. I look around for Constantina but she’s long gone. I take the note from the top and read it.
Cinderella,
I bet you look gorgeous!
Judging by your comments (or lack of) over the phone yesterday, you hadn't really looked at the dress because you were too enthralled by your shoes. Typical.
That's when Lo reminded me that it's winter over there and I couldn't very well let you freeze your sexy ass off.
These are to keep you warm and to carry all your unnecessary girly shit.
Now, go find your Prince Charming and call me with the dirty
details; you owe me that much at least.
Have great “fucking” night! (See what I did there?)
Love you, happy New Year!
F.G Pierce
I open the box to reveal a black leather, bolero-style jacket and a clutch that matches my shoes. Best. Fairy. Godmother. Ever!
I place my "unnecessary girly shit" in my new clutch, slip on my jacket and put on my mask. The mask also matches my shoes and I'm a little disappointed I can't wear this outfit every day. I love every part of it, from head to toe. I look like a sexy superhero. I take a few selfies with my new iPhone and send them to Pierce and the girls. The replies range from sweet to downright inappropriate. I think they’re all still drunk from their new year’s celebrations.
The knock at the door signals the arrival of my carriage, which turns out to be a sleek black Bentley.
The driver gives me an approving look when I open the door, and he signals for me to lead the way. I can feel his eyes on my ass the entire time, dirty, old man.
Once I'm safely in the back seat, I take a moment to calm my nerves and remind myself that tonight is very important. Tonight, I meet my coworkers for the first time. Tonight, I get to ring in the New Year in New York, and most importantly, tonight, I must remember not to talk like a bogan with Tourette's.
****
I may have said I belonged on a red carpet with flashing cameras but I definitely didn't expect them when I arrived. It’s crazy. I politely ask the driver why there are so many paparazzi there and he informs me that many celebrities will be present. God, I love Pierce. He must've known I would be in the company of some of the most beautiful people in the world. I owe him big for this.
The driver pulls up perfectly to the red carpet and a young guy opens my door. Another approving look. This one is welcomed, because this guy is hot! He winks at me and I try to walk the red carpet as gracefully as possible.
The paparazzi are snapping photos and yelling out questions. One asks me who I am. "I’m a nobody," I reply and thankfully, they immediately stop shooting. Clearly, I'm not the money shot.
I make my way inside and I suddenly wish I had been in here before because its beauty is breathtaking and I'm suddenly a tourist again, completely out of my element. I stop as I reach the entrance to the ballroom. The opulence is intimidating to say the least. The room has been set up with tables around the sides allowing space for a dance floor in the middle. The tables are beautifully decorated with black tablecloths and large bouquets of white flower arrangements. My eyes travel up and I spot the many balconies on the upper level already filled with mingling guests. A band is situated on the stage at the end of the room and they’re playing a New York, New York by Frank Sinatra. This moment is perfect. I take a minute to savor it before moving into the crowd.
It's just after seven-thirty p.m. and by the looks of the room, most of the guests have arrived. I wonder how I'm going to find Mr. Whitmore or Vivian. I've been so busy seeing the sights that I didn't bother to Google them.
Yes, I'm a Google freak. It’s an addiction I'm trying to kick.
As I look around I realize, of course, it wouldn't have helped, anyway, because everyone is in a mask. Even the wait-staff are in disguise.
A waiter approaches and offers me a glass of champagne. I'm not usually a champagne drinker because to me it tastes like bubbly urine, but clearly I've been drinking the wrong champagne. This stuff is delicious. I try to sip it like a lady but I'm so nervous that the next waiter to pass replaces my empty glass with a new full one. Slow down, Har, remember why you're here.
I realize that standing alone like Larry Loner is embarrassing, so I make my way to a group of people to introduce myself.
Before I can, someone stops me.
"Harbour Manning?" she asks. I turn to face her. She's an older lady, maybe mid-fifties, with a killer body for her age. Her hair is pitch black and up in an elegant chignon. Her dress and mask are simple and black, but clearly show that this old bird's still got it.
"That's me!" I reply a little too enthusiastically.
"I'm Vivian. It's lovely to meet you." She shakes my hand while eyeing me up and down. A look crosses her facial features that tell me she's not impressed with my outfit. I take a moment to look around the room. Nope, I'm definitely not the most provocatively-dressed woman in here. What's her issue? I decide to distract her with some charm.
"Thank you so much for inviting me. And, of course, for the opportunity to work with you. I'm very excited to start." I give her a full beaming smile and she blanches. Do I have something in my teeth?
"You're welcome, but I didn't hire you. You came highly recommended, hence the lack of interview. I'd introduce you to Mr. Whitmore but I can't seem track him down. I’m not sure if he's even here." Wow, Ice Queen. I can hear the disdain in her voice.
"That's a shame; I was looking forward to meeting him."
This time she rolls her eyes. That's two eye-rolling Ice Queens I've had the pleasure of meeting today. Only problem is, this one's my boss.
"I'm sure you were . . ." Wow. Snarky.
"Let me introduce you to some other people you will be working with instead."
She walks over to a group of young-looking people, three girls and two guys.
"Excuse me, everyone, this is Harbour Manning, my new assistant. Harbour this is Simon, Kelly, Lola, Savannah and Owen." She turns and leaves me there as I'm shaking each person’s hand. Savannah is the only one who looks at my hand like I have leprosy and refuses to shake it. Great. Another asshole.
The women are dressed exquisitely. Lola has long, black hair and honey-colored eyes. She's wearing a white, Grecian style dress. Kelly has fire-engine red hair and green eyes. She's dressed in a short, black tutu-like dress that is adorable. She even has on heels with ribbons that tie up around her legs like a ballerina.
Then there’s Savannah. She obviously missed the memo, because she's dressed in a skin-tight, red dress with her big fake boobs spilling over the top. Attention seeker and an asshole. Double yay.
The men are in tuxedos, but even with the plain black masks covering their faces, I can see that they are both attractive guys. Too bad I have a "don't shit where you eat" rule. Off-limits.
Simon breaks the ice by asking me about where I'm from. After a short conversation about the similarities between Melbourne and New York, Savannah rudely changes the subject.
"I can't believe he's not here! I mean, really, he broke
up with her; she didn't die! Well, his loss. I would've volunteered to take his mind off her." She gives a sleazy wink to Lola who swallows her champagne and then pinches the bridge of her nose.
"That's no secret, Savannah. We all know you're infatuated with him. Maybe consider keeping the details to yourself, though. You know, hide your hand kind of thing." Savannah rolls her blue eyes, flicks her blonde locks over her shoulder and walks away.
"Well done, Lola. She's my boss’s daughter and you pretty much just outed her for being desperate." Simon says sarcastically. Shit. Savannah is a Whitmore? That's another mark in the "cons" column for my new job.
"I don't give a shit who she is. She's pathetic." I suddenly love Lola. She's an American version of Lo.
"Yeah, well, from what I've heard he's not interested, so just sit back and watch her make a fool of herself when she finally does get near him."
They all laugh and Owen changes the subject, asking me about what sights I've explored so far.
Two glasses of champagne and four canapés later, the
band stops playing and an older couple approaches the microphone. The guy is the definition of a Silver Fox. He's probably around sixty years old, but he has more swagger than most men half his age. He looks fit, too. His lady friend looks to be about the same age, but she, too, has a killer body and gorgeous features.
"Good evening everybody, and welcome to our annual New Year's Eve ball." Pause for applause.
"Dianne and I would like to thank you all for being here tonight. We can't think of a better way to welcome in the New Year than with our friends and colleagues." The crowd clink glasses, cheer and applaud and he continues once they settle down. "As you may all be aware, I have stepped down from my role as CEO. My retirement is well overdue and my wife has been missing me for the last thirty years." Pause for polite laughter.
"I want to let everyone know that the company will be in safe hands, just not these hands; they'll be on a fishing pole. From Dianne, myself, and our family, we wish you all a happy and healthy new year. Enjoy yourselves. Cheers!"
They leave the stage and I'm suddenly very confused.
Harbour (Runaway Home #1) Page 3
