Once Upon A Time

by S. K. Hartley

  Oh. Mr. Not-So-Charming had a name.

  Chad? Really?

  Jesus.

  Wiping my hands, I stepped out of the bathroom to a clearly confused Quinn. His brows pinched together while looking down at his cell, trying to decipher who the hell Kylie was talking about.

  “I’m presuming Chad is the guy you chased out of my apartment with a baseball bat.” I laughed, watching as Quinn’s brain finally kicked in after several seconds.

  “Ew,” he said, scrunching his nose, clearly unimpressed by the name. “Seriously, you must’ve drank a tank of alcohol last night to bring home… Chad.”

  “Will you stop saying his name like that? It makes me feel even dirtier than I already feel!”

  “Chad,” Quinn taunted.

  Seriously?

  “Oh god.” I groaned, walking out of my bedroom and into the living, noticing errant pieces of furniture completely out of place from his sudden departure.

  “Oh Chadddddd!” Quinn laughed from my bedroom.

  Clearly, someone forgot he’s twenty-four and not twelve.

  Ignoring Quinn, I moved the furniture back into place. Chad really put the ‘out’ in ‘get the fuck out.’ I groaned again. Seriously? Chad? Kylie had a lot to answer for. How could she let me go home with a douche canoe whose name’s freaking Chad?

  “Morning, hot stuff!”

  As if right on cue, Kylie strutted into my apartment, juggling a tray of coffees.

  “You’re a fucking comedian, Kylie Jackson,” I said, stepping towards her, grabbing the coffee labeled “Chad’s girl. » Oh har fucking har! “Care to explain what the hell happened to you last night?”

  Kylie smirked. Walking into the living room, she placed the coffees on the table before turning to me, her smirk still very much in place.

  “Dude, you needed to let loose. Plus, Chad was hot… right?” she asked, confusion lining her arched bow.

  “Yeah… then she saw the tat. Oh girl. It was fucking priceless.” Quinn laughed, walking into the living room, kissing Kylie on the cheek before grabbing his coffee.

  “Ooooh!” Kylie squealed.

  Jesus.

  I needed to sit down for this. Taking a seat on my black leather sofa, I sighed as I waited for the dramatic hand waving and bouncing on the spot from Kylie. Quinn must’ve sensed Kylie’s over-enthusiastic, preppy outburst was about to erupt all over my living room as he took a seat next to me.

  “He had tattoos! Oh my god. Fill me in!” she shrieked, bouncing around on the spot like a toddler who needed to pee.

  “The only thing that’ll be filled in is your mouth with my freaking fist,” I joked, shaking my head. “He had ‘your name’ on his ass.”

  Kylie’s bouncing came to a halt as she tried to work out what the hell I was talking about.

  “Wait.” She paused, her brows furrowed. “He has my name on his ass? What the fuck?”

  I snorted, almost choking on my searing hot coffee in the process.

  Kylie + hangover = I.Q. of four.

  Kylie Jackson and I had met back in college, both freshmen completely overwhelmed with the size of the place. Not to mention she bumped into me as I made my way to class. I had a caramel latte in my hands. Well, I had for around thirty seconds until Kylie came along and searing hot liquid poured right down my cleavage. She squealed as she tried to wipe away the coffee, apologizing over and over again while guys stared at the scene unfolding. I slapped her hand away and told her it was fine, not to worry about it. Instead of walking away and carrying on with her day, she thrust her coffee at me. It was a caramel latte, just like mine.

  We’d been inseparable ever since.

  Quinn let out a belly laugh from beside me as he slowly tried to explain what I meant by the tattoo.

  “No, he has ‘your name’ on his ass,” Quinn reiterated.

  Kylie thought for a moment, as if trying to work out an extremely difficult math equation in her head. Suddenly, the blub lit up above her pretty little head.

  “That’s what I said!”

  I groaned.

  It was going to be a long, hungover day.

  NOW, DON’T GO THINKING I’d sleep with anything with a pulse. I don’t. Maybe I should go back to my college days where Quinn was in a bright pink cotton candy-looking outfit and Kylie looked as hot as she does today in her sleek black mini dress.

  I’d had relationships before but one stuck with me into college. Cameron Emerson. Capitan of the football team, abs that went on forever, and the hottest black Mustang I’d ever seen. He was the hottest guy in high school and the most popular. We’d been best friends since kindergarten, not to mention neighbors. We played in the mud together, climbed the large tree in his back yard together—we were inseparable. Well, until he went to football camp for six weeks over the summer.

  Then high school started.

  Cam was no longer the chubby little kid that liked to skim rocks over the lake. He was taller, broader, hotter. Suddenly, I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, so much so I think I drooled once or twice during our science class. The feeling became mutual as the weeks passed. Cam started looking at me with heat in his eyes and his gaze would drift down the length of my changing body. Three weeks later, Cam asked me out on a date. It wasn’t the fairy tale date you might think; in fact, it was kind of awkward since we’d been best friends for so long. But the awkwardness soon lifted the minute he shoved two fries up his nose and made me laugh until I cried. He was my Prince Charming, the one who could sweep me off my feet while belly laughing at his silly jokes.

  Fast forward to college. We were still together, still very much inseparable and pretty much in love. He claimed all of my firsts as I did for him. Everything was perfect… or so I thought.

  In our first year of college, we were invited to a house party at one of the frat houses.

  Music thumped.

  Alcohol was passed around.

  Beer pong was played.

  Three hours into the party and Cam was nowhere to be found. He’d told me to wait for him by the beer pong table while he took a leak. Thirty minutes had drifted by and I was becoming increasingly irritated at him for leaving me. Handing my Solo cup of beer to Quinn, I grabbed Kylie’s arm and dragged her upstairs with me in search of my boyfriend.

  I found him.

  First door on the left, his tongue deep in popular cheerleader Kendra Kyle’s vagina.

  Figures.

  He didn’t apologize, nor did he move from his place between Kendra’s legs. No, instead he looked at me with pathetic eyes, clearly too stunned to utter a single word of apology. I was done. Of course, the tears fell as I was fixed in my spot, as if I was some sort of perverted onlooker. Thankfully, Kylie quickly slammed the door shut and pulled me out of the party and drove us back to the dorm.

  I was a mess for months, not able to even look up from the floor beneath my feet as I walked past Cam sticking his tongue down Kendra’s throat, providing front row seats to onlookers as they played tonsil tennis like pros.

  It was right then that I decided there’s no such thing as fairy tales or Prince Charming. There was no such thing as a happily ever after kind of love. There was no such thing as fairy godmothers or magic pumpkins. Instead, there’s only villains, poisoned apples and a whole load of ugly sisters just waiting to pounce.

  Cinderella could kiss my ass.

  “Did you hear me, Payton?”

  I shook my head as if to rid the thoughts of my painful experience some years ago. Removing my eyes from my computer screen, my gaze landed on my boss, Kate McKenna. She stood at my office door, irritation written all over her face. At least I wasn’t dramatically hungover today and judging by Kate’s mood, it was a good freaking thing.

  “Er, sorry. What did you say?” I muttered, still pushing the painful thoughts to the back of my mind.

  I cringed as I watched my boss roll her eyes at me, as if I was grating on her last nerve. Jesus, someone clearly had taken a handful of happy pills with their
morning coffee. Kate McKenna was the top dog at Blue Stone PR. Everyone wanted to be her and if they couldn’t be that, they did the next best thing; they worked for her.

  Well, that doesn’t make me sound like a damn creeper!

  I’d worked at Blue Stone PR for three years as Kate’s personal assistant. The job wasn’t glamorous; in fact, most of the time I was awake all hours trying to work through the shit pile of paperwork that never seemed to end. Blue Stone PR was one of the best PR companies in New York City, planning and promoting the most sort after events in New York City.

  Kate McKenna was like marmite: you either loved her or you hated her. She started in the PR business much like I had, working as a personal assistant to a top PR boss, working day and night to prove within an inch of her life that she’s worth the risk, that she’s good at her job. After working as a PA for just short of twelve months, she was given her first client. That particular client was still with her after all these years. Her background spoke for itself, but at the better side of thirty-seven she was, in fact, bitter. An ice queen who believed no one could do her job better, and what’s worse? People knew it.

  Sometimes I wondered if this would be my life, running around after a grumpy, control freak boss for forty plus hours a week. Where I wanted to be was nowhere near where I really was. Bottom of the PR cesspool, hoping that one day I’d be given a leg up the first step of the ladder.

  Not freaking likely.

  I lived and breathed PR, from meeting with prospective clients to planning red carpet events to working with some of the richest businessmen in the city. My passion for PR stemmed from one summer break. My aunt Liza had moved to Chicago when I was ten, wanting to move as far away from our small home town in Arlington, Kentucky, to a large city shortly after my uncle died. She wanted to make something of herself, maybe to fill the void of losing her husband, but whatever it was, it worked. She was hired by a large PR firm and slowly but surely made her way up. I was offered an internship at the firm, all expenses paid while I was in Chicago. I stayed with my aunt Liza in her cozy two bedroom apartment for six weeks; it was a major step up from what I was accustomed to and although I missed my parents, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of newfound ambition. Between working as my aunt’s personal assistant and getting coffee for her clients when they arrived, I was shown the ins and outs of PR, the parts that could only ignite and fuel a passion you never knew you had. Every day was a new experience, a new idea, a new client, a newfound sense of knowing that PR was where I wanted to be. All too soon I was back on a plane back home to my house that was crumbling around us, a town that only housed one set of traffic lights and a place where everyone knew everyone. It was right then I knew I had to get out of there.

  I had seen the lifestyle a job in PR could give you, the security and the paychecks. I wanted something my parents could never provide for me: financial stability. I wanted to make something of myself, to earn enough money to help them fix their home back to its original beauty. I loved my parents dearly and being so far away from them broke my heart.

  A cough quickly pulled me out of my past. Pushing my wayward thoughts away, I finally concentrated on what Mrs. Grump had to say.

  “I said, I need you to meet with a client on my behalf.” Kate sighed, as if this client was getting on her nerves. “I have a facial I just can’t get out of.”

  I sat there stunned for a couple of seconds. What the hell? She wants me to meet with a client? I didn’t meet clients unless I was bringing them coffee in Kate’s office, and even that was few and far between. I pondered for a moment, wondering why she hadn’t asked Phil, one of the account managers for some of our smaller clients.

  “Of course,” I said. Well, it came out more like a freaking squeak than anything else.

  Kate nodded her head sharply and turned to leave.

  “Er, Kate?” I mumbled.

  She paused, turning back to me and raised her brow.

  Oh, that’s my cue to talk.

  “Shouldn’t Phil be dealing with this? I mean, I’m truly honored that you asked me, but I would’ve thought this would be more suited to an account manager who has some experience.”

  There. I said it. I basically told my boss that I’m an incompetent ass and I shouldn’t be trusted with the simplest of tasks. Well, not in so many words but that’s basically what I had said.

  She rolled her eyes as if my question was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. Of course, I mean, god forbid if my IQ was bigger than her obvious breast implants.

  “Don’t you think I already checked his schedule?” She paused, checking her manicured hand before turning her gaze back to me. “Or everyone else’s, for that matter?”

  Well, that’s nice. Thank you very much.

  “Everyone who has at least a bread crumb of experience is dealing with other clients, who’re just as important as this one. There is no one else, Payton.” She walked into my office, closing the door behind her. I gulped hard. “The meeting is simple,” she said, standing before my desk. “You go in and tell him why we’re the best PR firm in New York and why we are well-suited to his business. You will try and get as much information out of him about what type of event he wants. If you’ve got to show some skin, you will. If you’ve got to flirt like a second-rate hooker, you’ll do it. The point is, Payton, we need him as a client.”

  “Okay,” I whimpered. Shit. Pull it together Payton, she’s not a fucking ogre ready to tear you limb from limb. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “No problem, Kate. I’ll be sure to make it the best business meeting he’s ever experienced.”

  Really? That’s the best I could come up with?

  LAME, Payton. So freaking lame.

  “Good.” She half smiled; to be honest, I don’t think she could smile fully with the amount of Botox in her face. Turning, she paused as she grabbed for the door handle. “Oh, and Payton?”

  “Y-yes?” I stuttered. Oh fucking hell, Payton. Come on. I cleared my throat. “Yes?”

  “Don’t fuck it up. Otherwise I’ll make sure you’re cleaning toilets at Starbucks for the next five years.” With that, she left my office, slamming the door shut behind her.

  Well, fuck me. She really is a crazy green ogre.

  Grab your torch and pitchforks, people!

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding as I sat back in my chair, my hand going to my forehead to wipe away the droplet of sweat that hung between my brows. Jesus. Pulling myself together, I grabbed my cell from my purse and fired a quick text over to Kylie.

  Me: Kate is officially Shrek!!

  Kylie: What?! I’m on my way.

  The moment I placed my cell on my desk, my door flung open and in walked what only could be described as the gruesome twosome: Clarissa and Katrina Barton. They were Kate’s little minions, ass kissing their way to the top. Sisters in every way, from their distinctively disgusting brunette hair extensions to their ridiculously vile attitudes, not to mention their combined hatred towards me. I wasn’t entirely sure why but they were like annoying little mosquitoes you’d love to squish.

  “Can I help you?” I rolled my eyes, running my fingers through my hair in frustration. I really didn’t want to deal with their crap today.

  “We know about the client.” Clarissa smirked, her gaze flicking to her nails as she stood against my door.

  Katrina, the younger of the two, took a seat on the edge of my desk, not minding one bit as she spilled a pile of paperwork all over my office floor.

  “Oops.” She giggled. “You should be more careful where you put Kate’s documents, Payton.”

  Clarissa rolled her eyes at her sister, clearly the dominant one between them, and stepped towards my desk.

  “Just so you know, Kate gave you that client because she can’t miss out on a facial. Plus, she has a meeting with a high-ranking politician this evening. Of course, we’ve been invited. I mean, why wouldn’t she invite us? Our father is the co-founder of Blue Stone PR.” She p
laced her manicured nails on my desk and leaned forward. “Remember that, Payton.”

  With overly smug smiles on their faces, they left my office. Damn it, if their father wasn’t the co-founder, I’d have thrown them out of my office window the day they started six months ago. Sighing, I moved around my desk, picking up the mass of paperwork on my floor when in walked a very excitable Kylie. Shutting the door behind her, she took a seat in the chair in front of my desk.

  “Spill.” She smiled, bouncing on the chair. She clearly had no idea of my little pit stop with the idiot sisters.

  I sighed, placing the paperwork on my desk and took a seat, preparing myself for Kylie’s over-enthusiastic squeal that I knew was about to come.

  “Kate gave me a client.”

  I waited.

  “Oh my shit!” Kylie jumped out of her seat and threw her ass onto my desk, knocking over my pot of pens. Fumbling, she threw them back in the cup and turned back to me. “Ahhh! You've got a client! Oh my god, Pay. You've finally got a fucking client.”

  There it was.

  Kylie and I both worked at Blue Stone PR but, thankfully for her, she worked as Phil’s personal assistant. Phil Edwards was an amazing account manager and unbelievably sweet. Kylie really got the pick of the bunch when she applied for the job. Of course, I got freaking Shrek. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers. Right?

  “Yeah, I got a client.” I laughed, shaking my head. “But I also got the threat that if I screw this up in any way, I'll be cleaning toilets at Starbucks.”

  “Uh. Wow,” Kylie muttered, her eyes resembling saucers. “That’s a little harsh.”

  “Ogre-ish would be more appropriate.” I groaned, sitting upright in my chair.

  “I think...” My computer announced I had an email, with Kate’s email address appearing on my screen.

  To: paytonmiller@bluestonepr.com

  From: katemckenna@bluestonepr.com

  Subject: Don’t fuck it up

  Payton,

  Remember what I said.

  Attached is the info you need. Call me the minute you walk out of the building.