Winking, she took a sip from my coffee before moving into the adjoining living room, taking a seat on the sofa and turning on the TV.
“If you tell me why you left last night, I'll tell you how I broke into our apartment,” Kylie sang over the weird reality show I could hear playing from the living room.
I sighed hard. I didn’t want to have to tell anyone. Especially Kylie or Quinn. It was too embarrassing. Kylie and Quinn were more like family than best friends, they'd been with me through everything. I wouldn't be who I am without them.
Deciding it was probably a good idea to tell Kylie about my encounter with my stranger and find out how the hell she had gotten into the apartment, I made another cup of coffee and joined her in the living room.
The moment my ass hit the sofa, I hissed deeply.
I was hurting.
Nope, not my thorn-guarded heart.
My vagina, my lady parts, call it what you like, were tender.
“Oh. My. God!” Kylie shrieked, scaring the ever loving shit out me.
I threw both hands around my coffee mug to stop the searing hot coffee from pooling in my lap. Jesus. This woman should come with a public service warning. Warning: Known to shriek unexpectedly. Proceed with caution.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?!” I screeched, finally managing to balance my coffee. Shaking my head, I placed the cup on the coffee table. I didn't need a burn related mishap this early in the morning.
“You got sexed!” She pointed at me, placing her cup next to mine on the coffee table and twisting her body to face me. “You did the dirty!”
I… what?
“I’m sorry. I’m not entirely sure whether I’m still drunk or not, so please clarify. Did you just say, 'you got sexed'?” I asked, staring at my friend wide-eyed.
“Yes!! Oh my god. You got sexed last night. That’s why you left the bar so quickly!” She was bouncing up and down on the sofa like a freaking child with the world’s most epic sugar overload.
“You keep saying that word, I don’t think it means what you think it means.” I smirked.
“Stop avoiding the question, Pay! Did you or did you not get laid last night?” She pushed, placing her hands on her hips, her bouncing finally coming to a stop as she gazed at me with a serious expression. Well, serious for her anyway.
I groaned.
It was now or never.
“Before I go into details, you need to tell me how you got in,” I bargained, hoping she’d tell me first so I could avoid the situation entirely.
“No way. Spill. Now.”
“Okay!” I sighed, wondering where the hell to start. “I don’t know his name but—”
“Sorry.” She paused, looking at me pointedly. “I don’t believe for one second that you didn't think of a name for him. I mean, I believe you don’t know his name…”
“Do you want to wear your coffee or drink it?”
“Right.” She smirked. “You were saying?”
For the next twenty minutes Kylie’s facial expressions went from excited to shocked to downright giddy. Her bouncing quickly came back ten-fold as I went on to explain how hard I slapped Mr. TDD.
“You just slapped him? Like, in the face?” She asked, stopped her bouncing long enough to take a sip of, what was my, coffee.
“No. I slapped him in the dick.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course I slapped him in the face. He called me Princess, Kylie, you know how I feel about it. I don’t need saving, I’m no one’s princess.” I sighed, standing from the sofa and walking into the kitchen, dumping the last of my cold coffee in the sink. “I called him a toad and slapped him in the face.” I chuckled, turning back to my friend who was chuckling softly on the sofa. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m going to see him again, right?”
“New York’s a big place.”
“Hmm,” I agreed. “Now tell me how you got in here.”
“I scaled the apartment building and climbed in through the bathroom window,” she replied seriously.
Either I was still sleeping or Kylie had just informed me she was Spider-Man and could climb four floors. I needed pain killers. Opening the cabinet above my head, I fished out two Tylenol and swallowed them dry.
“You,” I pointed as her smile widened, “are not funny. Really, how did you get in?”
“Quinn’s extra key. He jumped in a cab with me.”
That made much more sense. For a minute I thought I’d lost my mind.
She chuckled, standing from the sofa and joining me in the kitchen, placing her mug in the sink. The moment her mug hit the cool metal, she shrieked.
I don’t mean a little, barely audible shriek.
I mean, full-out, glass shattering, ear-ringing shriek.
“Your meeting! Pay, you've been chewing my ear off for so long you’re going to be late for the client!”
The next couple of minutes were a blur of being pushed into my bathroom and being stripped by my best friend before she all but threw me into the shower. My usual modesty had flown out of the window the moment I registered I really was late for my meeting.
I groaned as I noticed Kylie still standing in my bathroom, bouncing on both feet as she checked her wrist watch every five seconds.
“Can you like, turn around or something?” I sighed, turning off the shower.
“No,” she said sternly, holding a white fluffy towel in front of me.
I quickly grabbed the towel and stepping out from the shower, I wrapped it around my body in the hope she didn't see more than needed. I then pretty much ran to my room to get ready for my meeting I was running late for.
“Hold on!” Kylie yelled from the living room. She was charging down the hallway to my room with a wad of material in her hands. “Here, wear these.”
She thrust the material in my hands and shut the door in my face.
Well, okay then.
Unfolding the clothes on my bed, I stared at them in disbelief.
“Woman, get a freaking move on!”
I didn't have time to rifle through my closet to find something remotely decent to wear; to be honest my wardrobe mainly consisted of pantsuits, sweatpants and hoodies – not exactly suitable for a once in a lifetime meeting.
Glamorous I am not.
Sighing, I got to work.
“Oh motherfucker,” I muttered, all but falling on my face as I tried stepping into the ridiculously tight pencil skirt; I may kill Kylie. “Mother shit.”
No matter how fast I moved to get ready for the meeting, I was still running late. Of course I was late. The minute my head hit my pillow last night I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes all I saw was him. All I felt was him. Yet if I ever saw him again, I’d much rather love to slap him than screw him. This was so messed up.
I rolled my eyes as I tried to get the tight as hell skirt over my freaking thighs. Whoever decided pencil skirts were a fashion statement should be shot… while trying to get one on. Stupid things.
After a shimmy, some ass shaking and holding my breath for what seemed like ten whole minutes, I was finally in the skirt. My gaze flickered to my watch and I weighed whether crawling back in bed would be a smarter decision. Not to mention I’d breathe easier without the tight material sucking in my ass and thighs. But I couldn't. Today was the meeting of all meetings, the Brad Pitt of job opportunities. And I was fucking late!
“If you don’t hurry your ass up, I’m coming in there and dressing you myself!” Kylie yelled from the living room and I rolled my eyes once more.
“Just a minute, I’m having trouble operating your ridiculous clothing!” I shouted back as I threw on the sheer cream blouse. I glanced at my watch again. Shit! Thirty minutes and I needed to be out the door and on the road.
Just as I managed to work out which limb needed to go in which hole, my door creaked open and in walked a determined Kylie… holding a pair of ridiculously high heels. Placing them on the bed, she winked and took a seat. At least I was dressed this time.
I took a go
od look at the shoes she’d dumped on my bed, a groan erupting as I thought of the sheer pain they were going to cause my calves.
“For the love of god! Are you going to just stare at them like they told you they have chlamydia? Or are you going to put them on and get your ass on the road?”
I glared at her as she stood from the bed with a stupid ass smirk on her face.
Well, I’m glad someone's finding amusement from my painful predicament.
With a wince, I slid on the nude heels and I was surprised to find they’re a lot more comfortable than I first thought. I suppose they should be: they were Louboutins. Way out of my price range. And comfort zone, for that matter.
“See? You’re hot shit. Er, except for the hair, the hair has to go.” Kylie smirked.
“The fuck’s wrong with my hair?”
Kylie stepped in my personal space and started playing around with my hair, biting her tongue as she concentrated hard. Kylie loved anything remotely connected to the world of beauty and style. Hence the Louboutins and ridiculously priced clothing she forced me into. I winced when I saw the price tags that hung from the blouse alone. She hadn't worn it.
Prada.
Seven hundred dollars of fucking Prada.
The fuck did they do? Spin it with gold?
My upbringing was a little different from Kylie’s. Okay, a lot different from Kylie’s. Her father and step-mother were what you'd call socialites. Her father was a senator and her step-mother was just there as pretty arm candy. Kylie's used to the designer clothes and fancy restaurants, whereas I was used to stretching every cent until my next paycheck. My parents where working class. My mother worked two jobs when I was a kid, waiting tables during the day and working at a bar at night. My father worked as a mechanic the auto shop he owned. Money wasn't something we were accustomed to. If I needed new clothes we went to a thrift shop. Food came in cans rather than fancy restaurants, and a movie theatre? I’d never stepped foot in one until the day I got my first paycheck from Blue Stone PR.
I loved my parents dearly; both of them were very much involved in my life. They'd helped me work tirelessly to ensure my education got me further than they ever did. I finished high school and was offered grants to the college I dreamed of, catapulting me into a world where dreams were grazing at your fingertips. I was determined to finish college and get my ass into PR. And that’s exactly what I did.
“Will you get your fingers out of my hair! It’s too early to deal with your primping obsession.” I batted her hands away and tried to straighten the mass of hair she’d just gracefully planted on my head. “Minus your obvious distaste for my hair... how do I look?”
“Like a hot mess.” She laughed, wiggling her eyebrows. “Now go, and please try to not make an absolute fool of yourself.”
“That wasn't my fault!” I yelled; the memory – my first, painful, experience of high-end clothes shopping trip – now fresh in my mind. “There was a fucking shoe on the damn floor.”
“You slid ten feet across the marble floor of Vera Wang. In a summer dress.”
“The shoe,” I whined.
“There was no shoe.”
I place my hand on my hip. “I swear, there was a shoe.”
“The evidence is on YouTube, Pay. You tripped over your own feet in the middle of the store and slid right across the floor, exposing your ass to the entire staff and customers.” She laughed, trying to hide it behind a very forced cough. “Your face was priceless!”
“You were pointing and laughing at me!”
“I helped you up!” She threw her hands up in mock surrender.
“Yeah, after you pointed and laughed at me for twenty full minutes. I was too embarrassed to move!”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Then there was the treadmill incident.”
Bitch. I didn't need reminding of the tragic face-planting moment in the gym, especially running so late.
I rolled my eyes. “Do we have to bring that up?”
“Hey, you’re the one that face-planted on the treadmill.”
“Because you sent me an picture of someone’s – you still haven’t told me who – cock!” I pointed, remembering all too well about said picture.
“What a mighty fine cock it was too.” She sighed, looking at her watch. “Shit! Pay, get your butt in gear, girl. You have thirty minutes!”
“Fuck! I swear, if I’m late, I’m burning your Louboutin collection,” I grumbled, grabbing my purse and slinging it over my shoulder as I dashed for my apartment door.
“You touch my Louboutins and I'll throw away your chocolate spread!” she hollered as I stepped out of the door. “Including your secret stash that you hide under your bed!”
I stopped mid-stride.
“How do you know about my secret stash?”
“Meeting, Pay. Go!” She laughed.
The child in me bubbled to the surface and I stuck my tongue out at my best friend before stepping out into the July heat. Great. It was hot and I had six-inch Louboutins on. A hot bath and Band-Aids were going to be my best friend for at least three days.
I pulled out my cell and fired a text over to Kylie.
Me: I don’t like you very much right now.
She replied instantly. It’s as if she could read my mind.
Kylie: Two words: Chocolate. Spread.
Oh, when she was good, she was really good.
Me: I hate you.
Kylie: I know, I hate you too. Don’t scuff the shoes. I’ll get stabby.
I shook my head. Spotting a cab, I flagged it down with a flick of my wrist. Huh. That’s never happened before. It’s probably the shoes. Shrugging, I slid into the cab.
“Where to, ma’am?” the cab driver asked.
“23rd and Madison.” I pulled a twenty out of my wallet and held it up high enough for the cabbie to see in his rear view mirror. “Get me there in twenty and I'll double it.”
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said a little too enthusiastically as he stepped on the gas.
I was quickly flown back in my seat as he negotiated the hustle and bustle of busy downtown Manhattan. Fuck me.
I’m going to die in this cab.
I’m going to die in this cab where there’s no doubt some unnecessary bodily fluids.
I’m going to die before my once in a lifetime meeting.
“I said get me there in twenty minutes, not twenty pieces,” I grumbled as I held on to the moist seat for dear life. Cringe.
We got to my destination in fifteen minutes. I was surprised I was still alive after the way we nearly sideswiped another cab two blocks back. Fucking New York. I stepped out of the cab and my knees nearly buckled from the change in speed. Whoa.
“Thanks.” I threw two twenties through the open window, watching as the driver stuffed them into his pocket and drove away slowly. “For nearly killing me,” I muttered.
My near-death experience was quickly forgotten the minute I turned around and took in the building of Black Enterprises. It was freaking huge. I counted at least twenty-five floors as I stared up at in awe. Such a touristy thing to do, I know.
The building was beautiful. The entire structure was encased in frosted black glass and metal, wrapping around every floor of the building. My gaze lowered and locked onto the giant Black Enterprises logo that rested above the double revolving doors: it was bold with a chunky style font, off-setting against the elegant flourish beneath the words Black Enterprises.
I sucked in a deep breath and mustered some confidence as I walked towards the main entrance, nearly stumbling in the damn heels as I did so. After I stepped through the revolving door, I went through a quick security check, then was quickly on my way to the main reception desk in the foyer.
“Welcome to Black Enterprises, ma’am. How can I help you?” a cheery, well-made up woman greeted.
“Thank you. I have a meeting with Mr. Black at ten-thirty.”
I hid a chuckle that hit
the back of my throat the moment I saw her assessing me. It was infuriating and to be honest, I wouldn't mind high-fiving her face as she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the snarl that appeared.
“Twenty-third floor,” she mumbled with a wave of her hand, going back to… whatever the hell she was doing before I arrived. Probably checking Facebook.
Bitch.
“Thanks! Have a wonderful day.” I smiled sweetly, hitching my purse higher on my shoulder as I made my way to the other end of the foyer to the elevators.
I pressed the button and waited. My right foot started tapping against the marble flooring of its own accord. I was nervous. No, I was fucking petrified. If I didn't get this meeting right, there’s no hope for me moving up the PR ladder. Blue Stone PR is the place to be, it’s the job every woman wants who lives and breathes PR. If you do well, you move up. It’s as simple as that. Organize just one amazing event and you could potentially be working on the next red carpet account. Well, that’s how it’s supposed to work, but who knew with Shrek breathing down my neck every five seconds.
I wanted this client. No, I needed it. And I would stop at nothing to get to the top – that included pompous receptionists who didn't know their head from their ass.
The elevator pinged, pulling me out of my thoughts as I stepped inside the surprisingly large space. The entire building must be worth somewhere in the millions, each and every detail mapped out for a particular purpose. Pressing the button for the twenty-third floor, I tried to calm the nerves that were quickly overcoming my stomach.
Must. Not. Vomit.
The elevator doors opened and my gaze landed on the expansive foyer of Black Enterprises as I kept breathing through my nose. The entire space was wall-to-wall black. Black walls, black floor, black reception. There’s even black flowers sitting in the middle of a glass table near a seating area. Someone clearly had a love for black.
I walked with newfound determination to the reception desk to what looked like a very disinterested receptionist. What the hell was it with these people?
I stood awkwardly for what felt like minutes, the woman sitting behind the desk clearly ignoring me. What the hell?
Once Upon A Time Page 6
