Available October 2007 from Avalon Books
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CHAPTER ONE
“Look out! New York City, here I come!” I exclaimed enthusiastically stepping off the train onto the platform. I walked briskly through Penn Station’s busy terminal and out onto the crowded sidewalk. The hustle bustle of the crowd surrounding me was invigorating. A combination of cheap perfume and stale cigarette smoke permeated the air as people marched by in a robotic fashion.
I passed a coffee shop and decided to stop and buy something chocolate to celebrate. Today is the day of a new beginning, a new life, a new job—a “free to be me” day. A “Cassie Pirelli Day of Independence” , away from a meddling mother who drives me crazy with her well- meaning intentions.
A long line of customers extended out to the sidewalk. I stepped in line behind a small-framed woman with big hair. I was bursting with excitement about my new-found freedom. My giddiness got the best of me, and all I could think about was sharing my good news. I didn’t care who I told, but I was going to tell someone. Since little Ms. Big Hair was in front of me, I tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hey, today is my first day of independence. Yeah, this is it.” I giggled with excitement. “As soon as the money starts coming in from my new job at Merrill Finance Corporation, I’ll be moving here too.”
The woman turned to see who was touching her, gave me a dirty look, and then turned back without a word. I didn’t care. I was going to share my good news regardless, so I spoke to the back of her head.
“Yep,” I said with confidence, “I’m going to be planning events, talking to customers, and writing sales presentations for the Vice President of Marketing.”
The woman turned around again, this time with a disdainful look on her face. In a sarcastic, native New York accent, she said, “Yeah, and I just lowered my cholesterol.”
And, there you have it. My fifteen minutes of fame right down the dumper. Thoughts of calling her an old grump, crossed my mind, but I figured she already knew that. The line was moving much slower than I’d hoped, so I decided to forego the celebratory chocolate. Besides, little Ms. Big Hair wasn’t much fun to be around anyway, and I wasn’t going to let anyone rain on my parade—not today. But, really, would it have killed little Ms. Big Hair to listen to me? Geesh.
I continued on my journey deciding to let go of the negative thoughts. After all, I was going to be working for a big shot now and acting professional was paramount to the title. My thoughts drifted to meeting my new boss for the first time, and how I was hoping I was going to like him. Better yet, that he was going to like me. I felt liberated knowing I'd taken the first step toward my independence. Excitement reeled inside me and I thought about how much fun my best friend, Megan and I were going to have finding a new apartment in this glorious city. I'd dreamed of this day since I was a child, after listening to Uncle Nicky’s tales about life in the ‘Big Apple”.
The street sign said “Park Avenue”, and I knew I was a short distance away. I grinned from the excitement of being close to the office, throwing my arms in the air and shouting, “Wahoo.”
So much for professionalism.
Two blocks later, I stopped on the corner and waited for the traffic light to change. When it did, I jogged across the street and up the steps into the building and headed down the corridor to the elevator.
A foxy looking guy stood waiting patiently for its arrival. The hunk wore a pin-stripped suit with a red power tie. He had a briefcase in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He looked up from his paper for a second, when I approached and smiled.
“Good morning,” I said with effervescence. Mr. Foxy Guy raised his head and nodded. I concluded, this guy was an up-and-coming executive, no doubt. He was just too hot for words and I was having a hard time taking my eyes off his “I work out every day” body.
I continued to peek at him out of the corner of my eye. His reddish-brown wavy hair and perfectly shaped face had a bronzed glow from a summer’s tan. He looked up from his newspaper. He must have sensed I was giving him the sideways glance, because the corners of his mouth curled into a smile. He lowered his head and resumed reading. I avoided direct eye contact. I was embarrassed he'd caught me checking him out.
I began to daydream about being on some deserted island with this God-like creature, unaware the elevator had arrived. I quickly snapped to attention when I heard him speak. “Are you getting in?” he said, holding the door open with his foot.
“Oh. Yes. Thanks.” The masculine scent of his aftershave penetrated my nostrils, as I breezed past him. Just standing next to him was making my heart do flip-flops. Hmm, if this guy is any indication of who works here. . . . Mmm, nice. No wedding band on that left hand.
What am I do for god's sake? I just broke my engagement a month ago . . . but then, I never said I didn't like men--I just don't want to be married to one.
“What floor?” he asked.
“Twenty please.”
“I’m headed in that same direction.”
He turned his attention away from me and back to his paper. The door closed and we started to rise. Without warning, the elevator sputtered and jerked to a screeching halt. I lost my balance and fell into Foxy Guy, sending my briefcase smack into his knee. His newspaper fell from his hand and scattered about, as his briefcase hit the floor with a thud.
He grimaced in pain from the force of impact, but managed to steady me with one hand while clutching his knee with the other.
“I am so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I guess,” his handsome face distorted from the pain. “I’m just coming back to work after recuperating from knee surgery.”
“Oh, no.” I pointed to the knee I’d just walloped. “Is that the one?”
He nodded and bent over to massage it. Helpless, I looked on with embarrassment knowing his discomfort was my fault, but I didn’t think saying something would make it any better.
I cringed and chastised myself. Ooh, please tell me this didn't just happen.
Mr. Foxy Guy stood upright and leaned against the wall, stretched his leg out in front of him, then bent it behind a few times. I watched.
“Does that help?”
“A little.” He grimaced. “I need to sit on the floor to get the weight off of my knee.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” I said, getting down on my knees to scoop the paper out of the way so he could sit. I began to assemble it in order and handed it back to him.
“Thank you.”
He noticed the concerned look on my face. “I’ll be fine, stop worrying.”
“Did the stretching make it feel any better?”
“It’ll be okay.” He pointed to a silver box on the wall. “If you’ll hand me the phone in this box, I’ll call maintenance.” I didn’t answer. I did as he asked and opened the small door containing the telephone and handed it to him. “Steve?” he said as he smiled faintly into the receiver. “Yes it is. It certainly has been a long time—six weeks to be exact.” He nodded as if Steve was standing in front of him.
I watched him handle the situation while he continued answering questions to ole Steve, what’s his name. “I’m getting better all the time, thanks. The elevator is at a standstill. We’re between floors somewhere, but the lighted numbers went out, so I’m not sure where.” He smiled into the phone. “I thought you guys fixed this problem? I realize that, but it seems worse today than it was before. Okay, thanks. Yeah, it’s nice to be back.”
When he finished, he handed me the phone to put back into the box. The look on my face must have told him what I was thinking. “Maintenance said it will be fixed as soon as they can,” he reassured.
“What exactly does that mean?”
He snickered. “It means as soon as they can fix it.” He looked down at the paper and resumed reading. The silence was driving me crazy, so I began to pace. I strained to hear a noise or something, anything that would indicate the maintenance crew was working to fix the problem, but the only noise I heard was Foxy Guy’s breathing and the rustle of newspaper. I ultimately concluded no one was working to fix the elevator. Holding back my intestinal fortitude was no longer an option, and I blurted out in anguish.
“Shoot. This is just what I need this morning – I’m going to be late for my first day on the job.” I increased the speed of my pacing. Pretty difficult task in a 4x6 box, especially with his outstretched legs taking up half the space.
“Get used to it. This happens frequently. This elevator gets a lot of use.”
“So!” I checked my watch. “He said a few minutes, huh?”
“No. He said he’d get to it as soon as he could.” He held his hand up as if swearing on the bible. “I promise. You’ll even have time to powder your nose before you meet your new boss.” He went back to his paper.
“I hope Mr. Brixler isn’t upset with me for being late.”
He looked up from his paper and smiled. In a firm but friendly voice he said, “I told you, you’re not going to be late.”
“I haven’t met him yet, and I’m nervous.”
“You think?” He grinned and lowered his head giving his newspaper top billing. “I’m really excited about this job, but not knowing anything about him, I’m feeling a bit apprehensive, wondering what I’m getting myself into. The man who conducted the interview for Mr. Brixler was very nice, and I wouldn’t mind working for him, but . . . .”
His brows knitted together in question. “If you had so many concerns, why did you take the job? How do you know if you’re going to like him?”
“You know what?” I shrugged. “I don’t, but I really wanted to work at Merrill.”
He grinned. “What are you so nervous about?”
“Well, what if he didn’t select me? What if Mr. Garrett was the one who told him to hire me? Maybe he won’t like me. And, if he doesn’t like me, then he’ll fire me. Then if I get fired, I won’t be able to advance in the business, then, if I don’t advance, I can’t prove to Mom . . . .” I stopped talking and started to giggle. The expression on his face was priceless.
“Geez, listen to me ramble on. I guess I am wound up pretty tight.”
He shook his head from side-to-side, a grin on his face, and went back to reading the paper again. I really wanted to take that paper of his and rip it to shreds, but I didn’t need this stranger to witness any more of my erratic behavior than he’d already seen.
Man, I need to get a grip. I'm doing an outstanding job in the 'first impressions' department, aren't I? Not.
A sudden grinding noise alerted us the elevator was repaired, and we began to rise. I released a sigh of relief. The remainder of the trip was in silence. I watched the numbers light up as we passed each floor. When we reached the twentieth floor, the doors opened, and I leaned against them to prevent them from closing. He rolled over to kneel on his good knee and pulled himself up. I allowed him to exit first, after all, that was the least I could do. He pointed to the right. “The restroom is that way.”
“Thanks.” I smiled and waved watching him limp down the hall in the opposite direction. I really felt bad knowing I was the one who hurt him. Halfway down the hall, he turned his head to look at me. “Good luck, I hope you’ll be very happy here at Merrill.”
I smiled back at him. “Thank you. By the way, what did you say your name . . .,” my voice trailed off as I heard a door close and he was gone. |
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