This week was mostlyquiet at the office. Since Starr and Dean’s threat, everyone had been seemingly busy and insanely focused. There was a lot less chatter and much more business-related calls. I hadn’t heard so many pitches and follow up calls since my days at Brightman.
Brightman, where every single employee genuinely meant business. We were the most highly respected professionals within the industry. No one ever had a problem landing an event. Instead, we competed over who got the biggest.
I poured myself a glass of red wine. It always helped calm my nerves. And it was exactly what I needed on this quiet Friday evening. I planted myself in my favorite corner of the sofa, pulled a throw cover over my legs and flipped through on-demand movies.
I found myself wishing it was Saturday night. Which wasn’t good. I was supposed to be sitting here thinking of ways to get out of my date with Scott Weston. Not daydreaming about seeing him again.
A loud buzzer from the hall jerked me out of my daze. I set down my glass and pressed the intercom.
“It’s me. I brought food.” I heard before smiling at the voice and holding down the button to let her in.
I glanced around the small apartment. I lived on the third level of a walk-up on the lower east side. When you made your work your life, living anywhere outside the city didn’t make sense. It was pricey, but worth it. Not the apartment—the commute. And getting around quickly was essential.
I lived in something slightly better than a dump but was nowhere near the quality of the luxury rentals they were starting to build across the street from my sad little brownstone.
Regardless, it was home and I’d made it my own.Art that hung on my walls came from event giveaways. Each piece reminding me of the nights’ success.
I evened out the throw pillows on my pale blue tufted sofa, picked up two articles of clothing from the floor I’d slipped out of after work today and tossed them to the side when I heard footsteps walking up the hall.
I pulled the door open for my best friend Char, and she walked up in her high heels with a smile too wide to be real and a big brown paper bag.
“Thai?”
Hmm. Char’s comfort food. I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why?”
Char blew out an exasperated breath. “Mark broke up with me.”
“What?”
“He said his parents didn’t like me.”
“You mean his mother didn’t like you.”
“I haven’t been known to be moms’ favorite, Elle, you know that.”Char walked the bag across the foyer and into my open kitchen. “And he told me all this after I reheated take out, because, as usual, he was late.”
“Would you rather he waited till after you fed him?”
“I guess not. So, hungry?”
“For secondhand Thai? Sign me up.”
Char laid out cartons on the coffee table while I poured a glass of red for her, covertly happy for the company.
“How’s the new job?” she asked.
I sighed. “Impossibly bearable.”
Char raised a brow.
“I just mean it’s impossible some days, but I need the work.”
“Hmm…”
“What?”
“It’s just this job never used to beworkfor you,” Char pointed out.
“Tell me about it. It’s not the same. Now they’re making everyone hunt down high paying events to work on along with the non-profits they typically book through the holiday season. Which clearly means that they need to start bringing in revenue and fast. Chasing down work to keep working is not what I signed up for.” My cheeks began to burn with fury all over again.
