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"Ella thought I was a bicycle courier."
David grinned. "See? Exact opposite of Christie. If Christie had thought you were only a bicycle courier, she would never have even spoken to you."
"That's the truth," I said.
"She saw you, found out who you were, and that was it, if I recall you meeting her."
"She was certainly ambitious." I rubbed my eyes, thinking of meeting Christie at a club three years earlier when I was just home from Afghanistan. She'd told me she asked around and found out who I was, then set me in her sights and came after me.
I'd been flattered that such an intelligent and obviously beautiful woman had come after me. She did everything she could to win me, even getting a job with me, slowly convincing me to start a relationship.
Of course, she didn't love me. She loved my lifestyle.
David handed me back my cell and I stared at the pic of Ella. So completely different from Christie. When I thought of Ella, I felt like she was real. She wasn't contrived in any way from her looks to her personality.
I wanted her to be with me pretty much every spare moment I had.
"You have to bring her out here, or I'll come there for a weekend so I can meet her."
"We'll see," I said. But I smiled to myself. Yes, I had fallen for her. David had been right before, and he was right now.
"Aww," David said, unable to constrain himself. "You're a goner." David laughed, giving me a good-natured punch in the shoulder.
I laughed back, not afraid to admit it.
"I am."
I was.
5
Ella
I met my parents for lunch at a famous deli down the street from the hotel. The place was busy with noon-hour patrons, and we were lucky to get in without a long wait.
We ordered the world-famous pastrami on rye sandwiches with matzo ball soup and had a nice hour talking about the city and my early experiences at Macintyre Publishing.
I filled them in on my duties and the Spring catalogue, and our plans for the following Fall lineup.
"What about your own writing?" my mother asked, always wanting me to write a romance novel. "Are you working on anything?"
I wouldn't confess to the erotica, of course, for it would shock my father to know his daughter wrote dirty stories, but I did tell them about my chick lit story, based loosely on my own broken heart. It was going to be a Bridget Jones style story of a woman who starts life over in the big city and finds that success and happiness is the best revenge.
At least, that's what I told them. I really hadn't had any time to work on it since Josh and I started seeing each other. That was okay by me. I'd much rather have the real-life Mr. Big in bed with me than be writing about a fictional one.
After our lunch was finished, my mom wanted to go shopping while my dad had his party meetings. We did the usual trip along Fifth Avenue, and of course, I thought about how close the apartment was.
"Your office is around here isn't it?" she asked.
"It is. Just over there," I said and pointed to the old building.
We stopped at a Starbucks and had a coffee mid-afternoon.
"It's so exciting," she said, smiling as we sat in the window and watched the people walking by. "I know your father was upset that you left, but I was excited for you, even though I knew I'd miss you. To move to the Big Apple and live on your own. I could never have dreamed of doing it."
"It's great," I said, and it was then I decided to tell her the truth about my first rocky weeks in the city. "Actually, I had a few hard times when I first moved here."
I told her all about losing my backpack on my first day of work and how a bicycle courier had rescued me, helping me out with a cell phone and some spending money until I was able to get access to my bank.
