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The woman on the other end of the line let out a bright little laugh and I could tell right away that it wasn’t the girl from the sign-up table with her bored demeanor and bad attitude. “Yes, I’m completely serious. Tomorrow you’ll meet us all at the studio in Manhattan and you’ll get to know your new boyfriend.”
“What time exactly? What time should I be there?” I practically screeched, struggling to contain myself and bouncing on the balls of my feet excitedly.
“The meet-up is at four in the afternoon. I’ll send you the address!”
I felt completely ridiculous after I hung up the phone and I danced around my apartment joyfully, though I didn’t really care what I must have looked like through my window. The haggard old war veteran from across the hallway banged hard on my door,
“It’s an apartment building, not a damn nightclub, girl!”
And I just laughed and laughed even as he slammed his door shut across the hall. Everything was finally working out for me, even though I felt like I had always been cursed with bad luck. Maybe this would be the one triumph in my life that didn’t come with any sort of consequences. This was it and I was in. I was going to be on Games of Love, and I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to scream it to the world and smile until my cheeks ached. I really believed that I could win the show and then I could pay off my expenses from school. I needed this and I couldn’t have been more excited.
Even though it was Friday, and I didn’t have class because of the holidays, I woke up and dressed very early the next morning, ignoring every boring aspect of my apartment with the knowledge that I might soon be able to fix it or better yet, move out of the city altogether. I listened to the coffee maker drip as I sat at my kitchen table, watching the thriving city below wake beyond the foggy window glass. I poured myself a cup of dark coffee and sipped tentatively at it, listening to my TV mumble softly in the background of my apartment. I didn’t really mind the rush of the city at this hour, oddly. It was quiet enough and a soft fog bank blanketed the buildings outside, twisting and curling over the sidewalks. I took a deep breath and finished the last dregs of my coffee. I couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Excitement made me nearly run down the stairs, even as my lazy landlord sat at the desk, half-asleep and uncaring. I wrapped herself tightly in my scarf and hat, shivering with anticipation at what was to come. I took the bus to the coffee shop and pulled my spare key from my bag, opening and shutting the door behind me quickly and opening Harlow’s bakery. I started a fire in the fireplace, rearranging the books on the tall shelves in the reading room. The case of pastries and sweets wasn’t completely full, so I whipped up some cinnamon rolls, raspberry brownies, and lemon cupcakes. An hour later, the inside of the glass case was filled with a small array of lovely baked goods and I was proud of myself. I sat back for a second, looking over the roaring fire and the sweets.
Customers wandered in randomly throughout the day and I was more or less occupied by my own thoughts during that time. Around closing time, the door creaked open once more and I looked up to see a tall, sharp-featured man in a smooth suit who once must have had blonde hair but had since gone almost completely grey. I recognized him instantly as Elias Lennox, billionaire investor, and all-around rich elite. He ambled slowly to the counter, his sharp, calculating gaze falling over the fireplace and the chairs, the books, and the cracked couches. He looked up at the ceiling, scanning over the high and angled arch, and then at the walls, dragging a finger over the exposed bricks. I tried not to stare at him. He was definitely one of the richest men in New York. The girls in my class talked about his son and how good-looking they thought that he was, though I had never laid eyes on him myself.
Elias stood still at the counter, his lined palms on the well-polished wood, and said, “Americana, no foam.”
I nodded quickly without really even looking at him, fumbling to grab a to-go cup as quickly as possible. “Yes sir, coming right up.”
“The man who owns this little building,” Elias drawled, smoothing a firm hand over his suit. “where is he now?”
“He’s my brother. They have a baby coming soon so he’s not—"
“I need to speak with him now,” Elias cut in.
I made a face at his rude demeanor and then shrugged. He would leave in a minute anyway, hopefully. “He should be back tomorrow,” I told him evenly, smiling politely as I handed his warm cup over to him, after sliding a cool sleeve over the paper. “Have a nice day.”
