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“Why isn’t it simple?” His tone pressed.
“Because… I’m a guest. I need to be able to have my own space and be an adult. Besides, what if you have someone over, a girl perhaps?” I asked.
“So?”
“So? Doesn’t that look weird? I want you to have the freedom to do whatever, to have a love life uninterrupted. You don’t need to be a single man with your loser friend living in your luxury apartment.”
“Stop,” he commanded softly. “One, you're not a loser. You’re Gemma Rose Harrison, future fashion icon. Two, my love life is…” He contemplated almost shrugging, “It’s nothing. I’m happy right now, and even more happy to have you here. Just promise me if you don't want the job, you won’t take it.” Parker arched his brows into a sweet frame around his eyes. He cared, and that made me happy, but still I was determined to do what was best for me, and my walls.
“I promise…” I conceded, but not before cutting in quickly, “as long as you promise not to let my presence stop you from living your life. If I sense that, I'll leave…” I tried to be stern, but the confident wink he shot made me melt.
“I promise.” He shook his head, staring down at his watch, “Shit!” He groaned, reaching over the couch for his suit jacket. “I gotta get going, I’m meeting with a client for a big case.” He slung his arms through the jacket, adjusting the cuffs by his wrists.
“Abigcase?” I asked, adjusting the pocket square of his jacket.
“Maybe the biggest one yet.” Two years after graduating from Columbia with his Juris Doctorate, Parker was already one of the most well-known lawyers in Manhattan, having landed a position with the city’s most prestigious firm. When people saw Parker, they saw his father, New York’s retired Chief of Justice, Albert Jones, who was equally tremendous and unequivocally dominant in court. Parker stopped before turning away, his eyes scanned over the flowers his mom sent. “You know you can always talk to me, Gem.” He nodded, “About anything. Claire included.”
It was sweet, but the thought scared me. I wasn't ready, and I wasn't sure if I’d ever be. I knew he would never judge me for what happened, but that wasn’t good enough. How could I share what I wished never came true? I rarely invited Parker to Claire’s when I was a kid, and if he ever showed up, I’d always make him leave. I hated his surprise visits, especially if I caught him talking to Claire. Seeing them together always gave me such anxiety, leaving me uncertain of what was said and what was known. That was my world, not his. I wished it on no one.
“You better shake, Rattlesnake.” I finally said, not truly acknowledging his words. He nodded, knowing once again I slipped from his persistent charm.
“Bye, bye, Butterfly.” He winked and waited for a moment, allowing the silence to fill our space before turning away. I followed behind, locking the door as he left.
Parker’s apartment—despite my mess—was very neat, leaving the guest room as no exception. I stretched my neck, observing the dark navy walls and white crown molding. Very masculine but softened by the thick white rug that covered over the cold wood floors. This was his home, but a part of me was still here, evident by the photos of us all around. Regardless, I returned to my mess, organizing fragments of my life into various piles. Poking out of one of the boxes was a sea foam green sewing machine. It’d been so long since I’d used it, since I even had the time. By its side was a Vogue magazine, featuring a yellow and pink pencil dress from my favorite designer, St. La Vie. I wish it was him I was interviewing with, but that was a dream, and in reality, I was meeting with Gerard Halt, designer turned hitman.
Still, I pulled out the sewing machine and carried its massive size to the desk in my room. Maybe Parker was right, perhaps I could take time to work on my true passion. But what would that cost, if not the possibility of painful hope? Time was not on my side, and I knew myself too well. I had to get over Parker, and part of that meant getting out as soon as I could.
Tomorrow would be the most important interview of my life, despite the overwhelming feeling of dread it most certainly caused.
CHAPTER 2
The cabbie slammed his hand on the horn mercilessly. I peeked out the window and watched as traffic was re-directed once again. A man with a headset waved us away, blocking our path with the authority of a steel fence. My phone buzzed with an alert, reminding me of the hell to come:Interview with Gerard Halt (professional asshole).
Having missed breakfast, I resorted to stuffing my face with a bag of cheap yellow cookies. Marcello’s Galletaswere my favorite, but I never ate them around Parker. No, they weren’t just cookies, they were a guilty segue from my past. Admitting I liked twenty-five cent bodega cookies was not shameful, however, admitting these cookies were all I had because my mother rarely made dinner was.
“What’s the hold up?” I shouted, catching bits of crumbs that fell from my lip. I was beyond nervous and chewed like an observant squirrel as I looked out the window.
The cab driver sighed loudly, “They’re filming another movie again. Streets are closed for the next half mile, so you better get comfortable,” his hoarse tone seemed annoyed, as if he shared the sentiment of my outrage. I watched as he placed the car in park and pulled out a half-finished crossword puzzle.
Get comfortable?
I gazed down at my oversized tote, filled with swatches and designs. My entire short-lived career was crammed into its confines, stitched with the letters VIP.
As if.
I knew I couldn’t be late to meet Gerard, I refused to give him another reason to hate me. I thought of everything at stake, my future home, the job I barely wanted, and getting out of Parker’s house. Where would me and my big box of miscellaneous items go if this didn’t work out? I panicked, digging into my purse past the cookies for a wad of cash.
“I can’t be the homeless, vibrator, pizza cutter lady!” I shouted, visualizing my future kicked to the curb. “Stop here!” I threw a slew of singles at the cabbie as he craned his neck, startled in the rearview mirror.
“Lady, I am stopped!” He cursed, but I was too distracted, attempting to leave with my seatbelt still on.
“Thank you, I love you!” I replied, confusing both him and myself, feeling completely rushed and out of my mind. I was at least twelve blocks away from Gerard’s, a distance already sizable without the added chaos of a New York morning. Quickly, I checked my watch in horror. I had to do it, and as much as it pained me, I removed my Louboutins and placed my bare feet onto the rough, almost grimy concrete by the curb.
“I love you too, sweetie!” The cabbie rolled his window down just for me, but I was already gone.
Hastily, I sprinted. My bag and cookies jostled like stolen goods, while my feet morphed into the hue of black sticky tar. Even after leaving Parker’s early, here I was, screaming down the street, excusing my shoves for a job I already knew I’d hate. And why? Because of another movie set? It felt like every day someone was filming something new, popping up like mold, ruining peoples’ lives, just like mine, just like now. My bag slammed along one of the barricades tracing my path, emitting a loud ting that annoyed me further. I groaned as my foot landed on what felt like gum but was possibly something worse.
“Why god?” I asked, crossing a busy street, defying a red glowing hand urging me to stop. I didn’t, but rather continued, staring up for an answer, met only with a condescending billboard for expensive cologne. In it, a man—who’s name escaped me, but face seemed familiar—stared down from the clouds as if summoned. A finger from his golden hand traced the stubble on his face, its color refined like strokes of dark ink, but unmatched by the piercing chocolate eyes that followed me along. I scowled, reading the quote hovered above his slicked black hair.
