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I smoothed down the front of my wool skirt and focused on the stack of books on his desk. After several moments, he finally spoke again, “If you do end up having sex with Jonas Crane….”
“I won’t.” I jutted out my chin and moved toward the door.
“You don’t have to,” Gregor said in an even tone. “Just relax and be yourself. You’ll do fine.”
I nodded and started walking again.
“If we land Jonas, you can take my job,” he called out.
I turned back. “Will I need to create a mess of manuscripts in my cubicle?”
He winked at me. “Well, maybe not mine, but I can promise you a promotion.”
I smiled at him and turned away. I didn’t want Gregor’s job, not that he would give the job to someone in my assistant position anyway. Arch Limited wasn’t my dream. I hoped to one day return to cross-cultural studies and transform my mother’s legacy, Perchance to Dream art week, into a professional program throughout the world. Thereby making it a true Salomé Love Legacy in more than a mere title change following their deaths. This dream was what my father would call a “Salomé dream,” bigger than sense, but smaller than our will.
A promotion would bring a raise and more money I could add to funding and expanding the program this year. However, I didn’t want to mention this to Gregor and instead said, “That would be great, Gregor. Thanks.”
“Lily,” Gregor began as his green eyes bore into mine, “you’re my best gamble. You’re smart, hardworking, and truly genuine. I’m happy having you here. You do a great service to our writers, staff, and me.”
My cheeks warmed. “Thanks.”
I made my way back to my desk in a daze. I didn’t normally go out to bars, let alone by myself. In fact, I hadn’t been out in months. But now, I had the greenlight to leave work early and shop for the night out. Yet, as I turned off my computer and disconnected my phone from the USB port, I couldn’t even think of where to start. Sighing, I searched through my phone for my roommate Natasha’s phone number, sending her a quick text. I was as sure as Gregor that she would know what to do.
Hi. Client tonight. Upscale. What should I wear?
After a minute, she texted back,Get your hair and nails done, idiot. Where?
I pursed my lips.Idiot?She couldn’t pass up the opportunity to insult me. I typed out the message,I have no time for your stupid insults,and stopped. If I told her that I was going to the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, she would want to go, but Gregor had instructed me to go alone. I smirked and added,New Jersey, then pressed send.
Although we lived together in a loft in Jersey City, Natasha was a New York City snob and would never entertain the idea of going out for an evening anywhere in New Jersey. This was most evident from the next message I received from her:
Why do you want to go out in Jersey? You’re too short for flats. Wear the designer pumps, skirt, birthday shirt, or black dress. No more replies. I’m out with Ari. Nxx
I glared down at the phone and I sent another one anyway.Don’t throw stones, dimwit. You’re no taller than me.
I closed my phone and huffed. Ari was Natasha’s latest investor. She had been hinting around he might move her out of our loft in Jersey City, but nothing was concrete as of yet. I couldn’t say I’d miss her, but I worried about covering her half of the rent.
My phone displayed 2:30 p.m. I had to hurry if I was going to return to the city and “accidentally on purpose” run into Jonas Crane by nine.And I was just complaining about the cats and no life, I thought as I stuffed my phone and a stack of notes into my purse before grabbing my coat and leaving.
CHAPTER TWO
‡
After two hoursat Blitz Spa and a short trip to the Herald Square Macy’s for an impulse buy—a black, faux wrapped pullover—I stood on the sidewalk and eyed the lingerie shop across the square. Should I? I covered my mouth with my hand and laughed to myself. Me and Jonas Crane? Although Gregor had warned me, I highly doubted Jonas would want under my clothing, and I didn’t have a boyfriend to show off lingerie to. Then again, I imagined Natasha’s snickers if I told her I wore my frugal stock under the black cocktail dress she badgered me into buying a few months ago.
I waited at the light and when it changed, ran quickly across the street to the shop. After being led by a pushy, but friendly salesperson, I splurged on a black push-up bra, to encompass my full breasts. I added high-cut black lace panties to my order, to cover what my ex referred to as my “fat ass,” though I had never thought it particularly stood out from the rest of my body. I had inherited my mother’s hourglass figure, but I did my best to hide that at every turn.
My mind wondered back to Jonas Crane. I had seen some photos of him online. He was handsome, to say the least. However, as my father used to say, “Appearance isn’t everything,” then again anyone I showed interest in he had something negative to say about, as if no one was good enough for me.
Luckily, my mother and I weren’t as close-minded. We believed in things more important than solely discourse, like love, and understanding, kindness, and strength. That’s what I ultimately wanted, along with the fantasy of Prince Charming sweeping me away and caring for me. A husband to settle down with and raise a family. Definitely not modern, but my dream all the same.
I finished my shopping with a stop at a corner shop for a two-for-one pack of sheer black nylons. Even though Arch paid well, I still held on to some of my college budget frugality. After all, I still had dreams to fund.
I caught a glimpse of my hair in the checkout line and thought a visit to the salon might help. I pulled out my phone for an emergency call to Dee Angelo’s on 40th Street. Dee liked me well enough to give me his personal cell phone number. Dee’s salon was popular; not just because of the miracles he worked with hair, but also because he gives his clients so many compliments they leave feeling wonderful about themselves.
Dee was the first person I had met in New York, aside from my ex-fiancé Declan and his friends, and we had developed a friendship over the years. Though we didn’t spend time with each other much outside of the salon, we did manage rare coffee breaks to catch up.
Consequently, I had become Dee’s “little girl in the big bad city.” He took sympathy upon me as I blundered around. I routinely poured out my struggles and woes in life after college with him.
