Because who doesn’t love seeing man candy nose deep in a book?
My ogle time came to an end as I jumped off at my stop. Brooks Media headquarters was located on the prestigious Fifth Avenue, smack dab in the center of Midtown. This part of Manhattan was the central business district of the city—hell, even the country. Name a successful business, and it was probably located here. And lucky for me, my apartment in Chelsea was only a ten-to-fifteen-minute subway ride away.
Doesn’t explain why I’m running twenty minutes late.
Following the hustle and bustle of sidewalk traffic, I maneuvered past as many map-reading tourists as possible. Street vendors littered the sidewalks. A guy on a bike missed getting hit by mere inches, elegantly flipping the driver off over his shoulder.
It was a weekday in New York, and it was fucking beautiful.
I loved my city. I loved the ebb and flow of its many eccentricities. Heels click-clacked against concrete, headed for Fifth Avenue’s upscale boutiques. Loafers tip-tapped their way toward the Financial District. Taxis honked. Delivery trucks unloaded their goodies with clashing bangs and swift maneuvers. It was the New York song and dance. Everyone was on a mission to start their day. And nothing would stop them.
I strode into the Winthrop building, the spacious lobby greeting me with its gorgeous marble pillars and floor-to-ceiling windows. It was breathtaking. The office space was just as exquisite—wide hallways, natural stone floors, and the perfect amount of light coming in through large windows and skylights. Brooks Media had definitely shelled out some cash for this prime piece of real estate. By all accounts, it was stunning.
“Morning, Paul. Morning, Brian,” I greeted the front desk security guards.
“Well, hey there, pretty lady.” Paul smiled. “I see someone is still having issues with getting here bright and early.”
“Oh, shut it, Paul. Not all of us can look as good as you without a little work in the morning.” I grinned and batted my eyelashes.
Brian laughed. “She’s got your number, dude.”
“I wish she had my number,” Paul interjected. “C’mon, Georgia, let me take you out to dinner.”
“We’ve been going through the same conversation at least once a week for the past two years, Paul. My answer isn’t going to change,” I called over my shoulder as I made my way to the elevator.
“It will change!” he yelled. “One day, it will change!”
The elevator pinged and I stepped on, giving Paul a little wave before the doors shut.
He was an adorable guy: mid-forties, hard-working, and sweeter than honey. But I didn’t mix business with pleasure. And Paul from security wasn’t my kind of guy. One day, though, he’d meet the right kind of lady who’d wash his socks and make him beer-cheese dip for Monday Night Football. He needed a woman who was just as good in the kitchen as she was in the bedroom. I could sixty-nine with the best of ’em, but I was useless when it came to home-cooked meals. Talented chef would never be on my résumé. My oven was better used for storing shoes.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in. Fashionably late today, Georgie?” Dean winked, passing me in the hallway.
Shit. My late arrivals were starting to mimic the walk of shame. I seriously needed to get my shit together.
“I was only trying to impress you with my new A-line skirt,” I called over my shoulder, sashaying my hips a little. “Vintage. Vera Wang. How ’bout them apples, cupcake?” Should I have mentioned I found the skirt at a secondhand shop in SoHo? Designer digs were great, but I refused to pay designer prices.
“Someone is fierce this morning. Go on with your bad self, little diva,” he teased, snapping his fingers. Dean was one of my favorite people in the office: hilarious, flamboyantly gay, and smart as a whip. What more could a girl ask for?
He turned in my direction, stopping in his tracks. “Lunch today?”
I paused at the entry to my office. “I’d kill for a chicken salad sandwich from the deli across the street.”
Dean grinned. “No homicide needed. We’ll grab it to go.”
“Let’s eat there. My office, quarter till one?”
He blew me a kiss. “It’s a date, lover.”
Another day, another dollar, yadda yadda yadda. My mantra, even though I would have preferred staying wrapped up in my comforter and sleeping until noon. Some days, adulting was too much responsibility. Get up for work. Brush your hair. Pay bills. It was an endless list of too many things and not enough time. The struggle was real, my friends.
But rent in Chelsea wasn’t a Sunday picnic in Central Park. A two-bedroom space with an elevator and doorman was pricey. Bottom line, I had to adult. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
I settled into my day, checking emails and making follow-up calls to a few marketing prospects. The TapNext app had skyrocketed in success over the past year. I’d developed an ad campaign that had brought in several companies wanting to advertise within the windows of our app. And these scrollbar ads had become quite lucrative for the company. Businesses not only paid us a nice advertising fee, but they also agreed to some form of promotion for Brooks Media. We scratched their backs, and they gave us a full body massage. Although I was no use in the kitchen, I was very persuasive in a boardroom.
“Knock, knock,” Leslie announced her arrival. Her curvy frame swayed into my office, seemingly aloof to the fact I was in the middle of a conference call with Sure Romance.
“Uh, Georgia, like, there’s birthday cards you need to sign for people in the office,” she continued, tossing the greeting cards onto my desk. They spilled over my laptop, stopping my busy fingers from making much-needed progress on the current contract I was discussing.
I held up a finger, pointing to the Bluetooth in my ear.
“Georgia? Hellooooo, Georgia?” she repeated, tapping the toe of her stiletto in six quick, impatient movements.
Leslie was a horrible nightmare of ditzy responses, poor time management skills, and cleavage-revealing tops. And she was new to the company. But for fuck’s sake, how hard was it to see that I was currently in the middle of something?
“I’m so sorry, can you hold on for just a second?” I politely asked Martin, Sure Romance’s Director of Marketing.
“You know what, Georgia? I’ve got about three minutes to get to another meeting. How about you make the changes in the contract and send them over to legal? Let’s shoot for another call on Friday to review everything and find a middle ground we can both be happy with.”
Goddammit. This, my friends, was a perfect example of how to lose valuable footing in a business deal.
“Sure thing, Martin. And since Mr. Brooks wants to be on that call Friday, let’s plan on it being a video chat.” My boss knew nothing about that call. But this was me calling Martin’s bluff. My persuasion skills were top notch, but there was a reason Kline Brooks was President and CEO of his own company. The man could talk an Eskimo into buying ice.
“Oh, okay.” Martin cleared his throat. “In the meantime, I’ll try to get legal to review everything over the next twenty-four hours. The sooner we can sign off on this deal, the better.”
Translation: I’d like to avoid a video chat with your boss.
“Perfect. I look forward to hearing from you.” I ended the call and used all of my strength to plaster a neutral smile on my face as I looked up at Leslie.