Status: Active, yesm.
Can You Tell Me It's Beautiful?
Chapter Three.
Carsen.
The minute I left the hotel, I realized that I had royally screwed myself. I'd driven to the club the previous night, and Tom had definitely driven us back to the hotel in his Escalade, leaving my car to sit all night at a New York club. And let's just stop to ponder that for a moment; I actually went home with a guy who drove an Escalade? Me, the girl who uses energy efficient light bulbs and drives an eco-friendly Nissan Skyline. Parker would have a field day with-- Oh God, Parker. She was going to murder me, I can't believe I just up and left her there! And for some random guy...
Of course, in order for Parker to kill me, I'd need to get home somehow. I sighed heavily and walked to the corner, signaling half-heartedly for a cab. I slid into the backseat of a yellow taxicab and slammed the door. "NYU chow hall, please." I said, looking out the window. Where exactly was I and why was this Tom guy staying at the Park Avenue Hotel? There was some serious money involved in even peeing at Park Avenue. He didn't look like he had money; his jeans were huge and his shirts were too baggy... from what I could tell of the ones laying on his floor.
Did I have a one night stand with a rich boy? A wannabe gangster rich boy, at that? How drunk was I last night, good Lord. I mean, my type of guy was usually more clean cut. Collared shirts and fitted jeans, that sort of thing. Not that Tom was ugly; he wasn't. His face was quite nice and his chest wasn't an eyesore either. But still, it was just not my thing. And, under the category of things that weren't me, I still can't believe I actually left with someone. I never do that. Never. Not once. I've slept with one guy my whole life, and that was Kade... until now, I guess. Kade. This was totally his fault. If he wouldn't have shown up with that girl, I would have never--
"MISS!"
I jumped, looking towards the drivers seat in surprise. The man was turned completely around in his seat, staring at me as though he'd been calling me for some time, now. "What?" I snapped, and he nodded out the window. We were stopped just outside the chow hall. "Oh.. sorry. How much?"
"$22.60," He held out his hand. Paying him hurriedly, I climbed out, grabbing my purse and kicking the door shut. He drove off before the door even slammed and I rolled my eyes. Cabbies were always in such a hurry.
"Carsen, there you are!" I turned slightly to find Parker running at me, my gym bag clutched in her hand. "Where the hell have you been? How could you just leave me like that? I've been calling you all night! Did you get laid? Was it good? Oh, your editor called. He wants you to call him back, like, yesterday." I stared at her, my eyebrow raised.
"You really ought to breathe between sentences."
She glared at me, pushing the bag into my hands. It felt oddly heavy and I eyed it curiously. "There's a change of clothes in there and your gym clothes for later. I will meet you at four thirty to leave for the fitness center. Get your ass moving," She grabbed my shoulders and turned me in the direction of the NYU newspaper office, spanking my ass for good measure.
My editor, Wes Noel, was, among other things, very gay. He liked other men like Parker liked alcohol, although to look at him you couldn't tell. He looked like the all american boy, complete with muscles and a charming smile. He was also neurotic and pushy.
"Carsen! Carsen, Carsen, Carsen." Wes jumped me just inside the glass doors of the editorial office. "Lovely Carsen." I pushed passed him, setting down my gym bag.
"You make me nervous when you do that, Wesley." I said tiredly. "What's so urgent?" He followed me around the office as I picked up my things and made a circle back to my cubicle.
"You're being reassigned." I stopped cold and turned to face him, reading the completely casual expression on his face with disbelief.
"Excuse me?"
"You're being moved to the music section. There's a new segment on an up-and-coming band on the next eight issues and I want you to write it." I continued to stared, openmouthed. The music section. The music section? I wrote the environment column, I wrote about things that only a select group of people cared about. I wrote about serious stuff, not about who was prancing about on the stage the best this week.
"I... I don't.... what... you want me to... and the music... why?!" I stammered stupidly. I sighed hard. "That's Brittany's column. What's she gonna do while I'm commandeering her column?" Wes rolled his eyes and flapped his hands all noncommittal-like.
"She'll take over yours."
Queue my heart attack. Brittany was a nice girl but she was... um... about as intelligent as school bus full of newborns. "Wes!" I whined, stomping my foot. I would have protested more but he had his 'don't push me, bitch' face on which meant I wouldn't be getting anywhere but fired if I fussed too much.
"Oh, Wes nothing. You're my best writer and you will do as I say. Here's the file," He shoved an inch thick stack into my hands and pointed to the interview. "Change and get your cute little butt in there. They're waiting." I grumbled under my breath, snatching up my bag and ducking into my cubicle to change quickly. I slipped on the dress and boots that Parker had packed for me and fluffed my hair, glancing at the front of the file.
"Wes!" I called over my shoulder, as I crossed the office and kicked the door to the interview room. "You spelled 'Tokyo' wrong." But when the door clicked behind me, it wasn't Wes who answered.
"That's how it's spelled in Germany." A familiar male voice said, a palpable accent ringing clear. My stomach dropped and I looked up, fearing what I knew to be true. That Tom guy grinned at me, his eyes running the length of me.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
The minute I left the hotel, I realized that I had royally screwed myself. I'd driven to the club the previous night, and Tom had definitely driven us back to the hotel in his Escalade, leaving my car to sit all night at a New York club. And let's just stop to ponder that for a moment; I actually went home with a guy who drove an Escalade? Me, the girl who uses energy efficient light bulbs and drives an eco-friendly Nissan Skyline. Parker would have a field day with-- Oh God, Parker. She was going to murder me, I can't believe I just up and left her there! And for some random guy...
Of course, in order for Parker to kill me, I'd need to get home somehow. I sighed heavily and walked to the corner, signaling half-heartedly for a cab. I slid into the backseat of a yellow taxicab and slammed the door. "NYU chow hall, please." I said, looking out the window. Where exactly was I and why was this Tom guy staying at the Park Avenue Hotel? There was some serious money involved in even peeing at Park Avenue. He didn't look like he had money; his jeans were huge and his shirts were too baggy... from what I could tell of the ones laying on his floor.
Did I have a one night stand with a rich boy? A wannabe gangster rich boy, at that? How drunk was I last night, good Lord. I mean, my type of guy was usually more clean cut. Collared shirts and fitted jeans, that sort of thing. Not that Tom was ugly; he wasn't. His face was quite nice and his chest wasn't an eyesore either. But still, it was just not my thing. And, under the category of things that weren't me, I still can't believe I actually left with someone. I never do that. Never. Not once. I've slept with one guy my whole life, and that was Kade... until now, I guess. Kade. This was totally his fault. If he wouldn't have shown up with that girl, I would have never--
"MISS!"
I jumped, looking towards the drivers seat in surprise. The man was turned completely around in his seat, staring at me as though he'd been calling me for some time, now. "What?" I snapped, and he nodded out the window. We were stopped just outside the chow hall. "Oh.. sorry. How much?"
"$22.60," He held out his hand. Paying him hurriedly, I climbed out, grabbing my purse and kicking the door shut. He drove off before the door even slammed and I rolled my eyes. Cabbies were always in such a hurry.
"Carsen, there you are!" I turned slightly to find Parker running at me, my gym bag clutched in her hand. "Where the hell have you been? How could you just leave me like that? I've been calling you all night! Did you get laid? Was it good? Oh, your editor called. He wants you to call him back, like, yesterday." I stared at her, my eyebrow raised.
"You really ought to breathe between sentences."
She glared at me, pushing the bag into my hands. It felt oddly heavy and I eyed it curiously. "There's a change of clothes in there and your gym clothes for later. I will meet you at four thirty to leave for the fitness center. Get your ass moving," She grabbed my shoulders and turned me in the direction of the NYU newspaper office, spanking my ass for good measure.
My editor, Wes Noel, was, among other things, very gay. He liked other men like Parker liked alcohol, although to look at him you couldn't tell. He looked like the all american boy, complete with muscles and a charming smile. He was also neurotic and pushy.
"Carsen! Carsen, Carsen, Carsen." Wes jumped me just inside the glass doors of the editorial office. "Lovely Carsen." I pushed passed him, setting down my gym bag.
"You make me nervous when you do that, Wesley." I said tiredly. "What's so urgent?" He followed me around the office as I picked up my things and made a circle back to my cubicle.
"You're being reassigned." I stopped cold and turned to face him, reading the completely casual expression on his face with disbelief.
"Excuse me?"
"You're being moved to the music section. There's a new segment on an up-and-coming band on the next eight issues and I want you to write it." I continued to stared, openmouthed. The music section. The music section? I wrote the environment column, I wrote about things that only a select group of people cared about. I wrote about serious stuff, not about who was prancing about on the stage the best this week.
"I... I don't.... what... you want me to... and the music... why?!" I stammered stupidly. I sighed hard. "That's Brittany's column. What's she gonna do while I'm commandeering her column?" Wes rolled his eyes and flapped his hands all noncommittal-like.
"She'll take over yours."
Queue my heart attack. Brittany was a nice girl but she was... um... about as intelligent as school bus full of newborns. "Wes!" I whined, stomping my foot. I would have protested more but he had his 'don't push me, bitch' face on which meant I wouldn't be getting anywhere but fired if I fussed too much.
"Oh, Wes nothing. You're my best writer and you will do as I say. Here's the file," He shoved an inch thick stack into my hands and pointed to the interview. "Change and get your cute little butt in there. They're waiting." I grumbled under my breath, snatching up my bag and ducking into my cubicle to change quickly. I slipped on the dress and boots that Parker had packed for me and fluffed my hair, glancing at the front of the file.
"Wes!" I called over my shoulder, as I crossed the office and kicked the door to the interview room. "You spelled 'Tokyo' wrong." But when the door clicked behind me, it wasn't Wes who answered.
"That's how it's spelled in Germany." A familiar male voice said, a palpable accent ringing clear. My stomach dropped and I looked up, fearing what I knew to be true. That Tom guy grinned at me, his eyes running the length of me.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
