Searching for Forever

New York is far from home. Six hours on a plane and two bags of luggage to start. It's for the chance of a life time, something that rarely happens when you're straight out of college. Being offered a job to work for Styles Industries is a hard opportunity to come by. And somehow my name was picked. It's like winning the lottery. A fluke chance. A shot in the dark. But it actually happened and I'm miles from my safe place. Miles that only a phone call can shorten.

Styes Industries is one of the worlds most competitive business for publishing and manufacturing. Its owned by Harry Styles, 23 years old and extremely wealthy. A thousand dollars is like 1 dollar for me. He rarely shows to his co-workers, but they hold genuine respect for him. I haven't ever seen his ppicture, only because I don't focus on faces and todays hottest males. My goals are directed towards my career.

New York is big, many different alleys and streets that lead to nothing neighborhoods. One, happens to be my little street, were a pizza shop holds up my apartment. It's a local restaurant that is busy every hour of every day. The owners are kind enough to give me cheap rent until I can get started.

The fresh spring air is crisp on my bare legs, but relazing asa gentle breeze gushes through my dark hair. I hug my peacoat close to my body as I wait for the taxi I called earlier. Adjusting to the waiting lifestyle is a challenge I'm struggling to accept.

New York holds some of the worlds most beautiful weather, and it's strange to think that I'm standing in a season right now. The trees are dripping with gorgeous colors and foliage that crunches under your feet. A honk disrupts me from my observations and I blink. A bright yellow taxi rolls to a halt. I open the back door and slide in, the smell of cheap food and tobacco block my sents.

"Where to?" His voice is rough, a sound easily destroyed by years of smoking.

"Uh, Styles Industries, please?" I ask, leaning back in the leather seat. I watch out the window as figures mesh together and zoom by. The traffic bottlenecks. I don't really mind it though, because the nerves in my stomach pick up pace, reminding me of the job I'm starting.

Styles Industries is a tall building, that stands over most of the other skyscrapers. In red letters, above all the glass windows and sleek curb appeal, says S.I.P.M. I wring my fingers together on last time an push open the door. I hand the driver 11.50 and walk up to the front of the building.

The windows are sun proof so I can't see in, but when I open the door, a breeze of a/c hits my face. Theres a black reception desk in the middle of the big room, a black set of leather chairs and couches and a large waterfall. Sleek black elevator doors close. I walk across the white marble floor and hit the up arrow.

There are many franchises within S.I.P.M, and I work for the manager of the publishing department as his assistant. Floor 45 takes a few minutes to get to, but when the doors ding open, a man is waiting for me.

He's tall, red hair and a pale complextion, but pleasent looking.

"Miss. Grea? I'm Eric Townsend, the lucky man you'll be woking for." He sticks out a hand for me to shake. I grab it, feelng the smallness of my hand in his.

"Nice to meet you." I say, smiling. Eric shows me to the cubicle across from his glass encased office.

"It's not much, but it'll do the job. Answer phone calls, make appointments, all that good stuff. I nod, setting my messenger bag on the chair.

"All right." I say, squeezing my hands together, blocking the nerves from showing.

"Okay, I'll let you get started. Thank you so much Miss. Grea." Eric places his hand on my shoulder softkye.

"Oh, call me Penelope. And thank you for the job." I say. Eric smiles and turns to go to his office. I sit down, sighing, because the pit in my stomach seems to lift by a fraction.