Once Upon A Time(21)

“You touch my Louboutins and I'll throw away your chocolate spread!” she hollered as I stepped out of the door. “Including your secret stash that you hide under your bed!”

I stopped mid-stride.

“How do you know about my secret stash?”

“Meeting, Pay. Go!” She laughed.

The child in me bubbled to the surface and I stuck my tongue out at my best friend before stepping out into the July heat. Great. It was hot and I had six-inch Louboutins on. A hot bath and Band-Aids were going to be my best friend for at least three days.

I pulled out my cell and fired a text over to Kylie.

Me: I don’t like you very much right now.

She replied instantly. It’s as if she could read my mind.

Kylie: Two words: Chocolate. Spread.

Oh, when she was good, she was really good.

Me: I hate you.

Kylie: I know, I hate you too. Don’t scuff the shoes. I’ll get stabby.

I shook my head. Spotting a cab, I flagged it down with a flick of my wrist. Huh. That’s never happened before. It’s probably the shoes. Shrugging, I slid into the cab.

“Where to, ma’am?” the cab driver asked.

“23rd and Madison.” I pulled a twenty out of my wallet and held it up high enough for the cabbie to see in his rear view mirror. “Get me there in twenty and I'll double it.”

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said a little too enthusiastically as he stepped on the gas.

I was quickly flown back in my seat as he negotiated the hustle and bustle of busy downtown Manhattan. Fuck me.

I’m going to die in this cab.

I’m going to die in this cab where there’s no doubt some unnecessary bodily fluids.

I’m going to die before my once in a lifetime meeting.

“I said get me there in twenty minutes, not twenty pieces,” I grumbled as I held on to the moist seat for dear life. Cringe.

We got to my destination in fifteen minutes. I was surprised I was still alive after the way we nearly sideswiped another cab two blocks back. Fucking New York. I stepped out of the cab and my knees nearly buckled from the change in speed. Whoa.

“Thanks.” I threw two twenties through the open window, watching as the driver stuffed them into his pocket and drove away slowly. “For nearly killing me,” I muttered.

My near-death experience was quickly forgotten the minute I turned around and took in the building of Black Enterprises. It was freaking huge. I counted at least twenty-five floors as I stared up at in awe. Such a touristy thing to do, I know.

The building was beautiful. The entire structure was encased in frosted black glass and metal, wrapping around every floor of the building. My gaze lowered and locked onto the giant Black Enterprises logo that rested above the double revolving doors: it was bold with a chunky style font, off-setting against the elegant flourish beneath the words Black Enterprises.

I sucked in a deep breath and mustered some confidence as I walked towards the main entrance, nearly stumbling in the damn heels as I did so. After I stepped through the revolving door, I went through a quick security check, then was quickly on my way to the main reception desk in the foyer.

“Welcome to Black Enterprises, ma’am. How can I help you?” a cheery, well-made up woman greeted.

“Thank you. I have a meeting with Mr. Black at ten-thirty.”

I hid a chuckle that hit the back of my throat the moment I saw her assessing me. It was infuriating and to be honest, I wouldn't mind high-fiving her face as she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the snarl that appeared.

“Twenty-third floor,” she mumbled with a wave of her hand, going back to… whatever the hell she was doing before I arrived. Probably checking Facebook.

Bitch.

“Thanks! Have a wonderful day.” I smiled sweetly, hitching my purse higher on my shoulder as I made my way to the other end of the foyer to the elevators.

I pressed the button and waited. My right foot started tapping against the marble flooring of its own accord. I was nervous. No, I was fucking petrified. If I didn't get this meeting right, there’s no hope for me moving up the PR ladder. Blue Stone PR is the place to be, it’s the job every woman wants who lives and breathes PR. If you do well, you move up. It’s as simple as that. Organize just one amazing event and you could potentially be working on the next red carpet account. Well, that’s how it’s supposed to work, but who knew with Shrek breathing down my neck every five seconds.

I wanted this client. No, I needed it. And I would stop at nothing to get to the top – that included pompous receptionists who didn't know their head from their ass.

The elevator pinged, pulling me out of my thoughts as I stepped inside the surprisingly large space. The entire building must be worth somewhere in the millions, each and every detail mapped out for a particular purpose. Pressing the button for the twenty-third floor, I tried to calm the nerves that were quickly overcoming my stomach.