Come As You Are(21)

The excitement in my chest is out of proportion to what it should be. I know that, but even so, it’s there. It’s real. I feel it.

Angel: I tried to think of a clever and witty and perfect reply. But all I want to say is this—your eyes are beautiful too, and I really want to see you again. Maybe that’s too forward. Maybe in this modern world of dating in New York City, I’m supposed to let you make the first move. But I don’t care because I want to see you again. Which I already said. But it’s the truth. You’re adorable and hot at the same time.



Duke: Same to you, and I want that too. Also, I seriously can’t believe I only met you tonight. I spent all that time with you, and it was the best unexpected date in ages.



Angel: I like that you consider it a date. But please know I don’t do that.



Duke: Date?



Angel: Ha! Lately, the answer to that is no. But I meant sleep with a man I’ve just met. Everything about tonight was entirely new to me. One-night stand, sleeping with a stranger and not knowing his name.



Duke: It’s not going to be a one-night stand, Angel. Also, is it weird that I’m really happy to hear that? Especially because I’ve never done that either.



Angel: Is it weird for me to be really happy to hear that too?



Duke: Can I take you out tomorrow night?



Angel: Why, I thought you’d never ask, Prince Charming. :)



Duke: You always knew I was going to ask, Dirty Cinderella.



Angel: I don’t like to be presumptuous. But all kidding aside, I was hoping you’d make good and fast use of my number. I’ve also been on a high since I left you—not just because of the O, but also the work call that came in. It was something I’ve been hoping to hear about, and I’m really excited to get all the details. But I can be free shortly after my meeting. Meet at six p.m.?



Duke: Let’s do it. Do you have a favorite place?



Angel: Have you ever been to The Dollhouse?



Duke: No, but if it’s your favorite, I’m there. See you tomorrow. Also, I won’t be wearing a mask. Will you be okay with that?



Angel: I have a feeling I’m going to like your face.



Duke: I feel the same way about you. I’ll tell you my name when I see you.



Angel: I’ll tell you mine then too—that way, we won’t be tempted to google each other. I’d rather see your face for real first, rather than in a picture.



Duke: I was going to say the same thing. I couldn’t agree more.



Angel: For now, I picture you like this.





She sends emoticons of a tiger cub and a wolf, and the grin on my face is too wide, the lightness in my chest too much. But I’ll take it because I think I could really like this woman, my Dirty Cinderella, and I want to know more.

As I hold my phone, not wanting to say good night, I decide I better wait for tomorrow to learn any more about her.





10





Sabrina



It’s like a movie scene, when the plucky heroine from the Midwest gawks at the brand-new office building in the city, amazed at its size.

That’s understandable since the high-rise in the heart of pulsing midtown is sky-high. New Yorkers scurry past me on Monday afternoon, barking into phones, lugging messenger bags, and hefting huge purses full of everything anyone could possibly need to do battle during a day in the city.

The afternoon sun shines brightly, reflecting off the brushed black and gold skyscraper. I stare at the towering structure. Not because it’s new to me, but because I’ve always wanted to be a part of what’s inside.

A woman in a sharp gray suit pushes on the gleaming revolving door, her heels click-clacking purposefully across the sidewalk as she vacates the power center. She’s a woman on a mission. Of course, she is, if she works here in this sleek, modern castle, home to legions of media outlets, TV networks, ad agencies, and many other businesses that make the media go round.

When I started as a journalist fresh out of college, I imagined working here someday, writing in-depth features, rich narratives full of color and detail, shining a light on the people behind the Standard Oils and Ford Motor Companies of today—the Googles, the YouTubes, the Apples.

I never craved covering politics or news of the day. No, thank you when it comes to wars, murders, or Washington shenanigans. Business, however, always intrigued me, in part because I have a mind for numbers and a head for strategy, but also because I’ve always believed business is more than a profit-and-loss report. It’s a story. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. And the good ones have twists.

They have zigzags you don’t see coming.

Raising my index finger, I touch my right earlobe then my left. Both are bare today. No triple hoop earrings, nor my kitschy black spider studs either. I’m in the costume of professional reporter Sabrina Granger, with a knee-length black skirt and a short-sleeved white blouse. Two-inch pumps complete the basic, timeless look.

Lois Lane has nothing on me.

I step into a pie section of the door and swish into a lobby with marble floors so polished I swear I can see up my skirt.