Stuck-Up Suit(3)

While Ida’s advice was always sensitive and politically correct, my take on things tended to be more to the point, basically cutting out the bullshit. As a result, she never actually published my responses. Occasionally, I couldn’t resist taking it upon myself to answer some of the questions that didn’t make the cut—the ones that would have ended up in the trash bin anyway. Some of these people really needed a clue, and I felt it was a disservice to ignore their pleas for help.



I just recently discovered that my husband has a porn stash. What do I do? –Trisha, Queens



Score! Invest in a good vibrator. Make sure you put everything back the way it was after you get your rocks off while he’s at work.



I got drunk at a party and kissed my best friend’s boyfriend. Now I can’t stop thinking about him. I feel horrible but think I might be falling for him now. Any words of wisdom? –Dana, Long Island



Yes. You’re a cunt. C you next Tuesday, Dana!



My boyfriend recently asked me to marry him. I said yes. He’s the sweetest, kindest man I’ve ever known. Problem is, the diamond he gave me was smaller than I hoped for. I don’t really want to hurt his feelings. I need to know a polite way to express my disappointment. –Lori, Manhattan



God has the same dilemma when it comes to you, sweetheart. P.S. When your fiancé dumps your selfish ass, give him my number.



Answering a few emails in an honest and forthright way always seemed to give me the energy I needed to jumpstart my day. The morning went by quickly. By noontime, Mr. Big Prick’s phone was now fully charged, so I took it with me into the break room. I had ordered Thai food in for both of us.

After we finished lunch, Ida left the room, giving me about ten minutes of privacy to sift through the phone. Luckily, it wasn’t password protected. First stop: photos. There weren’t many of them, and if I thought I was going to be able to collect clues as to who this guy was based on the pictures in his library, I had another thing coming. The first photo was of a small, fluffy, white dog. Looked like a terrier of some kind. The next photo was of a woman’s bare tits with a champagne bottle planted in the middle. They were pale, perfectly round and totally fake. Yuck. Then there were more photos of the little dog followed by a picture taken of a group of elderly women who looked like they were in a Jazzercise class. What the hell? I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The last photo was a selfie of him and an old lady. He was dressed more casual, his hair a little mussed, and was actually smiling. He looked so incredibly handsome in that shot. It was hard to believe that this was the same stuck-up guy in a suit from the train, but the gorgeous face confirmed it was him.

Five more minutes until I had to return to my desk. There was no email account linked to the phone, so I opened his contacts instead and decided to call the very first name on the list: Avery.

***

“WELL, WELL. GRAHAM MORGAN. It’s been a long time. What happened? Have you run through the entire alphabet so soon and now you’re starting back at the beginning again? You remember I wasn’t one of your playthings, right?” I heard the blare of a horn and traffic in the background, followed by a car door slamming that muffled the city sounds. “To the Langston building. And don’t take the park. The cherry blossoms are in bloom, and I don’t need puffy skin before my meeting.” She finished barking at the driver and remembered the phone. “So, what is it, Graham?”

“Umm. Hi. It’s not Graham, actually. My name is Soraya.”

“Sor –what?”

“Sore-ah-yuh. It’s Persian for princess. Although I’m not Persian. My father just thought—”

“Whatever your name is, tell me what you want and why you are taking up my valuable time. And why are you calling me from Graham Morgan’s phone?”

Graham Morgan. Even the damn name was sexy. It figured.

“Actually, I found this phone on the train. I’m pretty sure it belongs to a man I saw this morning. Late twenties, maybe? Slicked back dark hair, kind of long for a suit-type, curled up at the collar. He was wearing a navy pinstripe suit. Had on a big watch.”

“Gorgeous, arrogant and pissed off?”

I chuckled a little. “Yes, that’s him.”

“His name is Graham Morgan, and I know just where you should bring the phone.”

I fished a pen from my purse. “Okay.”

“Are you anywhere near the 1 train?”

“I’m not too far.”

“Okay. Well, hop on the 1 and take that all the way downtown. Pass Rector Street and get off at the South Ferry Terminal.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

“Once you’re off. Take a right on Whitehall and then a left on South Street.”

I knew the area and tried to visualize the buildings around there. It was a pretty commercial neighborhood. “Won’t that take me to the East River?”

“Exactly. Toss that *’s phone in, and forget you ever saw the man.”

The phone line went dead. Well, that was interesting.





CHAPTER 2


SORAYA



I HAD PLANNED TO GIVE the phone back this morning.

No, really. I did.

Then again, I also planned to finish college. And travel the world. Unfortunately, the furthest I’d ventured out of the city over the last year was when my uneducated ass accidentally fell asleep on the Path train and ended up in Hoboken.