I unlock it, step inside, and I’m caught up in the spacious room that greets me. My apartment in London has nothing on this. The living room is minimally furnished, all clean lines and modern touches of glass and silver.
There’s not much in the room besides two large sofas, a glass coffee table, and a black shag carpet.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer up a million-dollar view of the city below, and the sleek curtains that hang on either side of the panes are glinting in the low lights.
“Thank you, sir,” the bell boy says, causing me to turn around. I pull out my wallet and hand him a hundred, to which he grins like a happy fool. Once I’m alone, I head for the kitchen, pulling open the sleek, silver fridge to find it stocked with juice, bottles of wine, beer, and fresh fruit and vegetables. When they asked me what I’d like in the house, I offered up a small list, and it seems that the agency took note of my demands.
I pull out a beer and twist the cap, taking a long swig of the cool liquid before I head deeper into the apartment. The hallway leads down to the back of the residence, where I find two bedrooms. One is smaller than the other, so I make my way into the bigger one, which is mine.
The California King bed sits against a black accent wall with dark gray bedding and white pillows. The soft carpet underfoot is a muted shade of charcoal, and the windows are also floor-to-ceiling, gifting me a view of Central Park.
New York is a city of dreams. The last time I was here, I only spent time at the Hilton, where I was chauffeured back and forth to the shoots I was booked for. It was a whirlwind two weeks where I didn’t get to tour the city. Now, I’m here for much longer, and I intend to explore more of the Big Apple.
I take another gulp of beer before I head into the bathroom. The room is strikingly decorated, with dark accent tiles, a spa tub and a two-person shower. Not bad. Not bad at all.
The agency has outdone itself. I can’t wait to see what other delights they have planned. But before all that, I need to sleep. Then I can focus on painting the town bright fucking blue. A colour which reminds me of sunny skies and summer days.
2
Violet
I spent my life reading magazines. I’ve also spent most of my teenage years reading advice columns. I’m addicted to them. I love to know that someone is going through the same heartache, the same drama that I am.
The cold is unbearable this morning as I rush into the building to try to stay warm. Working for one of the most prestigious women’s magazines in the country has been a dream come true, and I don’t want to mess this up. Being late is one of my boss’s pet peeves, but I make it to my desk just in time.
“Violet,” she calls to me the moment I drop my purse on the desk. “Get in here now. We have a meeting in an hour, and I need to get up to speed on the latest and greatest in the modeling world.”
She does this frequently, talking to me when I’m at my desk. Grabbing a notepad and pen, I rush into her office and shut the door. I settle in one of the bright pink wingback chairs perched opposite her throne and smile.
“Good morning, Clarissa,” I greet. “Which meeting is coming up? I didn’t see it on the schedule this morning.”
“I just got a call from Silverton Modeling Agency. They’ve brought in some hot model to launch a brand-new men’s underwear line, and we’re meeting with them to talk about the event. Apparently, some well-known club is hosting it. Since you’re interested in learning the ins and outs of becoming a journalist perhaps, you’d like to handle this one. It focuses more on the nightlife in the city, but I figured you could start there.”
“Oh,” I mumble. “Thank you.” I’m not the biggest party animal, but I can make an exception for my job.
“If you can get this article written by Monday morning before we go to print, I’ll think about giving you a promotion.” To the point. I knew this was coming, and my heart thuds happily in my chest at the thought of some extra money.
“Which club is it? When is the party?”
She sits back, sighing as she clicks on her keyboard, and then reads from the screen, “Lush is holding one of the biggest parties this city has ever seen. Step into the exotic and take a plunge into the forbidden with Brazen Briefs. This new line will be launched by the hottest face in men’s fashion, Colton King.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” I admit, and it’s true. I know most of the names in the tabloids, but Colton King hasn’t shown up anywhere.
“He’s from Britain,” she explains. “The party is on Saturday night, which is the day after tomorrow. From nine till late.” She pins me with a stare that jolts my heart. “Be there, make friends with this Colton, and ensure we have his first interview locked in before anyone can grab him.”
That should be easy enough, I think sarcastically. She knows for a fact that there will be at least twenty other magazines who are vying for the attention of this guy, and I have to fight them all off.
“If you want this job, Violet, you’ll make it happen,” she informs me, and I know she’s right. I’ve wanted to be a journalist since I was a child, following the articles and columns of everyone I could. I fell in love with the written word from a young age. Now it’s my time to make the leap from assistant to a journalist, and even one day, I’ll make it to the head of the editorial department.
“I will.”
She sends me on my way, telling me to make sure I’m ready to meet with the agent this afternoon. At my desk, I open my browser and type in the name Colton King.
Time to do some research.
When the lunchtime meeting rolls around, my mind is filled with images of Colton. Yes, he’s handsome, breathtakingly so. Still, I’ve also read enough about him to know he’s nothing more than a player who enjoys his bachelorhood far too much.
The moment I step into the room, I’m met with a woman who looks like she runs the world. Dressed all in black, her pantsuit fits her like a glove. She has a pastel-pink blouse underneath the fitted jacket, and her jet-black hair is sleek, ending just under her angular chin.
She looks like she should be on a runway, not helping others get their time in the spotlight.
“Violet, this is Blythe. She’ll be introducing you to Colton on Saturday night, and I’ve asked her to keep us in mind for the interview. Exclusively.” I can hear the underlying hint in Clarissa’s tone as she says this.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
Blythe smiles at me. It’s not a friendly one, and she doesn’t seem overly excited to have to babysit me. The annoyance in her expression is evidence of that, but what she doesn’t know is that I’m a grown woman. I don’t need her to help me do my job.
“Yes,” she agrees, then settles on the chair, picking up a small espresso cup and sipping the sludge I know fills it.
“Well,” Clarissa begins, “I’d like to find out what you’d like us to do since you’ll have other media in attendance.” She meets Blythe’s cool stare before sitting back in an attempt to appear calm; however, she’s anything but.
“You’re one of the most reputable fashion magazines in the country,” Blythe starts. “For this line to work, we need your name behind us. I’m not going to lie; this wasn’t my first choice, but since we’ve worked together before on a few articles, I’m sure you can handle the task at hand. I want a journalist and photographer on Colton at all times during the party.”