Conflicting Desires

Chapter Two

I push my chair back and stand, my eyes widening as I lay them on the woman I had encountered this morning. I can feel the air around us become still as our eyes connect. She stands tall, a good 5'8, in a nude suit and a crisp white shirt. She's holding a small black bag with her coat hanging on her arm. Just by her presence, I can sense the immense confidence she exudes.

I wonder how I look in her eyes. I mean, I am nothing special. I stand at 5'3 wearing the ugliest pantsuit–thank God the desk covers most of it-, and a white silk shirt tucked in. My hair is an earthy mix of brown and gold, and I'm sure I look like I just stepped out of the jungle. The freckles scattered on my face only add to the wildness of my look.

In a seesaw movement, our eyes lock again.

She must be a model for one of our brands' campaigns. She must have lost her way.

"Uh, hey-" I manage to say, but I get interrupted by Joey from HR.

The short bald man walks in and gestures to the door to the right where Mr. Briggs' office is located. "Here's your office," he then turns to me, "and this is your assistant, Audrey."

Wait, she's the new Chief Operating Officer and my boss?

With a spark of interest in her eyes, "Audrey," she repeats. My name said in her mellifluous voice, sending a shiver through my entire body. Her sound lingers, in the air, in my ears, and in my spine.

"She is-"

She cuts him off. "Thank you very much..." She pauses, trying to recall his name.

"Joey,"

"Joey," she smiles, "Tell Mr. Bailey, I will be in his office shortly."

He nods, "Okay, I will."

She takes a step to the side, giving him space to leave. The room falls silent as the door closes.

Shit! I am her new assistant and she saw me having a mental breakdown in the dirty streets of New York. She probably thinks I am clumsy and getting coffee is my primary job.

I am screwed.

"I swear I am not crazy. I just had a rough morning. I assure you it's not going to be a constant. I don't go around crying over spilled coffee. And speaking about coffee, I am not clumsy and..." I ramble.

She takes several steps forward. With a mischievous smile playing on her lips, "I am Scarlett." She says.

~~~

I fucking hate this city. I hate the subway and I hate my life. Tripp and I moved from LA to New York almost three years ago and I feel more lost than I was in LA. While we were in LA, we slept in Jason's–Tim's brother- garage for a year and a half while Tripp tried to get his musical career started.

I worked in a cute little bookstore under the nicest boss, Mr. Whitely. He always urged me to paint. But I never seemed to be able to. I was around so much inspiration daily but I never put my brush down to paint. But it felt safe and although it wasn't much money, it's what got us started in New York.

The decision to move to New York was abrupt. Tripp had come home drunk that night, gloomy and frustrated. "Things aren't working for me here." He said to me with his head down in defeat. I knelt down and held his head up, looked him in the eyes, and whispered to him, "Then let's go where it will work."