I try to get up, but my body and my mind are at war with each other. If Blythe walks in here now, I’ll be sent to the slaughterhouse. She warned me to be careful, but I’ve never had a careful bone in my body.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and another groan rumbles in my chest. The floor is strewn with clothes. I don’t know whose they are, because mine is on the chair, but I take note of not one, but three pairs of panties on the carpet, all different colors. Shit.
Giggles finally break through my hangover fog, and the bathroom door opens to the three ladies I met last night. They’re all still in their outfits from the party.
“Hey, you’re awake,” the blonde one states. I don’t know her name—at least, I can’t remember it. But I watch her pick up the pink pair and slip them up her thighs. “We’re all heading out for breakfast at Harold’s,” she announces. “Are you coming?”
Shaking my head, then stilling all movement because I feel like shit, I respond, “No thanks. I’m not the breakfast type.”
I can feel her disappointment. She rushes toward me and plants a kiss on my cheek before setting a card down on the nightstand, which I don’t bother looking at.
“Call me.”
And soon, I’m alone in my room with no more giggling and squeaky voices. I take a long, deep breath and focus on the thumping headache playing a heavy drumbeat in my head.
Pushing off the bed, I grab the landline and dial for room service. I told her I’m not the breakfast type, but I didn’t feel like the needy morning-after conversations that usually comes from women like them.
They want to be seen with me. It’s the same back home. And that’s not something I need or want right now. Perhaps Simon is right. It’s time to change my lifestyle.
But that will mean settling down. Finding a woman that I’m worthy of, and that’s never been who I am. Can I even do that? Have one woman for the rest of my life?
I chuckle and shake my head as I make my way to the bathroom and focus on getting rid of this fucking hangover before I meet Blythe for lunch.
4
Violet
From the moment I step into the salon to the second I walk out, I feel the nerves ebb and flow through me. I shouldn’t be this wound up. It’s my job, something I’ve wanted all my life, but the thought of being around Manhattan’s elite just for a story makes my stomach twist in knots.
The dress Blythe promised arrived this morning. When I opened the zipper on the bag, I almost fainted.
She expects me to wear something that has less material than a goddamned bikini. Well, okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. But there isn’t much to the garment, and the soft, pastel blue of the silk is not a color I would’ve chosen.
When the stylist asks what I want to be done to my hair, I tell him to go wild. And that’s what he does. After asking me a myriad of questions, he opts for a raven color, then feathers the layers to surround my face and drops in a few electric-blue highlights through the dark strands.
They’re not noticeable, but the moment I step into the sun, they’re almost luminous. It’s not something I would’ve chosen, but it works. And I know it will look great with the dress.
My nails are painted blue along with my toes, which will be visible in the strappy sandals I've picked out for tonight. I have two hours to get home, try to eat something, and then get ready.
I didn't eat breakfast because it felt as if a flurry of butterflies came alive in my stomach attacking me with a vengeance. The last time I was this nervous was the day I went for my interview with Clarissa.
And of course, that went well. So, there’s no reason this should be any different.
By the time I reach home, I’m thinking about taking a long nap, but I know that will be a mistake, so I open my laptop and open my favorite website.
"Ask Ida."
I open the contact page and type out my message.
Dear Ida,
I have a very important event this evening. One that could change my career. But the nerves that have hold of me make me feel like I’m on a roller coaster, and I cannot get off.
You know the feeling? Like you can’t eat or sleep, or even thinking of anything else? Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m suffering through at the moment. My first thought was, I should get some Dutch courage in me, but I haven’t had a thing to eat, and that may be detrimental to my evening.
What would you do?
Crazy in Brooklyn