The cold air blew heavily as it quickly prance around New York on a Friday afternoon. The streets were crowded with people from all walks of life. Cars jammed every inch of the road, congested with traffic. People in their cars were screaming loudly for other cars to "get moving". Continuous and annoying honking sang the worst melody I have ever heard in my life. Everyone was in a rush to arrive at their destination and start their weekend early. Who could blame them?
Pushing and squeezing my way through the dense crowd, I stand on my tip toes, scanning the area in an attempt to not pass the street I am looking for. I feel the cold breeze around me as it seeps through my flimsy coat. Shivering, I let out a loud huff annoyed at the thought of being late. I seriously need this job. Without warning, the newspaper I thought I held securely in my hands falls to the ground from a gust of wind. I was on the edge of frustration and close to screaming out.
Checking my watch, I say a silent prayer of thanks as I am very grateful that I left earlier than I had intended. Bending down, I scan through the loose newspapers and try my best to locate the one with the ad for Western Catering Company. The catering company is looking for people for an event tonight.
Glancing over the newspapers again, I finally find the one I am looking for. With a huge smile plastered on my face, I picked it up quickly before it was able to get away from me again.
"Fifth Avenue." I read the address out loud.
Quickening my pace, I turned the corner and stopped until I find the street name. Letting out a deep breath, I garnered the little confidence I had left and walk towards the large fifteen-story building. My life literally depends on this job. However, this is not new to me. I have served at many rich people events. They pay well, but don't come around too often.
Hesitantly, I pulled the stainless and glass door open and walked inside the building. Scanning my surroundings, everything screamed money. It was simple but elegant. Marble tiles covered the floor as cream colored paint was perfectly coated the walls. A few dull pictures with metal frames are dotted scarcely on the walls. Black couches were positioned like a real living room to my left and straight ahead was a long, curved black counter where a male receptionist was typing away on an Apple computer.
Straightening my outfit, I walk slowly, hoping the man doesn’t notice me. However, I suddenly wince at the pain that shoots across my foot caused from my undersized shoes. This morning I had to force my feet in them. That is one of the reasons I need this job. I need a roof over my head and a new wardrobe desperately.
Walking towards the elevator, I am stopped by the man. "Ma'am, can I help you?"
"Hi, I am here for the job with Western Catering Company," I say, hoping he is not going make this harder than need be. I grab the newspaper advertisement out of my bag.
"Oh...For Miss Lincoln," he said, finally understanding. "You have to take the service elevator," he says while pointing toward a narrow hallway.
"Just over there?" I ask.
"Yes, keep going straight and then turn left. You'll see it."
"Thank you." With that, I follow his directions.
When the elevator opened on the fifteen floor, I take a moment to look around this obviously pricey loft. Fully awake now I straightened my attire and looked around the room I was in. The walls were covered with light gray paint and the ceiling had one large swirl engraved in it. In the middle of the large foyer was an expensive diamond-looking chandelier that hung from the ceiling. The long wall that faced the beautiful city was made from glass. Through the glass, I saw that the day was soon turning into night. It was a breathtaking view. This apartment was to die for.
Soon a deep masculine voice got my attention and I looked away from the chandelier to see a man standing a few feet from me. "What are you doing in here? Come on, there is far too much work to be standing around," he said, taking my hand, which made me a little apprehensive.
"Hmm. Yeah sorry, I just..."
"No time for explanations, come on there is a lot to be done. Now, go check the bar and ensure we are fully stocked," he tells me, looking towards the bar. I stayed still, confused. "Did you not hear what I said?"
Blinking I finally nod my head. "Check the bar to make sure it's fully stocked."
"Good, now get to it." Pushing past me, he makes his way to the kitchen.
~.~.~.~
Rubbing my palms down my worn out black jeans, I briefly closed my eyes and swayed to the beat of the music as I stand in front of the bar. Slowly placing the empty cups down, I lean on the counter. I’m completely worn out. I was so goddamn tired and weak. I had been on my feet running around for these snobby people without resting at all. But the best part of this job, besides the fact it was fast cash, was the food. The employees are allowed to take home any leftovers and to guess from the amount of food coming from the kitchen, it will be sufficient to feed Jacob and me for the next two days.
I hate rich people; always doing everything in excess as if to make a statement to all of their friends, "Look at me, I can spend more money than you". There is no way the amount of people invited to this party justified the ridiculous amount of food and booze. I shrug. The expensive salmon and tasteless little appetizers were too fancy for my palate, but at least I will eat today.
A wave of sadness overwhelms me and then the guilt. I have no business feeling this way. Jacob, my brother, although not by blood but in every other way, is standing at the subway at this exact moment begging for money while I am here warm and dry. My heart hurt. Only thirteen, Jacob has lived a nightmare, never knowing if he'd be able to eat or have a dry spot to sleep. Tears form in my eyes, as I recall the last time Jacob got sick and was close to dying.
"Are you okay?" Someone asked, startling me.
I spin around and my eyes land on the person who was asking me a question. My heart raced as I looked at the tall man now stood in front of me. Just by his posture I could tell that he was obviously one of the richest guests... more like the guest of honor. He was absolutely stunning. It's like he stepped straight out of a GQ magazine.
He shoved his hands into his fancy black pants and continued to look at me. His button-up white shirt made his gray eyes seem brighter as he looked deeply into my eyes, scanning my soul. My cheeks began to heat slowly. His hair is a dark, curly mess but in a sexy way and a lock of curls fell on his forehead.
Automatically, I think of how what it would be like if I raked my hand through his hair and pushed back that curl.
Wow! Just...Wow! He's gorgeous and drop dead sexy.
"Are you going to answer me?" He asked mildly.
I shake my head in an attempt to shoo him off and get right back to work.
"Is that no you're not going to answer me, or no you're not okay?"
"I...I'm fine." I whispered and wipe the tears that fell down my cheeks.
He starts to open his mouth, but immediately closes it as a hand touches his shoulder. A gorgeous petite blond woman with blue eyes stood beside him. The way her eyes sparkle just by looking at him tells me they were definitely intimate. Her smile vanished when she saw me standing near him.
"What are you doing? Shouldn't you be in the kitchen, we don't pay you to stand around." She sneered.
"Come on Brianna, don't be so rude!" The mysterious man says to make her angrier.
I instantly reached for the empty tray. She was right, I'm not here to enjoy the party. "Sorry, I..."
The blonde rolled her eyes at me. "Just get back to work before I get you fired." Without offering me a second glance, she turned around to face the brown-haired man.
I turned away as I felt eyes following me, but I kept walking. After serving a thousand more appetizers with a fake smile plastered on my face, the event came to an end. Mr. Moore, my boss, walked towards me and a smile comes across my face, knowing what was to come next. He stopped in front of me, holding several white envelopes in his hand and I suddenly got really anxious.
"Miss Steele, great job today," he says holding up my envelope.
"Thank you." I smile and take the envelope from him.
He looked straight at me for a while making me feel very uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he finally looked away. "Alright everyone, let's finish up."
A few minutes later, I washed my hands and checked my pocket again to ensure the envelope full of money was still there. The kitchen had died down, and most of the staff had left except for those remaining behind to clean up. That wasn't my job, thankfully. My job here is over. Taking the elevator down to the first floor, I mentally prepared myself to leave the warmth of this place.
I paused a few feet away from the back exit and took a peek through the doors. I see it's begun to snow. The door swings open quickly as one of the guys hauls a sack of garbage out to the trash dumpster. A rush of cold air blows by and chills me to the bone. I shiver as goose bumps race across my arms, knowing this is my life. Cold. Scary. Another night of uncertainty. I push off the wall I was leaning on and walk towards the exit. Getting to the door, I take a deep breath and push through. My black light coat does not help to keep me warm. I can't afford a winter jacket, but I am grateful for at least having this coat.
"Do you need a ride?"
Even before I can respond, he is pushing off the wall that he was leaning against and, just as quickly, he is close to me.
What was he doing here? Isn't this a service exit? A man like him surely doesn't hang out with people like me.
"My driver will be here any minute and we can take you where you want."
I glance up at him, meeting gray eyes that are staring back at me. "Thank you, but I'm okay." Yeah, like I would let him give me have a ride to where? I did not even know where I was going.
"You're freezing, where is your jacket?"
"I...I live close by. I'll be okay." That's a blatant lie.
"Here," he says as he takes off his expensive black jacket.
"No... I couldn't possibly." I shake my head.
"Yes, you can take it," He demanded.
He holds it up for me as I slide my arms into the very long sleeves.
"Thank you." His jacket smelled delicious...Just like him. I smile at him one last time and start to walk.
"Wait!" He yells after me. "What's your name?"
Crossing the street I yell, "Ana."
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