by S. E. Lund
I nodded. I'd already figured this crime was so common that the cops would rarely even try to do anything about it besides take a report.
"You could check local pawn shops for anything of value in your backpack, but they'll likely remove the SIM card from your cell, and wipe your laptop so you'll never see them again. The wallet?" He crossed his arms and chewed on his swizzle stick. "You have to call the bank and report any credit and debit cards. Call Social Security to report a stolen SSN. It'll take a while to get replacements. You'll need to go to the passport office and get a new passport, but that'll take a couple of weeks."
"I don't have any ID."
He shrugged. "Call your family."
"I can't."
He raised his eyebrows. "Family problems?"
I nodded and glanced away. "I'm just trying to stay independent. This is my first time away from home. I don't want to go running back to my father if I don't have to."
"No aunt, uncle, cousin, or best friend who can help?"
"Yes, but how do they get money to me here when I have no ID? I can't even go to Western Union."
He squinted like he didn't believe me. "You know absolutely no one in Manhattan?"
Of course, I did know some people. Or at least, some people knew me. They knew my father, who had associates here, and I had no doubt that they would be very willing to curry favor with him by helping his errant daughter. They were the last people I wanted to rely on. I was trying to escape my father's world. But it was looking increasingly like I had no other choice.
"I know my new boss. That's it." I sat there, disheartened.
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"I'm in an Airbnb until Monday, when I get an apartment in Chelsea, but the cashier's check was in my backpack."
"Cashier's check?"
"It was a private deal. A sublet."
He sat back, his eyes on me, his expression grimly amused. "Chelsea? Pretty swank area for a newcomer. How much you paying?"
"You don't want to know," I repeated, and took a deep breath. "I used up almost all my savings so I could afford a place in Manhattan."
"You and a hundred thousand other hopefuls. You say you have a job?"
I told him about my internship. "I start this afternoon. It's unpaid. I'm hoping to get a paid position once the internship is over."
"You moved to Manhattan for an unpaid internship?" Sgt. Barnes shook his head as he finished up typing and clicked to print the report. "That's either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish."
"Maybe both," I said with a rueful laugh.
The printer beside Sgt. Barnes hummed into action and spat out a sheet of paper. He took it and handed me a pen, pointing to where I should sign for the police report.
"You've had a very bad day. Look," he said and leaned forward, sympathy finally touching his eyes. "I don't know what's up with your family that you don't want to contact them, but this is kind of an emergency. You're broke. You have no ID. You need to call someone and get help. It's that or you start dumpster-diving and sleeping under the Brooklyn Bridge with the vagrants, but you wouldn't like the food. I can tell by looking at you that you're not cut out for the free-food lifestyle or the open-air sleeping concept."
I covered my eyes, finally overcome with emotion. "I know," I said, biting back tears. "My only hope is to ask my new boss to accept a money transfer on my behalf." I glanced at him to see his response.
"Are you sure you the job isn't a scam, too?"
"No," I said, shaking my head. "That much I do know. I have a position waiting for me. I'm supposed to go this afternoon and meet my boss."
"You could ask for your boss's help, but it's not the kind of thing that will encourage confidence in you as a potential employee..." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
"I have to try," I said.
"Got a Plan B?" he asked expectantly.
"There is no Plan B. This is Plan A, B and C. Anyway, there's really nothing you can do, but thanks for listening."
"No problem. We do have social workers who could help you find a shelter or somewhere to stay if you need it." He handed me a card, and I tucked it into my pocket. "If you think of anything else, give me a call."
I forced a smile and then left the station house, checking the clock on the wall, not wanting to miss my meeting with Sharon. I hoped that I wouldn't have to call a social worker for help, but I was beginning to think that might be my last resort. No matter what, I wasn't going back to Manchester, but I might need to find a soup kitchen so I wouldn't have to dive into a stinking dumpster under the Brooklyn Bridge...
Until then, I had to find a cheap notebook and pen. I wandered around the streets, then went into a small bookstore to pick up a notebook and pen. The only options open to me were various superhero and toy-themed children's notebooks and pencils with toys on top that were on sale.
I chose Ironman for my notebook and a pencil with a purple-haired troll on top. I'd tell my boss it was the only notebook I could get on the fly. It would be a good story – one that we could laugh about one day.
Today was going to be one of those momentous days that you could look back on and laugh about, right?
I arrived outside the Macintyre Building on Fifth Avenue, my stomach totally in knots. The building was an old Art Deco with brass fixtures and actual sculptures, some of them looking like gargoyles. There was a security desk at the front, which I went to.
A nice older man dressed in a blue uniform greeted me.
"Hello. Ella Carlson to see Sharon Rogers."
The man nodded and picked up a phone. He spoke softly into the phone and then nodded. He hung up and smiled at me. "Can I see some ID?"
I smiled guiltily. "My wallet was stolen in Grand Central Station."
He glanced at me, his eyes moving up and down over my clothing and at the notebook and troll pencil I held in my hand. "I'll need to see some ID."
"Could you maybe ask Ms. Rogers to come down? Honestly, I don't have any ID but we've Skyped before so she knows me."
He picked up the phone once more and spoke quietly into it. He glanced at me, responded to whoever was on the other end, then hung up once more.
"She said you have auburn hair and big green eyes and that I should let you up even without ID."
"Thank you," I said and mock-wiped my brow. "I haven't had a chance to go to the bank or Social Security office to get replacement cards. I spent the last few hours in the police station giving a report."
He smiled back at me. "Rough morning?"
"You don't know the half of it."
He gave me a temporary ID and pointed to the elevators. "Twenty-seventh floor. Once you get the documentation, we'll get you a permanent card but that'll work for today."
"Thanks."
I took the card and headed to the elevator. The doors were just closing so I called out for them to hold.
When the door re-opened, I stepped on and saw a brown-haired businessman wearing a gray suit, with his back to the door. Beside him stood a bicycle courier in full riding uniform. He was leaning against the elevator wall, his helmet in his hand, his hair wet and his bangs falling in his eyes in a very sexy way. Bandages on his elbows and knees...
It was the bike courier from the previous day. The one who almost ran me down. The one I made crash into a taxi.
Crap...
Chapter Eight
Joshua
I had a meeting in an hour, and would have to shower and change into my business suit after my bike ride. I usually rode first thing, but today I was going to ride after a meeting at the old building in the financial district which took all morning.
I went to the apartment I kept in the building and changed into my riding suit. I donned my helmet and gloves, checked the bandages over my scuffed knees, and left the building, bringing my bike down in the elevator with me.
For the next half hour, I rode around Central Park, my usual route, and had worked up a good sweat by the time I arrived back. I squirted m
y face with the water bottle and walked my bike into the building.
On my way, I met up with Keith Sheppard, one of my executives. Keith and I were friends and played a game of basketball whenever we could at the gym we both frequented.
"What the hell happened?" he asked, spotting my bandages.
I laughed and checked my elbow. "I ran into the prettiest woman I've seen in a long time, while she was jaywalking across the street yesterday."
"Ooh," he said and grimaced. "Which one of you got the worst of it?"
"I did," I said and pushed the bike through the security gate. "I managed to miss her but didn't miss the back of a taxi. My knees and elbows got the worst of the deal. Bike's good."
"Risks of being a die-hard cyclist, I guess."
"You got it."
"But at least you ran into a pretty young woman. I guess that's one way of meeting women in this town."
I nodded. "She thought I was a bicycle courier."
He grinned. "Did you disabuse her of that misinformation?"
"No, I did not. She kept offering to pay for my doctor visit or bandages. Wondered if I could get worker's comp. I guess she was thinking that since I was a courier, I might not have health insurance. Said she would call my boss in case I needed an excuse to take the day off. She was being so sweet worrying about my health care, I didn't have the heart to tell her my family owned the building."
"Oh, that's too funny," he said. "So, she has no idea that you're one of the wealthiest business moguls in Manhattan?"
"She does not and that's the way it's going to stay." I pushed the elevator button. "It's nice not to be recognized sometimes."
The elevator arrived and we stepped inside. Before the doors closed, I heard the clack-clack-clack of high heels on marble floors.
"Wait! Hold the elevator, please!"
A woman was running to the elevator.
I pressed the door-open button, and the doors bounced back to reveal her– the woman I'd almost run over the previous day, standing there in all her glory. She appeared completely frazzled, a strand of her shiny hair falling out of her hair clip. When she entered the elevator, everything about her made me stand up straighter. I had noticed she was attractive the previous day, but had been distracted by my wounds – and my anger.
But now... she was lovely.
When she saw me, she stopped in her tracks. The expression on her face was so comic I almost laughed out loud.
"Oh, it's you. Sorry," she said and stepped back off the elevator. "I'll wait for the other elevator." Her cheeks flushed beet red.
"No, no," I said quickly, waving her on. "Come in. I won't bite. They're doing construction and the other elevator isn't in service. This one's fine. "
"Okay," she said doubtfully. She stepped into the elevator and stood facing the doors, and I could tell she was utterly embarrassed to be running into me again.
She turned and looked at me. "Are you okay?" she asked, then pointed to my knees and elbows. "Did I do that?"
I glanced down at myself and smiled. "You did, actually. My name's Josh, by the way. Just in case you wanted to know the name of the man you injured."
"Ella," she said and grimaced. "I'm so sorry. It must be hard to keep working when you're injured like that."
"Oh, I'm fine," I said and stood up straighter, flexing my bicep like a bodybuilder. "I'm tough. Tough enough to work even with scraped knees and elbows."
I winked at Keith and we both smiled.
"Did your boss let you at least take the day off?" she asked.
I shook my head. "Boss is a slave driver."
Keith coughed into his fist and the two of us exchanged smiles again. I looked back at her, my expression solemn.
"Besides, if I want to put food on the table, I have to work, scraped knees or not."
Her expression was priceless. I felt like a cad leading her on that way, but it was only in good fun.
"If I can do anything to make it up to you – pay for your costs at the doctor, whatever, just tell me."
"Nah," I said, impressed with her willingness to make things right. "I'm good. You're too sweet."
Our eyes met and I had a good look at them... Her eyes were green with light brown flecks, her lashes long. I felt a definite surge inside, imagining us together.
"Are you just starting work today?" she asked, apparently trying to be pleasant. "You don't have a delivery bag yet."
"Yeah, I'm just going up to start the day," I said, keeping up with the lie. "Our office is in this building." I grinned.
She smiled back, revealing the cutest dimples. "For a moment, I thought you might sue me the other day."
"Nah," I said and shook my head. "Hazard of riding a bike in Manhattan. I was flying along the lane in between the rows of cars. As a professional, I should have been more careful."
The elevator stopped at the twentieth floor and Keith moved to the front of the elevator. He gave the woman a smile on his way by.
"Take care," he said and we fist-bumped before he got off. "Gotta watch out for those pedestrians. Especially the pretty ones."
"You do," I said. "I'll be on the lookout for sure."
Then the doors closed, leaving me alone with her. When the elevator started once more, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She was hot with curves visible under her little black dress and pink sweater.
"Nice pencil," I said spying it in her hand – a troll pencil complete with purple hair. "I haven't seen one of those since public school. Where'd you get that?"
She held up the pencil and smiled. "Oh, this? It was all I could find in the bookstore near Grand Central Station. Do you think my boss will like it?"
I laughed, amused at her sense of humor.
"It's choice," I said, taking it from her and turning it around. "I like the purple hair."
"I usually prefer blue hair myself, but this was all I could afford."
"So, they still sell troll pencils?" I said. "I'll have to pay a visit."
"Yeah. It goes perfectly with this," she said and showed me an Iron Man spiral notebook.
I took it from her and examined it. "Oh, man, I would have killed to have one of these when I was growing up. Iron Man?" I whistled and handed it back. "How come you have such good taste in office supplies? We only have the boring type in the stockroom. You knew – yellow pencils, plain paper notepads."
She sighed. "I was robbed today in the subway station. Almost all my worldly possessions gone. But it's my first day at my new job. I have my first meeting with my boss, and I need to take notes."
"Oh, damn," I said, frowning. "You were robbed? What happened?"
She told me about being robbed – an old Slavic lady working with an accomplice to steal her backpack.
"That's too bad," I said, sympathy for her filling me. "It's been a fantastic morning, then."
"Absolutely stellar," she replied with a rueful laugh. "Memorable. One that will live on in infamy. A day I'll tell my children about and they'll tell their children and so on. That is, if I make it out alive."
"You have to keep an eye on your bags in Grand Central Station. In any station, for that matter. There are a lot of pickpockets and thieves in this town."
"I know. I feel like I'm like the country mouse in the big city for the first time. The pickpockets and confidence men can probably spot me a mile away."
"I'm sure they can," I said. "You do have that general innocent look about you."
"You mean rube, right?"
I laughed. "I mean unthreatening and maybe inexperienced."
We smiled together – then the elevator jolted to a stop, the lights blinking out.
She screamed.
Chapter Nine
Ella
"It's okay," Josh said, his voice calm. "The auxiliary lights will come on within twenty seconds. You don't have to worry."
"It's not the lights I'm worried about," I said, breathless, both my hands reaching out to find the wall. "It's the elevator falling." I found him
instead, my hands gripping onto one of his biceps, which even to my terrified mind felt impressive. "Oh, sorry," I said and pulled my hands away, searching for the wall. "I wanted to hold onto the railing."
"No problem," he said, his voice amused in the darkness. "Always happy to help a damsel in distress. And the elevator wouldn't likely fall. If anything, it'd probably go up and hit the roof."
Of course, that sent my heart rate racing. "Thanks for those words of encouragement."
"Any time," he said softly and I could almost see his smile in the darkness.
I found the railing and held on, my eyes shut tightly. If it was pitch black, I didn't want to know it. Somehow, with my eyes closed, I could pretend it was just dark because they were shut and not because I was in a stalled elevator somewhere above the tenth floor.
It seemed like an eternity but was probably more like ten seconds before the lights did click on. Secondary lights, not as bright as the usual overhead lights. I kept hold of the railing but turned my head to meet his eyes, needing to see that he, at least, was calm.
"Power must have gone out. It happens sometimes. This building's old and being renovated," he said quickly, like he was trying to calm me. "Just internal offices being refinished. Drywall. Electrical. That sort of thing."
"This has happened before?"
He nodded, and bit his bottom lip. "Hate to tell you, but several times, in fact."
"Great," I said. "I have to take it at least four times a day, five days a week."
"So, this is your first day?"
I nodded, glad to be distracted for a moment, but I didn't want to tell him too much.
"Cool," he replied. "We're neighbors."
"Yes," I said, my throat dry. I swallowed, trying to moisten my tongue, which felt like cotton. "It's only my third day in New York, in fact. I'm from New Hampshire."
"You're having a really great intro to Manhattan. Almost killed by a cyclist. Robbed in Grand Central. Caught in an elevator with the power out." He shook his head. "I officially apologize for my city."