Come Fly with Me: A Collection

by Whitney G.

  I didn’t answer. I kept climbing down the rails, running toward the subway station the second my feet hit the pavement. I made it down the station’s steps and jumped the turnstile, making it just in time to catch the C train to Manhattan.

  Grabbing onto a handrail, I shut my eyes as the train lurched forward. I took a deep breath and went over the lines I’d been rehearsing for the past couple of hours.

  I want to work at Russ Stock Exchange because I believe that I’ll be a great asset to your company. I’ve done my research, created a presentation on how I believe we can compete with the other firms, and if you give me a chance, I can promise you won’t regret it. Please just give me a chance …

  “You are now arriving in Manhattan,” the train’s system said, making me return to reality.

  When the doors opened, I rushed off and headed up to the crowded streets, heading straight for my next ride. The Grayline Tour Bus.

  Slipping a pair of shades over my eyes, I pulled an old ticket from my pocket and showed it to the driver.

  “Welcome aboard, Miss,” he said. “Enjoy your tour.”

  “Thank you.”

  I took a seat near the back and nervously tapped my foot, hoping no one would walk by and double-check the timestamp on my ticket. Several tourists stepped aboard, filling the seats around me, and I let out a breath.

  “Welcome to the Big Apple, everyone!” The tour guide stood in the middle of the aisle as the bus moved onto the street. “Today’s half-day tour will take us through Times Square, Broadway, and to the Hudson River. We’ll stop at quite a few landmarks along the way, but before I can begin to entertain you with terrible jokes and inform you of our city’s great history, I need to scan each of your fare tickets. Go ahead and pull those out for me.”

  Shit.

  I turned around in my seat, hoping he would walk past me. Then I looked up at the greying skies, wondering if the universe would finally throw me a break and magically make a real ticket appear in my hand. That, or just let the bus go for five more blocks, so I could be closer to my job interview.

  “Ma’am?” The tour guide stepped in front of me, killing all my hopes. “Ma’am, do you have a ticket for this tour?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, can I see it, so I can scan it?”

  “Oh, I lost it at the last stop. Sorry.”

  “We haven’t made any stops yet.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Let me see your ticket.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Now.”

  “Okay, look. I don’t have one, but—”

  “Stop the bus!” he yelled. “We’ve got a goddamn bum onboard!”

  “What? I’m not a bum.” My cheeks flushed red. “I just can’t afford a cab right now, so I’m using your bus. When I get a job, I’m going to pay you back for all the rides I’ve stolen, I promise.”

  “You’ve stolen more than one ride from us?”

  “It’s about to rain,” I said, pleading. “Can you please just let me ride to the first stop? I have a really important interview, and I don’t want to look bad.”

  “Not my problem.” He pointed to the door. “Just how many rides have you taken without paying?”

  The bus came to a jerky stop, and I stood up and pushed my way past him before answering that question.

  Stepping onto the sidewalk, I looked over my shoulder as the guide directed all of the tourists to look down at me.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if you look to your right, you’ll see a perfect example of New York’s worst scum,” he said into the mic. “I truly hope that this is the closest you’ll get to seeing a real-life bum in this city. Quick! Everyone check and make sure you still have your wallets before we pull off.”

  They roared with laughter, and I felt tears pricking my eyes.

  Refusing to let them fall, I started my long trek down Fifth Avenue. I rehearsed my interview speech repeatedly, convincing myself that today really was the day that I was landing the job of my dreams.

  When I reached the right building, I realized I had half an hour to spare before my interview. My stomach was growling intensely, and although I’d promised I would never steal food again, my hunger won out.

  I walked to the corner and stood in front of the stunning gold entrance of The Grand Rose Hotel.

  “Good morning, Miss.” The two doormen smiled in unison as they opened the doors and let me inside the most luxurious hotel in all of Manhattan.

  As always, I stood in the lobby in utter awe for several minutes, taking it all in.

  Sparkling white chandeliers hung from the towering ceilings, a massive rose-shaped water fountain stood at the center, and the letter “P” was engraved in gold in the center of the grey marble floor.

  The front desk agents were dressed in tailored blue and grey suits as usual, and it took all of five seconds for me to overhear them saying their hotel’s mantra.

  “We don’t just sell hotel rooms. We sell a lifestyle.”

  From my random and illegal “stays” here, I’d discovered that there were six restaurants, four spas, and a massive pool and lounge on the roof. Yet, the best part of this hotel was what had been saving my life for the past few months—the free breakfast bar.

  Unlike the Hampton Inns that I frequented from time to time, this was gourmet breakfast. Chocolate drizzled strawberries, with truffle butter bagels, custom floured pancakes with hand-crafted omelets, and a staff that didn’t ask too many questions. (If they ever did, I kept a “lost” hotel key in my back pocket to make sure I could pull off being a guest at any moment necessary.)

  The light sound of thunder roaring outside made me realize I needed to hurry up and get out of here.

  Stay calm and stay focused …

  My mouth watering, I made my way to the bar and looked over my shoulder at the front desk, making sure no one was watching. When I was convinced all was clear, I picked up a plate and loaded it with fresh cut strawberries and croissants. I smeared a bagel with cinnamon truffle spread and began making a cup of coffee. Before I could walk down the hall and slip out of the side entrance like I always did, an older man in a grey suit stepped in front of me.

  “Excuse me, Miss,” he said. “Are you a guest at this hotel?”

  Ugh. Caught twice in one day?

  “What?” I stalled, looking around for another exit, just in case he tried to block my path. “I’m offended that you would even ask me that.”

  “You still haven’t answered that.” He crossed his arms. “Are you a guest at this hotel?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course, I am a guest here.”

  “Okay, great.” He pulled a small device from his pocket. “Well, would you mind telling me your room number?”

  “Um.” I felt my cheeks reddening, felt my fingers sweating as I held onto my breakfast plate. “Why?”

  “Reasons.” He tapped his screen. “We seem to be having a recent, severe loss issue when it comes to a certain stranger walking in and stealing from our free breakfast bar, so we want to make sure that everyone is a guest here.”

  “Is it really stealing, if the breakfast bar is free?” I asked. “I mean, how can you even measure something like that on a day to day basis?”

  “Okay.” He put his device away. “I’m calling security.”

  The second the word “security” fell from his lips, I dropped my plate and headed toward the doors. Panicking, I pushed my way through the real guests and their designer luggage, but before I could taste fresh air, I collided face-first into another suit.

  My body hit the floor with a loud thud, and I felt instant pain in my hands from failing to brace the fall. I stood up quickly—grabbing my bag and my phone.

  I made a move for the doors again, but the suit I’d collided with stood in front of me—blocking me. Then he took my goddamn breath away.

  Oh. My. GOD.

  “I think you’re leaving something.” He picked up two of my condom packs and smiled. “I’m sure you’ll need these for whoever you’re
running to. Don’t you think?”

  Speechless, I snatched them away and stuffed them into my bag. Then I stood still, transfixed by the man’s stunning green and grey eyes. With his perfectly chiseled jawline and jet-black hair that I was tempted to run my fingers through, he was utter perfection.

  As I stared, his lips curved into a slow, sexy smile—making him look like he’d stepped right off the front cover of GQ magazine.

  I didn’t have to second guess that the tie he was wearing was a custom label and cost more than I would ever make in a week. His three-piece black suit gave away the fact that he was hiding well-toned muscles underneath, and I immediately recognized the silver, diamond plated watch he was wearing. I’d seen it twice in my life. Once, on the wrist of a Fortune 500 CEO during an interview, and once again on my Pinterest board called “Things I’ll Never Be Able to Afford.”

  The suit was eyeing me just as intently as I was eyeing him, and I couldn’t snap out of it if I tried. I felt my nipples hardening beneath my dress, and I was certain that my panties were wet.

  Before I could force myself to come to my senses and remember that I needed to be running and not staring, the grey-suited man from earlier rushed over.

  “Mr. Parker!” He stepped between us, out of breath. “We weren’t expecting you until ten o’clock, sir. We’re still prepping our reports.”

  “I’m sure you are,” he said, still staring at me. “I wanted to be here the second you finished, so I can make sure to fire whoever’s really responsible for all those unexplainable losses.”

  “Well, you’re looking at the number one cause of all those losses right now, sir.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “The young lady in front of you has been stealing our gourmet breakfasts and coffee here for over two months now. She comes in three to four times a week—sometimes more than once a day, pretending to be a guest and she leaves before we can approach her. We’re pretty certain that she has a lost room key she keeps, and that she uses the side entrance from time to time. She waits for a guest to come in and shows her fake key, so she can slip in right after them.”

  The suit tilted his head to the side, looking slightly amused, but his smile didn’t stay.

  “Are you aware that stealing is a crime?” he asked, glaring at me. “That the total you’ve stolen from me now amounts to more than petty theft?”

  I nodded. My voice was locked in my throat, and I couldn’t answer fast enough.

  “I have the cops on line one, and the security team is on its way down, sir. I’d be glad to give my witness statement regarding this future felon who almost cost us our jobs.”

  “Call them off,” the suit said. “Now.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” he said, looking at me. “I think we can talk about this like adults, don’t you think, Miss—” He paused. “What is your name?”

  “Ashley Smith.”

  “Your real name,” he said, knowing damn well I was lying. “The one you use when you’re not getting caught stealing. If you don’t want to give it to me, I can have you give it to the authorities.”

  “Tara.” I relented. “Tara Lauren.”

  “Miss Lauren, I’m Preston Parker,” he said. “I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I don’t appreciate people stealing from my hotels.”

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I take it that you’re like, the manager?”

  “No, I’m like, the owner.” The way he said those words turned me on for some reason. “Let’s talk.” He gestured for me to follow him and led me past the disgruntled grey suit.

  He glanced at the food I'd dropped on the floor and made his way to the breakfast bar. He picked up a plate and loaded it with fresh strawberries and croissants. Then he spread truffle butter on a gluten-free bagel before handing the plate to me.

  He kept his eyes on me as we walked to the elevators—looking me up and down with every step, and I honestly wasn’t sure if he was leading me on to have me arrested in private.

  I avoided his heated gaze as we went up, thankful that there were other guests between us. When we reached the thirtieth floor, the remaining guests stepped off and he held a key against the pad. Then he pressed the button labeled The Preston Suite.

  The doors glided open seconds later, revealing a glittering gold floor that was even more stunning than the one downstairs.

  “Good morning, Mr. Parker,” a woman behind the desk said. “Good to see you here today.”

  “Good morning.” He spoke without looking in her direction, and everyone else on the floor scattered in different directions.

  Why do they look so terrified?

  “In here, Miss Lauren.” He opened the door to an office that was more than ten times the size of my apartment. As I stepped inside, the lights came on and the window shades slid up, revealing a dreamy and picturesque view of the city.

  I bit my tongue to prevent myself from waxing poetic about it, to prevent myself from saying how lucky he must feel.

  From up here, the falling rain didn’t seem so dreary. From here, New York still looked as magical as I once thought it was.

  “Have a seat,” he said, pulling out a chair for me. He waited for me to sit down before moving behind his desk. Then he leaned back in his chair and stared at me with those stunning green eyes, making me even wetter against my will.

  “So, Miss Lauren.” He tapped his fingers against the wood. “Is there any particular reason why you’ve been stealing from me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Can you kindly tell me what that ‘maybe’ reason is?”

  “I need to be assured that you’re not secretly taping this in hopes of turning me in to the authorities right after I confess.”

  “If I wanted to call the authorities, I would’ve never invited you up to my office, Miss Lauren.” He kept his eyes on mine. “I would’ve called the precinct across the street, and you would’ve never made it past the corner.”

  “Oh, right.” I cleared my throat, and he immediately picked up the pitcher of water on his desk, pouring me a glass.

  “Now, where were we?” He waited until I took a few sips. “Oh, yes. You were about to stop stalling and answer my question about why you’ve been stealing from my hotel.”

  “I didn’t think I was stealing from you personally,” I said. “I’m just struggling to make it right now, and your hotel happens to be close to where all my latest interviews are. I was planning to pay you back once I got a job.” I pulled out my phone and clicked on my calendar, showing him the screen. “The red x marks are every time I ate breakfast here. I was going to multiply that by fifteen dollars and—”

  “The cost of gourmet breakfast for non-guests in my hotels is eighty-five dollars.” He interrupted me.

  Silence.

  “Um, well …” I blinked. “I’m probably still going to have to multiply the red x marks by fifteen dollars and send the manager—well, you, an apology-note with a check.”

  “What are the blue x marks for?”

  The times I’ve stolen the gourmet lunch from here. “Days I finish my workouts.”

  “You have the word ‘workout’ already typed in some of these date boxes already.”

  “Must be a glitch.” I moved my phone away from him. “I’m serious about paying you back, though. I have a third interview with a company today, and I’m certain I’m going to get it. I feel really confident about that.”

  “What company are you interviewing with?” he asked.

  “The Russ Stock Exchange.” I gasped as I looked at my phone again. It was now two minutes past my interview time.

  “Something wrong, Miss Lauren?”

  “Yeah … I’m missing my interview right now. Do you think you could call and tell them why I’m late?”

  He gave me a blank stare.

  “Right. Well, I um—” I swallowed. “Thank you for not calling the cops on me. I need to go.”

  “We’re not done talking.” His voice was firm. “What exactly is y
our interview for?”

  “Was,” I said, doubting they’d give me a chance now. “It was supposed to be for the CEO’s executive assistant.”

  He raised his eyebrow. “You have a business degree?”

  “Yes, and a law degree as well. Not that they mean anything.”

  “Where was your last job?”

  “I’m still looking for my first one.”

  He stared at me long and hard, not saying a word and I wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything else. And now, for the first time since I’d moved to New York City, I was ready to break down and cry.

  “Well, thank you very much for um, hearing me out about this,” I said, standing. “I appreciate it.”

  “You should.” He leaned back in his chair. “Can I expect that I won’t see you stealing food from any of my hotels again?”

  “Not unless you also own The Grand Alaskan on Fifth Avenue.”

  “I do own The Grand Alaskan on Fifth Avenue.”

  “Oh.” Shit. “Do you also own The Loft on Wall Street?”

  “Yes.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re not familiar with all the hotels in my portfolio?”

  “No, but I’ll look up all the alternate names for the Marriott and Hilton hotels tonight, and I promise to avoid them accordingly.”

  “This is a Parker Hotel, Miss Lauren.” He looked offended. “There are twenty in this city alone, and we bring in more revenue than all the Marriott and Hilton hotels combined.”

  “Oh …”

  “Yes,” he said. “Oh.”

  “Well, in that case, will it really bother you if I don’t pay you back then? What if I just send you a proper apology without the check?”

  He looked as if he was holding back a laugh, but he pressed his lips into a line instead. “Only if you agree to make this the last day you steal from any of my hotels. Next time, I’ll have you locked up personally.”

  “I agree to stop.”

  “Good. You can also keep your apology note, seeing as though I don’t think you’re really sorry about anything.”

  “I’m sorry I was caught.”