Chapter One
“I wish it would snow.”
“Bite your tongue.” Molly Bishop sat next to her friend and co-worker, looking out the large frost covered window facing Fifth Avenue. The lunch rush was over, and the café was quiet. “I need winter tires for the Jeep, and I have forty-seven dollars in my bank account. I can’t afford snow right now.” She took a gulp of her lukewarm coffee.
“I can loan you the money.” Cameron removed her apron and hung it over the back of the chair.
“No way. I couldn’t let you do that.” Molly bit into a stale chocolate biscotti, the first thing she’d eaten so far that day. “I’ll come up with something.” She toyed with the edge of the cookie wrapper.
“Forgive me for suggesting this, but…why don’t you just ask your dad for the money?” Cameron placed her hands over her face and waited for her friend’s verbal attack.
“You know I can’t do that. Not after last month’s speech about how I no longer need his advice or his money. No, owing my father money gives him the right to a say in my life. No thanks.” Not that she’d been doing a great job of running her life since moving to the city. Her degree in public relations went unused as she searched for a job in her field with no luck. Everyone in New York needing publicity already had a publicist. At twenty-seven, her resume consisted of coffee shops and bookstores and a three day stint as a pretzel sample girl at the mall.
“What about a bank loan?” Cameron dipped her chocolate chip cookie into her cinnamon latte.
“I tried, but without a co-signer I couldn’t qualify.” Molly lowered her voice. The only other person in the café was in earshot. A regular. Tall, handsome, Wall Street kind of guy. A man just like her father. Powerful, successful, and arrogant. Every day he wore a different designer suit, and the Rolex on his arm was worth more than Molly made in a year working at the café. He ate a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato every day for lunch.
“So what do you think you’re going to do?” Cameron fixed a strand of white Christmas lights drooping from the corner of the window.
“I have no idea…” Molly examined her chipped nail polish. “Do they still have those paid medical studies at the university? I don’t need two kidneys do I?” She dusted biscotti crumbs off of the table onto her hand and stood. The oven timer rang, signaling the pastries were done.
“Don’t be silly… What about another job? How’s your search for a P.R. job?” Cameron turned on the radio. The sound of Mariah Carey singing All I Want for Christmas is You filled the café.
“Still nothing. I sent out a bunch of resumes this week, so keep your fingers crossed for me.” Molly opened the oven door. “Actually there was one opportunity, an unpaid internship at Rollins and Clark, but who can afford to take one of those?” She shrugged and grabbed a tray of apple turnovers to refill it with pastries fresh from the oven. You can . If you’d swallow your pride and accept money from your father. She dismissed the thought and approached the cash register where Mr. Wall Street waited to pay his bill.
The phone behind the counter rang.
“Cameron can you grab that?” she called through the kitchen door.
“Can’t.” Cameron waved her hands full of dough through the window in the door.
Molly hesitated.
“Go ahead, and answer it. I’ll just leave the cash next to the register.” The man waved a twenty and slid the cash under the tip jar on the counter.
Molly smiled, gave a quick wave, and reached for the phone. “Fifth Avenue Café.”
“Molly, it’s Lana.”
The unreliable employee .
“I’m not feeling great.” The girl coughed. “I won’t be making it in tonight. Can you cover my shift?”
Forty-seven dollars in your bank account . “Sure, Lana, no problem. Feel better soon.” Molly replaced the receiver and sighed. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. This would be
“I wish it would snow.”
“Bite your tongue.” Molly Bishop sat next to her friend and co-worker, looking out the large frost covered window facing Fifth Avenue. The lunch rush was over, and the café was quiet. “I need winter tires for the Jeep, and I have forty-seven dollars in my bank account. I can’t afford snow right now.” She took a gulp of her lukewarm coffee.
“I can loan you the money.” Cameron removed her apron and hung it over the back of the chair.
“No way. I couldn’t let you do that.” Molly bit into a stale chocolate biscotti, the first thing she’d eaten so far that day. “I’ll come up with something.” She toyed with the edge of the cookie wrapper.
“Forgive me for suggesting this, but…why don’t you just ask your dad for the money?” Cameron placed her hands over her face and waited for her friend’s verbal attack.
“You know I can’t do that. Not after last month’s speech about how I no longer need his advice or his money. No, owing my father money gives him the right to a say in my life. No thanks.” Not that she’d been doing a great job of running her life since moving to the city. Her degree in public relations went unused as she searched for a job in her field with no luck. Everyone in New York needing publicity already had a publicist. At twenty-seven, her resume consisted of coffee shops and bookstores and a three day stint as a pretzel sample girl at the mall.
“What about a bank loan?” Cameron dipped her chocolate chip cookie into her cinnamon latte.
“I tried, but without a co-signer I couldn’t qualify.” Molly lowered her voice. The only other person in the café was in earshot. A regular. Tall, handsome, Wall Street kind of guy. A man just like her father. Powerful, successful, and arrogant. Every day he wore a different designer suit, and the Rolex on his arm was worth more than Molly made in a year working at the café. He ate a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato every day for lunch.
“So what do you think you’re going to do?” Cameron fixed a strand of white Christmas lights drooping from the corner of the window.
“I have no idea…” Molly examined her chipped nail polish. “Do they still have those paid medical studies at the university? I don’t need two kidneys do I?” She dusted biscotti crumbs off of the table onto her hand and stood. The oven timer rang, signaling the pastries were done.
“Don’t be silly… What about another job? How’s your search for a P.R. job?” Cameron turned on the radio. The sound of Mariah Carey singing All I Want for Christmas is You filled the café.
“Still nothing. I sent out a bunch of resumes this week, so keep your fingers crossed for me.” Molly opened the oven door. “Actually there was one opportunity, an unpaid internship at Rollins and Clark, but who can afford to take one of those?” She shrugged and grabbed a tray of apple turnovers to refill it with pastries fresh from the oven. You can . If you’d swallow your pride and accept money from your father. She dismissed the thought and approached the cash register where Mr. Wall Street waited to pay his bill.
The phone behind the counter rang.
“Cameron can you grab that?” she called through the kitchen door.
“Can’t.” Cameron waved her hands full of dough through the window in the door.
Molly hesitated.
“Go ahead, and answer it. I’ll just leave the cash next to the register.” The man waved a twenty and slid the cash under the tip jar on the counter.
Molly smiled, gave a quick wave, and reached for the phone. “Fifth Avenue Café.”
“Molly, it’s Lana.”
The unreliable employee .
“I’m not feeling great.” The girl coughed. “I won’t be making it in tonight. Can you cover my shift?”
Forty-seven dollars in your bank account . “Sure, Lana, no problem. Feel better soon.” Molly replaced the receiver and sighed. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. This would be
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