what's left of it,’ he joked to his friend.
As Greg made his way back to the elevator, he turned around to take a look at the office one more time. He couldn't believe this opportunity. Granted, as a contractor, and a trial one at that, he'd be making very little money, but it would still be worth it. Being in charge of his own schedule, being creative. He felt like jumping in the air and doing a fist pump.
He couldn’t wait to get home and start gathering together what he wanted to show to the photo editor.
Outside on the street, as he unlocked his bike, a text came in from Karen. I’m back. A few of us just popped to The Oyster Bar – can you meet me there?
He paused, surprised by his automatic, unenthusiastic reaction.
As much as he wanted to see Karen, he didn't fancy socialising just then; he wanted to go home and work. It was a new feeling. But, seeing as she was being so understanding about the changes in their life, Greg replied telling her that he would meet her there, but to start without him. Then he hopped back on his bike and peddled as fast as he could through the Times Square traffic towards Midtown.
The Oyster Bar was located in Grand Central Terminal and was reasonably fancy, but not so much so that anyone would raise an eyebrow at Greg's casual attire of jeans and fleece pullover. The knit cap had to go, though. Greg slipped it over the seat of the bike he had anchored on the street outside and, going inside the cavernous building, he headed for the subterranean restaurant area.
Inside the restaurant, he hastily combed his hair with his fingers as he spotted Karen at a table with a few of her co-workers. She was wearing a black suit with a short skirt and a red cashmere scarf peeking out of the neckline. Her long legs were elegantly crossed at the ankle and her black alpaca coat was slung neatly on the chair next to her. She had on a pair of black Louboutin shoes and the red soles coordinated perfectly with the rest of her outfit. Seeing Greg approach, she waved and stood up to greet him.
‘Hello sweetie, glad you could make it,’ she enthused before making introductions to people he was sure he’d never met before. ‘This is Blake,’ she gestured to a short, balding man in an Armani suit, who stood and pumped Greg's arm up and down, ‘and this is Stacy.’ Stacy did not get up, but looked at Greg with interest as he sat down. Stacy was also in Armani.
‘They work in the advertising department,’ Karen added brightly.
The Armani couple looked vaguely interested as Greg tried to work out why Karen had invited him to what seemed like a work confab. The four of them regarded each other silently for a moment, and then Stacy took a swig of her almost empty wineglass and gestured at the waiter for another.
‘So you are a photographer,’ she said to Greg, her voice the tiniest bit slurred.
‘Well, yeah … ’ he replied hesitantly, still trying to get used to this new job description.
‘Karen's been chatting you up a storm. Says you’re the greatest thing since Mapplethorpe.’
Karen squeezed Greg's knee and looked at him proudly.
‘I was an art major, did you know that?’ Stacy said.
Greg shook his head, how could he know? They had just met. He looked quickly at Blake who was looking bored into his own wineglass. The waiter came back with Stacy's wine and a glass of iced water for Greg.
‘Yep. Really good too, I even showed downtown once. Oils.’ She took another gigantic gulp of wine. ‘But of course, I needed to eat … ’ She chuckled. ‘I needed money. So here I am, Artistic Director for Macy's Department Store.’
‘Sounds … impressive,’ Greg said, stiffening a little.
‘Yeah, well, it’s not.’
Karen tried to rope Blake into the conversation. ‘Blake is in charge of layouts for the store circulars. They are always looking for new talent, aren’t you, Blake?’
He nodded. ‘Absolutely, and Karen says you’re good – really, really good. We
As Greg made his way back to the elevator, he turned around to take a look at the office one more time. He couldn't believe this opportunity. Granted, as a contractor, and a trial one at that, he'd be making very little money, but it would still be worth it. Being in charge of his own schedule, being creative. He felt like jumping in the air and doing a fist pump.
He couldn’t wait to get home and start gathering together what he wanted to show to the photo editor.
Outside on the street, as he unlocked his bike, a text came in from Karen. I’m back. A few of us just popped to The Oyster Bar – can you meet me there?
He paused, surprised by his automatic, unenthusiastic reaction.
As much as he wanted to see Karen, he didn't fancy socialising just then; he wanted to go home and work. It was a new feeling. But, seeing as she was being so understanding about the changes in their life, Greg replied telling her that he would meet her there, but to start without him. Then he hopped back on his bike and peddled as fast as he could through the Times Square traffic towards Midtown.
The Oyster Bar was located in Grand Central Terminal and was reasonably fancy, but not so much so that anyone would raise an eyebrow at Greg's casual attire of jeans and fleece pullover. The knit cap had to go, though. Greg slipped it over the seat of the bike he had anchored on the street outside and, going inside the cavernous building, he headed for the subterranean restaurant area.
Inside the restaurant, he hastily combed his hair with his fingers as he spotted Karen at a table with a few of her co-workers. She was wearing a black suit with a short skirt and a red cashmere scarf peeking out of the neckline. Her long legs were elegantly crossed at the ankle and her black alpaca coat was slung neatly on the chair next to her. She had on a pair of black Louboutin shoes and the red soles coordinated perfectly with the rest of her outfit. Seeing Greg approach, she waved and stood up to greet him.
‘Hello sweetie, glad you could make it,’ she enthused before making introductions to people he was sure he’d never met before. ‘This is Blake,’ she gestured to a short, balding man in an Armani suit, who stood and pumped Greg's arm up and down, ‘and this is Stacy.’ Stacy did not get up, but looked at Greg with interest as he sat down. Stacy was also in Armani.
‘They work in the advertising department,’ Karen added brightly.
The Armani couple looked vaguely interested as Greg tried to work out why Karen had invited him to what seemed like a work confab. The four of them regarded each other silently for a moment, and then Stacy took a swig of her almost empty wineglass and gestured at the waiter for another.
‘So you are a photographer,’ she said to Greg, her voice the tiniest bit slurred.
‘Well, yeah … ’ he replied hesitantly, still trying to get used to this new job description.
‘Karen's been chatting you up a storm. Says you’re the greatest thing since Mapplethorpe.’
Karen squeezed Greg's knee and looked at him proudly.
‘I was an art major, did you know that?’ Stacy said.
Greg shook his head, how could he know? They had just met. He looked quickly at Blake who was looking bored into his own wineglass. The waiter came back with Stacy's wine and a glass of iced water for Greg.
‘Yep. Really good too, I even showed downtown once. Oils.’ She took another gigantic gulp of wine. ‘But of course, I needed to eat … ’ She chuckled. ‘I needed money. So here I am, Artistic Director for Macy's Department Store.’
‘Sounds … impressive,’ Greg said, stiffening a little.
‘Yeah, well, it’s not.’
Karen tried to rope Blake into the conversation. ‘Blake is in charge of layouts for the store circulars. They are always looking for new talent, aren’t you, Blake?’
He nodded. ‘Absolutely, and Karen says you’re good – really, really good. We
Similar Books
