“You had no right to wake me up an hour early because you wouldn’t turn off your alarm.” His voice wasn’t really argumentative, just matter-of-fact.
“I promised I wouldn’t touch your Nutter Butters. You don’t touch my alarm.” Freeing my brush from my toiletry bag, I ripped it through my long dark hair before throwing my hair into a ponytail.
“Okay, so you wake up cranky. Noted. I’ll keep my distance from here on out.” As he emerged from the bathroom, he was wearing nothing more than a towel around his waist. A small, thin white towel. He was still wet from the shower.
I froze in the middle of searching for my toothbrush and toothpaste. I had been born and raised in the heartland of America, where corn-fed, All-American boys ran rampant, but dang . . . Nutter Butters did a body good.
When he caught me looking—gawking—at him, I got back to wrangling my toothbrush free. “I’m only cranky in the morning when someone turns off my alarm on one of the biggest days of my life.”
As soon as I had my toothpaste, I went charging into the bathroom. The mirror was still fogged up from his shower, the scent of whatever soap and shampoo he used lingering in the air.
“The biggest day of your life? I think that should be reserved for your wedding day or the birth of your firstborn or something other than posing and walking for a bunch of shallow people who think the label on your shirt is synonymous with a person’s worth in life.”
After wiping off the steam with my forearm, I squeezed a blob of toothpaste onto my brush, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. The one positive to getting into an argument with him was that it warmed me up. “Oh, yeah? Because being drafted by some baseball team to swing a bat and catch a few balls for millions of dollars is so much more enlightened?”
He was quiet. For all of two seconds. “Listen, I’m sorry I turned off your alarm. I really thought I was doing you a favor by letting you rest. It won’t happen again.”
When I popped my head out of the bathroom, brushing my teeth, I saw that flimsy white towel drape across the top of his divider. My toothbrush stopped moving. Giving my head a shake, I finished brushing, took a minute to do what I could to my hair and face, and rushed back to my suitcase. The alarm showed seven fifteen, which gave me forty-five minutes to figure out where I was going, get there, and compose myself before shaking hands with one of New York’s biggest modeling agents.
“I’m never going to make it,” I whined, shoving my feet into the same heels from last night. My feet felt swollen and the blisters on the back of my heels had popped, but beauty was pain. At least some of the time.
“Stop freaking out. Of course you’re going to make it. You’ve got plenty of time.” Soren reemerged from behind his divider, wearing a similar outfit to last night’s: dark jeans, light shirt that hugged his body, low-top Converse, and a backward red baseball cap. He was sliding on a backpack, strapping it around his chest and waist. “If you’re ready to go, I can walk you to the subway and tell you which stop to get off at. The stop for my school’s a few after the Park Avenue one you’ll want.”
As I threw on my jacket, I grabbed my purse and started for the door. “I can’t take the subway.”
“Everyone in New York takes the subway. I know it can seem intimidating to out-of-towners, but I was riding the subway, by myself, from the time I was ten.” Soren caught up to me and made a stop in the kitchen to pull a box from one of the cupboards. It was a pack of Pop-Tarts. Strawberry with sprinkles.
“I’m sure it is easy to figure out, especially if the ten-year-old version of you could do it.”
He shot me a wounded look after pulling open the door.
“But really, I can’t take the subway,” I said.
“Really, you can.” He paused at the door to lock it, pulling an extra key from his pocket and holding it out for me.
“Soren . . .” I grumbled as we started down the stairs. He was able to move down them quicker since he wasn’t balancing on quarter-foot high heels, but he waited at the bottom of each flight. “Any idea when the elevator will be fixed?”
“Yeah.” He motioned at it when we made it to the first floor. “Never.”
“Never?”
“It’s been busted since I moved in last year. It will probably still be busted when the apocalypse moves in.”
I made a mental note to pack a pair of flats for traversing the stairs every day. Heels were one thing on sidewalks, a totally different thing on a steep pair of questionable-looking stairs. When we shoved through the door, the cold New York air blasted over us.
“Holy cold.” My teeth were already chattering as I went to zip up my jacket. It was one of those coats created with fashion in mind, instead of function, so it didn’t provide much warmth.
“Insulation helps.” Soren walked down the stairs with me before pacing down the sidewalk toward the subway tunnel.
“This is the only coat I brought.”
“I was talking about the insulation that goes under the skin.”
I aimed a fake smile at him. “Another model joke. Any chance you’re getting close to running out of them?”
He grinned at the sidewalk, but I didn’t miss the way he angled himself enough he was blocking some of the wind cutting down the street at us. “Just getting warmed up.”
It was only a couple of minutes before the subway entrance came into view.
“See? How handy is that? Public transportation practically right outside your front door.” He indicated back at our apartment building, which was still in sight.
“Okay, good to know where it is. Have a nice day.”
When I kept moving down the sidewalk, he gave me another one of those looks. “If you actually want to be late to your appointment, walking’s the way to do it. Park Avenue is not just a hop, skip, and a jump down the block. Especially in those shoes.” He grabbed my wrist and started guiding me down into the subway.
“Soren, I can’t,” I protested, though my feet kept following behind him.
He didn’t say anything as he kept guiding me through the maze of people, before stopping at a ticket counter. Even though he was holding a monthly pass in his hand, he purchased one ticket from the agent. When he held the ticket out for me and I noticed it was a round-trip, another knife of guilt stabbed right into my stomach.
Whether he was right or not in turning off my alarm, I believed he’d done it because he thought it was what was best for me. Now he’d bought me a subway ticket without me even needing to embarrass myself by admitting I was totally broke. I’d been nothing but a crabby pain in the butt since arriving.
“Soren . . .”
He winked at me as the subway pulled up to the station. “I know.”
“Did you just pull a Han Solo on me?”
He lifted his arm in front of me when I moved toward to the car. “You better believe it, girlie.”
As I nudged him, I saw why he’d stopped me from going any farther; the moment those doors opened, a wave of people surged out. Getting stampeded wasn’t the way I wanted to start my career.
Once the last people were trickling off, he wove his arm through mine and moved us on board. There weren’t any seats available, so he grabbed one of the vertical poles, indicating I should do the same. Even when I did, he kept his arm twisted through mine.
Being so close and still, he let out a groan when he examined how I wasn’t at eye level with him. “The heels. I thought I told you they were a no-fly zone when I was around.” The toe of his Con tapped my heel. “I’m feeling less like a man every second you hover above me.”
I made it a point to stand as tall as I could. “I’m on my way to work. Models work in heels. The agencies would probably nail them to the soles of our feet if there weren’t humanitarian laws against it. I can’t slide on a pair of flip-flops because my roommate’s got masculinity issues.” I took a moment to scan the subway car. “I’m hovering over just about every guy in here. Do they look like their egos are taking a hit?”
> Soren didn’t look. He was busy wrestling the box of Pop-Tarts open. “I can’t help it if I’m more macho than most guys. It runs in the Decker blood.” He ripped open one of the foil packets, pulled one Pop-Tart out, and offered the other to me. “My mom, god bless her, gave birth to four boys. My grandma gave birth to five. Macho is tantamount to the Decker name.”
“You talk a lot in the morning,” I said, taking the Pop-Tart. A person didn’t turn away free food when they were flat broke.
“That’s not just a morning problem.” He bit off a quarter of his “breakfast.”
I set my breakfast into my purse, saving it for lunch. I’d just brushed my teeth and didn’t want to chance showing up to meetings with pink-stained teeth and sprinkles in them.
“What’s your schedule like today?” I asked, my heart hammering from experiencing my first subway ride. It was everything they made it seem like in the movies, but grittier. Plus, there were the smells a screen could never recreate. It felt like every part of the planet was somehow represented in odor inside of this small subway car.
The familiar ones, to the not-so-familiar.
“I have class, baseball, work, homework, sleep.” Soren moved more behind me when the next load of passengers crawled off and on at the next stop. “That’s my schedule most every day except for the weekend. Then it’s all baseball, homework, and sleep.”
“When do you have fun?”
Soren chuckled like that was a cute question. “Sometimes I have a few hours on Thursday to go home. Makes my mom happy, and I chow down like I’m not going to see a meal for a month. Dad and my brothers bond by shouting and gesturing at whatever game’s on television. That’s about all the time I have for fun in my life these days.”
The car was getting more packed the closer we got to the heart of the city. A guy who’d climbed on at the last stop was standing uncomfortably close to me. I knew I’d grown up in a small town with probably five acres to every occupant, but this dude felt like he was trying to drape himself around my back.
Soren must have noticed the dude was pushing his boundaries too, because Soren slid around me and into my spot so the guy was sandwiched up against him instead. Weird how the perv melted back into the rest of the crowd.
“That sounds nice, and I bet it makes your mom happy.”
Soren checked over his shoulder to make sure the guy had backed off. “It’s more an exercise in survival of the fittest, but yeah, it makes Mom happy. The burden of being the favorite.” He stuffed the last of his Pop-Tart into his mouth, pointing at the door. “The next stop’s yours. Are you comfortable getting off on your own? Won’t get lost in the great city of Oz?” He checked the time on his phone, the skin between his brows creasing. “If we hustle, I can get off and take you there myself, just to make sure you know where you’re going. My professor’s pretty cool about students being late to class.”
My head shook as I felt the subway slow. “You’ve already saved my butt a half dozen times this morning. I can navigate a few blocks on my own.”
He glanced at me, giving me a second to change my mind. I still hadn’t when the doors started to open.
“Just head up the stairs. That’ll put you on Park Avenue. Depending on your address, head up or down a few blocks.” He lifted his chin at the doors. “Those doors don’t pause for anyone, not even a supermodel in the making.” His hand moved to my back, gently guiding me toward the doors as people started to shove on.
“Thanks for everything,” I shouted back at him, shouldering through the wave of people. “Have a great day.”
“Make today great!” he shouted before the doors closed.
When I waved over my shoulder at him, I barely caught him winking at me before the subway moved down the rail.
The clock on the subway wall read 7:40, which gave me plenty of time to make it three blocks. Provided I didn’t get turned around. Which I wouldn’t. Soren had saved me this morning. Now the rest was up to me.
Following the herd of people up the stairs, I emerged onto the sidewalk as the winter air blasted over me. This city was so dang cold. With all these tall buildings and people, how could it possibly feel like the cold was knifing through me straight to the bone?
Taking a moment to get my bearings, I checked the address for the agency. It was on the 1480 block, and I was currently on the 1450 block. So I was close, but I didn’t have a clue if I should head straight or turn around.
Everyone back home had told me how people in big cities weren’t like people in small towns, especially when it came to helping one another out. Whether they were right or not, I was going to ask for help until someone marching down this sidewalk gave me some.
It only took a few excuse mes before one lady paused.
“Can you tell me if 1480 is up or down?”
She kept moving, pointing over her shoulder. “It’s back that way. Few streets down.”
“Thank you,” I called after her as I started moving down the sidewalk.
I felt like I was going against traffic as I shoved through the crowds headed in the opposite direction, but I finally made it to the building I needed. It was one of those massive structures that seemed to go up so high, it broke through the atmosphere. The windows were gleaming so much, they seemed to ripple, and the people whisking in and out of the doors looked like they’d just stepped out of one of the fashion magazines I was hoping to one day have photos of me in.
Covering my stomach with my hand to try to massage the butterflies away, I took a deep breath and moved through the doors. It was gleaming inside too. This was how I’d pictured my new living space, but at least I was getting it in some capacity.
After checking the building directory, I moved to the wall of elevators and waited. With everyone else. Move. Wait. Move. Wait. I felt like a farm animal. As soon as one set of doors opened, people would spill out, shove in, and I’d be left lingering in the hall. This repeated at least six times until I realized I was never going to make it up to the twenty-fourth floor if I didn’t take the New Yorker approach and shove, shoulder, and slide myself where I needed to go.
The ride up was even more smashed with bodies than the ride on the subway had been. Some lady was pressed into my back; I was pressed into some guy’s back. I’d never been so aware of body odor—others and my own.
“Excuse me,” I announced when the doors pinged open on the twenty-fourth floor. “Coming through,” I added when no one was willingly “excusing me.” The shoulder-slide-shoulder got me out of the elevator before the doors closed on me.
I hadn’t expected the elevator to open right up into the agency. Buildings back home—you know, the five- and six-story ones—had elevators that opened into halls that led you to office doors. Not this building. Not this elevator.
To my left was a sprawling reception desk, modern, fashionable-looking—if furniture could be described as such. A couple of women who I assumed were receptionists were behind the desk, but from the look of them, they could have been models had they been born half a foot taller. Behind all of that stood an opaque glass wall where K&M Models had been etched onto the glass with matte black lettering.
Standing there in my one pair of designer jeans, my faux leather jacket, and my heels bought on the clearance rack at the mall back home, I’d never felt so small town as I did right then. What on Earth did a place like this see in some Nebraska girl like me? Some some-town tall girl who’d known her share of hardship?
It made my stomach drop, wondering if this was all some trick. Or they’d see me here under the scope of New York City and not see the same thing they’d seen in Omaha that day I’d been wandering the mall.
I couldn’t go back home. That wasn’t the life for me. I couldn’t spend the next sixty years going from part-time job to part-time job, struggling the way my mom had to support her family. I wasn’t content to settle down with my high school boyfriend and start popping babies out the way a lot of girls in my graduating class already were. My goal was
to work the job I loved, in the city I was hoping to fall in love with, and make enough money to support myself with extra to send home to ease some of the financial stress on the family I already had. My mom was getting by just fine on her own, but I wanted more for them all. More than just getting by. I wanted more than that for myself as well.
That was what had me lifting my shoulders and putting on an air of confidence I was not at all feeling as I approached the front desk. When the girl greeted me with a smile, I said, “I’m Hayden Hayes. I have an eight o’clock appointment to see Mr. Lawson.”
She pulled up something on her computer and gave a brief nod. “I’ll let him know you’re here. You can take a seat over there if you like.”
She indicated a line of see-through plastic chairs lined against a silver wall. A few dozen magazine covers had been framed and hung, presumably featuring models represented by the agency. After thanking her, I moved toward the wall to inspect the pictures. Some big magazines were represented up there, featuring some just-as-notorious models. It was impossible to wrap my mind around the fact that the same agency representing some of the biggest names in the modeling world was the same one representing me. Hayden Agatha Hayes from Hastings, Nebraska. The gangly, awkward girl who’d been teased and dubbed a freak by the intellectually-stunted turds in middle school. I couldn’t wait until I made it. Until it was my face on that magazine cover. Until I made my first million. I’d make sure to have them make that check out to Miss Freak.
After staring at the covers for a while, I took a seat and flipped through magazines. I was done going through those and still hadn’t been called in for my meeting, which was now running a half hour late.
The girl at the counter set the phone back on the hook and swallowed. “Miss Hayes? Mr. Lawson has been held up in another meeting and asked if I’d get you everything you needed.” Coming around the desk, she was holding a portfolio. “Here’s the go-see schedule for the day. Make sure to arrive a few minutes early, but no more than five.” She held out a sheet of paper with a list of times, companies, and addresses.