”Hold it…hold it! ” I gasp, my heels clinking against the hard, ceramic floor as I barrel towards my destiny.

My hands desperately shuffle through my bag, as I lock eyes with the person whos in charge of my fate. Today, its an older woman whose hair is starting to turn gray in the front. Her face is molded into a stern expression, a complete contrast from her vibrant, floral print shirt.

And despite my pleas, both verbal and telepathic, she simply faces the ground, and pretends she doesn see me, allowing the subway doors to close.

”Oh ** me. ” I curse under my breath, finally finding my metro card through the sea of random items in my purse.

The time is now noon, and Im officially late.

Late for my first day as Adrienne Walkers assistant.

As I swipe my metrocard, and walk through the stations turnstiles, I take a second to process what my life has become. A year ago, I was living at my parents house in Florida, taking college classes and essentially dreaming of the day where I would be in the position that I am now. A college graduate, doing the job I love, in a city that I love even more.

When I got hired to work at Adrienne Walker Designs I was in complete shock. I mean…shes Adrienne **ing Walker. Her company is world renowned. An absolute staple in the fashion industry.

And Im her assistant.

I moved to New York City about two weeks ago, and Ive just been over the moon. For the first time in a long time, I can confidently say that Im satisfied with where I am. I don feel like Im in that ambiguous place of waiting for my life to become what I need it to be before I can start being happy.

I am happy. The impenetrable kind of happiness that not even the wrath of the New York City subway can destroy.

Lucky enough, another train approaches the platform shortly after, and Im able to board.

About thirty minutes later, I made it to Adriennes office.

”Woah… ” I whisper, entering the large lobby. To say its beautiful would be an understatement. Theres a sense of crisp elegance that invades the large area. Even the noise of my heels clicking on the floor sounds expensive.

Before I even get to the front desk, a man in a fancy suit who I assume is security approaches me.

”Miss Alexandra Monet? ”

”Yup, thats me. ” I smile.

”Welcome to Adrienne Walker Designs, ” he greets me as if my arrival was anticipated for some time.

”Mrs. Walker is waiting for you in her office. Third fl

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