I place the drinks and the plate on the dresser and drop my bag to the floor.
“Noelle?” I call as I enter the large white bathroom. Nothing.
I rush across the hall to her room, banging frantically on her door. Fuck, I hope she doesn't think I just left her.
“Noelle,” I yell, banging my fist against the hard wood.
A door next to Noelle’s opens. “Can you keep it down? It’s Christmas. What’s with all the yelling?” an old man in a green robe grumbles.
“I’m trying to find my girlfriend.” The term slips out so easily. “Have you seen her?”
“If you are referring to the pretty little blonde that was banging around a few minutes ago trying to get her bags out the door, then yes. She was heading toward the elevator. I had to tell her to keep it down too.” I sag with relief. I still have time to catch her and explain.
I decide to miss the elevator and take the stairs, running down them two at a time to reception.
“The blonde, room 305. Is she still here?” I yell, louder than I need to.
“I’m sorry, sir, the guest in room 305 just checked out, and a cab was called for her.” I don’t hear what else the woman says. I run to the main entrance, slipping slightly as I go down the icy steps. I frantically search up and down the street, but nothing. All I see through the morning mist and the snow-covered streetsare headlights disappearing into the distance, and I know in my heart that’s her. That’s her, and I’ve fucked it all up and lost her.
Merry fucking Christmas.
Chapter Thirteen
Kennedy Noelle
11 months later
“Okay, everyone, it’s thirty minutes until the opening walk, and I’m gonna need everyone on their A-game. There is no room for error. We have some important people in the audience, and honestly, tonight could be the end of the road for some of you.” Clarice, who is in charge of the assistant interns tonight, yells to be heard over the warm up music.
After the worst Christmas of my life last year, my sister Kate's friend, Ali, got me a job as an intern at Violet Magazine. I am her assistant, and it’s honestly the best job.
“Jeez, who pissed in her coffee today?” Lunden, a fellow intern, and my new best friend, whispers as Clarice still talks at us. I can't help but snort, and Clarice eyes us both.
“Is there a problem here, ladies?” We both shake our heads rapidly.
“Good, now, let's make this the best show Violet Magazine has had.” We all clap and disperse, heading for our designated areas.
We have time for a quick bathroom break before the chaos, and I take the time to reapply my nude lipstick and adjust my ponytail. We are dressed in black T-shirts with Violet Magazine in large white letters on the front and back. I’ve paired it with a black pencil skirt and black ballet pumps for comfort. I pop on my headset so we can all liaise with each other and keep the flow of the show going and on time, and head for Ali’s dressing room.
I push through the main dressing area, rows of Hollywood mirrors and makeup artists preen and prep the endless line of models backstage, each one just as beautiful as the next. Working here has given me a confidence boost I didn’t know I needed. I got an apartment with Lunden six months ago, right here in New York, after living with Kate for the first few months. I haven't heard from Carson since we both moved out of our brownstone on New Year’s Day. I could barely look at him. I took January to wallow in my failed life choices. But when this job offer came up, a paid internship, it was as if all my silent prayers had been answered. Well, all but one. I never knew what happened to my mystery man, and truthfully, I’ve thought about that night with him more times than I should, and I haven't been with anyone since. I tried to find him online, but nothing. I have a hunch Beckett wasn’t even his real name.
I make it to the end of the dressing area and flash my staff lanyard to the large security guy on guard at the private dressing rooms before I knock on Ali’s door. I wait a beat before entering and regretted my move the minute the door opened.
Ali is sitting on her dressing table with some guy with dark hair, who I assume is her boyfriend, Harry, on his knees in front of her, face buried between her legs.
“Oh, my god. I’m so, so sorry,” I shriek, slamming the door and running back down the corridor.
“Kennedy, wait,” Ali calls. She runs after me, tying her silk lilac robe around her slim waist.
“Ali, I am so sorry. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have interrupted,” I ramble, but she interrupts me when she pulls me in for a hug.
“No, no, I’m sorry, sweetie. That wasn’t your fault. We’re animals; can’t get enough of each other.” She pulls back, giving me a wink.
I sag in relief. “Okay, but I am sorry. I just wanted to let you know it’s thirty minutes until opening, so you might wanna get your rollers out, and I can help you get in your dress.”
“Sure thing. Let me kick H out, maybe give me fifteen?”
I nod. “Sure, I'll come back then.”
