1
Georgina
Adragon disguisedas a businesswoman breathed down myneck.
I’d been in that position more times than I could count—a desperate grab at coffee before work, applying mascara in line, praying sidewalk congestion wouldn’t make me late. But on this particular day, it was the woman behind me breathing fire as she muttered, “It’s not like I havethe most important meeting of my lifein fiveminutes.”
I was actually early in hopes of making a good impression on my first day at a new assignment. Behind the café’s register, my best friend, Luciano, scribbled on a paper cup while arching a manicured eyebrow at me. He shook his head—a warning to stay put—and tapped on the name he’dwritten.
GEORGE.
Message received, loud and clear. But Luciano hadn’t been the one standing there for three minutes, withering under the wrath behindme.
Although it was a big day for me, I reallywasn’tin a hurry, because I’d planned ahead. The night before, I’d lain out a respectable white blouse and navy skirt suit to lead a meeting dominated by men before mapping out all possible routes from Brooklyn Heights to Midtown. I didn’t typically choose my outfits the night before like a grade schooler. The norm for me was hitting snooze too many times and leaving my fate in the hands of the public transportationgods.
But this assignment was different. I’d be working with men, and notjustmen, but so-called “bad boys.” And I’d been given less than a week to prepare—not only my notes, but my mindset too.Modern Man, a men’s interest monthly magazine, had already been losing market share before its creative director had been called out in a scathing exposé about sexism in the workplace. That was the environment I was walkinginto.
The woman exhaled another furious sigh against my hair. I turned and smiled at the brunette in a patterned blouse who tapped out something on herphone.
“You can go ahead of me,” Isaid.
She took a moment to finish what she was typing before looking up. “What?”
“It sounds like you have somewhere to be. I’m early, so goahead.”
“Great.” She stepped in front ofme.
The man behind her moved up in line, passing me. “I’m late for work too,” he said, turning away and effectively moving me to the back of theline.
My cheeks warmed. So he’d just assumed I’d let him go ahead too? That I wouldn’t speak up? Giving up my spot in line was a good deed—I didn’t have to do that. Well, maybe karma would handlethis.
“Karma? That bitch was squashed by the M-fourteen bus while trying to catch up with my ex,”Luciano had told meonce.
I didn’t agree. Karma may not have been swift, but it always gotyou.
I raised my hand to tap the man’s shoulder, then hesitated. Hadn’t he said he was also late to work? And Iwasearly for once. The commute to my new job was thirty minutes, so I’d factored in possible A-train delays, traffic if I had to take a cab, or even the possibility of jumping on the ferry. I’d left myself enough time that, should disaster strike, I’d still be able to get my daily mocha latte—because not having one was on par with saiddisaster.
Of course, the subway had been smooth sailing and the commute abreeze.
So, I wasn’t just early to work. I had another forty minutes before I needed to walk off the elevator and intoModern Manmagazine’s offices on the thirty-fifth floor of Dixon MediaTower.
I lowered my hand but stared daggers at the man’s bald spot.Do your worst,Karma.
I could practically hear Luciano’s thoughts as he stared at me and pumped dark roast into a cup. This was the sort of thing—getting pushed to the back of the line—that I was supposed to be working on. I wasn’t doing such a great job of morphing from Georgina into George, the side of me that could stride into a new workplace and take over without batting an eyelash. As Georgina, though? I did things like pay full price at the Brooklyn Flea so I wouldn’t have to haggle and apologize for slipping in an unidentified puddle and knocking over a candy display at DuaneReade.
I now had a half hour to get it together so I could confidently walk into the lion’s den. And Iwould—just after I’d gotten mylatte.
Luciano and I air-kissed when I reached the counter, but he said, “It’s not even nine in the morning, and you’ve already letat leasttwo people wipe their feet onyou.”
“I’m early for work,” I said, handing him exact change. “It was the nice thing todo.”
“Toonice.” He tapped the screen of an iPad to enter my order. “You’re toonice.”
“So, what’s wrong withthat?”
Luciano responded the way he always did. “Nothing, if you want to remain a spinster. Men love bitches, and bitches get what they want—like swift coffee ordates.”
“Dates?”
