I glance around, checking for any oncoming men ready to dab my breasts clean, but when not a single person stops to help, I realize I’m shit out of luck.
What was I saying about New York?
Oh right… I love it.
I’m going to keep repeating that to myself over and over again as I carry my burrito in one hand and fan out my shirt with the other. I’ll change when I get to work. My company has more than enough polos to spare. I should know; everyone I work with wears one almost every single day.
The only sad thing about getting coffee on my shirt is that I won’t be able to drink it now. But hey, it’s all part of the experience, right? The New York City experience. Consider this my initiation. My rite of passage. Being a girl from upstate New York, I’ve always dreamed of living in the city. Not just in my dorm room but on the Upper East Side, so now that I’m here again, nothing is going to stop me from enjoying it.
Not a single thing.
Because this is my new start.
I moved to the city to be closer to my friends, got a job with Butter Putter editing their ad copy and editorials, and now I’mliving the single life, trying to regain the confidence I lost when I was married to Matt.
And sure, coffee down the blouse is not the way to start building up confidence, but it’s not the worst thing that could happen. It’s a conversation starter. Common ground.
Something I can talk about to my new coworkers that I share nothing in common with.
Like I said, nothing, and I mean nothing, is going to stop me from enjoying this new chapter in my life.
Scottie Price is thriving.
She is single.
She’s smart, she’s charismatic, she’s charming.
And she’s living out her best Nora Ephron life, falling in love with herself.
Yup, nothing is going to take that away.
Nothing.
Chapter One
SCOTTIE
“Meeting in ten,” Duncan says while knocking on the casing to the door of my office.
“Well aware,” I mutter as I press my fingers into my brow. I don’t need the reminder.
Another freaking Thursday morning meeting where obnoxious blowhards like to hear themselves speak while absolutely nothing is accomplished.
Great.
It’s been three months at this job, and it’s like clockwork. We shuffle into the conference room. Brad S carries around a putter like he’s King Arthur at the Round Table and talks about the eighteen holes he plans on playing this weekend while Brad F—or Finky—and Chad cheer him on from the sidelines like a bunch of fanboys, frothing at the mouth for the attention of their leader.
Yup, Brad, Brad, and Chad.
The Brads and Chad.
I stare off into the pit of the office. Rows of glass desks, all stacked right next to the other, placed on top of puttable Astroturf flooring. Bobbleheads showcasing a variety of sports heroes are perched atop said desks, jouncing while penis after penis walks by.
Yes, you read that right…penis after chino-encased penis.
To tell it to you straight, I work surrounded by a real sausage fest.
And not just any sausage fest but the worst kind.
