DraculaVille - New York - Book One (2 page)

“It’s not all about money, kid. Especially not for someone like you.” He rested a hand on her shoulder for a second then left the room.

Not about money. Was he kidding? He lived in a ten thousand square foot townhouse across from Central Park, and a chauffeur drove him to work every day. Of course it was all about the money. She snorted. Maybe she should look for another job. The thought of dealing with this Romania crap left her empty with a side order of nausea. She wasn’t even sure where the stupid country was. Somewhere east of England, right? Did planes even go there?

She took a deep breath. Despite her disappointment, she’d never given up on anything and nothing had ever defeated her. Not her father leaving when she was eight, not her ex-fiancé dumping her at the altar at twenty, and not her mother’s painful death from cancer ten years ago. Somewhere in the recesses of her soul, a spark of defiance burned. Once she got over feeling sorry for herself, she’d rock this stupid campaign. She’d turn Romania into Monaco. But first she needed to get really drunk.

Chapter 2

“Talia? What the hell happened to you?” Gerri Peterman slid into the booth opposite Talia, her blue eyes round. Her long brown hair was pinned in a French twist, elegant as usual. She pushed three empty martini glasses out of the way and grabbed her friend’s hand.

“Stupid Harv gave my Fizzola account to suck-face Bill,” Talia blurted, then burped. She fingered one of the glasses and retrieved its stack of olives on a toothpick, popping them into her mouth one after the other. She glanced at other people scattered in booths about the dimly lit bar wondering if they were as miserable as she was. Nope, nobody could possibly be that miserable. Screwed, let down, backstabbed and miserable. She stared at the four little green balls with their shiny red eyes. Evil little monsters. Like Bill and Harv. She popped one in her mouth, taking pleasure in crushing it with her teeth, like it was a certain loser’s head. Take that, Bill.

Gerri leaned across the table, forehead crinkled in concern. “Tal, you need to get a hold of yourself. Have you had anything to eat other than martinis and olives?” She tried to take the remaining olive kabob from Talia, but she slapped Gerri’s hand and ate the last two with a grin.

“I don’t care. Nothing in life is worth caring about. Oops.” She fell over on the seat when she reached out to flag a waiter. “Everything I’ve worked for is flushed down the toilet.”

“May I help you?” The young man eyed her, one corner of his mouth pulled tight in misgiving.

She righted herself and flipped her bobbed hair from her face. “Yes, my good man, I’ll have another vodka martini, very, very dirty. One for her, too.” She waggled a finger in Gerri’s direction.

“Tal, I think you’ve had enough.” Her friend glanced at the waiter, but he turned and left. “What’s going on?”

“Tol’ you. Bill got Fizzola.” Talia aimed a straw at the bottom of the three empty glasses and made a slurping sound in each. Where was the booze? She needed to be a lot more drunk than this.

“What account did
you
get?”

“Romania.”
Slurrrrp.

“Huh?”

“The country.”
Slurrrp.

“Hell, I know Romania’s a country. I’m a nurse practitioner, I’m not stupid.”

“Ha ha ha, that’s funny. I’m not even sure where it is.” Talia chortled. “Thanks for coming, though. I needed a laugh.”

“Glad I could provide some comic relief.” Gerri frowned. “Now stop joking around and tell me what happened.”

Talia dropped the straw and propped her chin on her fists. “I got sold out. Bill’s bonking the Chairman’s daughter, so she needs a house. Fizzola’ll buy a very nice house.”

Gerri’s narrowed her eyes and leaned back. “That sucks. You’ve worked hard to get that account. It’s all you’ve talked about for the past five years.”

Talia nodded. “I knew you’d understand. You’re my best friend ever, ever, ever.”

“You seriously need to stop drinking when you start saying goopy things like that. I know you too well.” Gerri crossed her arms. “Let’s go back to my place and I’ll make us some dinner. We’ll trash talk Bill, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“No.” Talia pounded the table with her fist, and Gerri, along with the empty martini glasses, jumped. “You don’t get it. This is it. My life is over. I’ve waited ten years to get Fizzola pissola.
Ten Years
. I’ll be the laughing stock of New York when word of this gets out.”

Gerri arched one brow. “So that’s it. You’re worried about how this will look.”

Talia made a sound like, “
blurpphhfzzzz
,” and waved a hand. Gerri wasn’t making her feel better, she was making it worse. When all you had was your reputation, losing it was everything. People like Gerri, who had friends and a life outside of work, couldn’t understand that.

Their waiter returned and placed two martini glasses in front of them. Talia grabbed one and sucked it dry before Gerri had time to touch hers.

“S’not true,” Talia mumbled.

“What?”

“I don’t care what people think.” It was a lie, but she didn’t want to admit it. That would make her vulnerable.

Gerri studied her for a moment. “Yes, you do. You’ve spent your whole life building up this image of Talia the tiger, tough as nails ad executive. But it’s not really who you are.”

“Yes, it is. I’m tougher than anybody.”

“You can fool yourself, but you can’t fool me. I remember the nights you’ve stayed at my apartment when I was sick, and how you punched Jeff in the face when he broke up with me. And don’t forget how you helped Felix get over the death of his father, and went to bail him out of jail in the middle of the night when he got too rowdy at a gay rights demonstration.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s nothing.”

“Maybe you’ll be relieved to lose the cola giant. It’s a lot of work, and they expect you to drop everything when they need something. You might not like that.”

“I can do that Fizzola account with my hands tied behind my back. I can write copy using a pencil between my teeth. I’m tough enough.”

“But can you do Romania?” Gerri sipped her drink, staring at her over her glass’ rim.

Talia glared. Gerri was the only real friend she had. The one person who stuck with her through thick and thin. Now she sounded like Harv, the traitor, going on about how there’s more to life than money, and how she needed a challenge. Garbage.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She pushed her empty glass to the side and it fell over. Irritation boiled in her gut. Why didn’t somebody understand what this meant to her? It felt like her whole career had been worthless. Years of work down the drain. All her sacrifices pointless.

“There’s no hidden meaning.”

“You think I can’t do an ad campaign for a country I’m pretty sure is smaller than California?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Talia rubbed her palms over her eyelids. Her head pounded and the room looked a little fuzzy. Her heart still ached, so she probably hadn’t had enough to drink. “I thought you would be on my side.”

Gerri put her glass down and leaned across the table. “I am on your side. It sucks that Bill got Fizzola the way he did, but that’s life. It’s never fair. So, do a bang up job on Romania, and next year you get Fizzola. Your life’s not over. Maybe this will be a wake-up call for you to put your life in perspective. Work shouldn’t be everything to a person. Get out and date, make some new friends, travel. You might like having a life.”

“Go ‘way.”

“What?”

“I said,
go away
.” Talia slapped her hands on the table, and the glasses clattered against each other.

“Tal…”

“No, please. I want to be alone. I want to wallow in self pity. A lot. I don’t want people telling me to ‘just get over it’ and patting me on the shoulder.” She sniffed and fought tears. She hadn’t cried in five years. She wasn’t starting now. No one would see her weak. “So, please leave.”

Gerri touched Talia’s hand on the table, but she jerked it away.

“At least let me call you a cab. You’ve had way too much to drink.” Gerri scooted off the seat and stood.

“I’m fine. Ssseriously. Go.” Talia buried her face in her hands and stayed that way until she heard Gerri’s footsteps leaving. Part of her wanted to call to her friend, beg her to stay. But alcohol urged her to continue her pity party and block out everyone but the vodka.

When she raised her head, the room tilted to the right and then to the left. The olives she ate seemed to battle each other in an epic war inside her stomach. One more drink should settle everything down.

She waved to her waiter, but he ignored her. Stupid jerk. One more person trying to screw her today. Fine. She’d drink at the bar. The bartender couldn’t ignore her. She grabbed her purse and headed over, but the floor didn’t cooperate. It kept moving and growing bumps she tripped over. Stupid floor.

When she reached the bar, she clung to a brass rail that ran along the top. She needed the room to stop spinning long enough for her to climb onto a barstool. The burly bartender scowled at her.

“Ma’am?” A man in a navy suit, a cheap Armani knockoff of course, took her elbow. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to call you a cab.”

“I’m not through drinking yet.” She pulled back, but his fingers dug into her arm. She winced and squinted at him. He wavered in and out of focus.

“I’m sorry, but you’ve had enough. I can’t serve you anymore or I could lose my license. Let me call a cab for you.” He tugged her from the bar.

“Stop it. Let me go, you jerk.” She swatted at his hand. One more person against her. Was everyone in New York out to make her life miserable today? She managed to swing her free arm and whack him in the side with her heavy Louis Vuitton handbag filled with everything from her makeup kit to an iPad.

The man staggered back and released her arm long enough for her to grab her friend the brass rail and steady herself. “What kind of bar is this? I just want to drown my sorrows and be left alone.”

He motioned to the bartender who jumped across the bar and lumbered toward her. “You’re drunk and we can’t serve you anymore. If you won’t leave quietly, I’ll have Sam throw you out.”

She held her purse in front of her like a shield and retreated from the determined bartender. Creep. Like this was the only bar in Manhattan. She’d never come here again.

But she wasn’t going to be manhandled by some hunk of meat. How humiliating. She scooted backward until she ran into the rear wall and she had nowhere to go.
Oops
. Sam gave a cheeky grin and made a grab for her. She twisted away and ran for the fire exit door on the side. Pushing through the door left her teetering on an uneven brick step.

A rude shove from behind, and she stumbled unceremoniously into an alley that ran beside the bar. She landed in a soft heap of something and her coat landed on top of her. Then she passed out.

***

The sour smell of rotted garbage brought tears to Talia’s eyes. She struggled to sit up. What the hell had happened? Light from a street light glinted off broken shards of glass on the concrete in front of her. It was so dark. She shivered and pulled on her coat. Where was she? Her head felt like someone had hit it with a sledge hammer, and she had an overwhelming urge to throw up. Seriously overwhelming.

She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She crawled a few feet and vomited against a brick wall. Gravel and dirt dug into her palms and knees. Her stomach heaved to produce more than vodka and olives, but after that, only bile came up. Scooting backwards on hands and knees, she floundered against the soft cushion where she’d slept. Garbage. She gagged. Plastic bags of garbage formed a pile against the overflowing dumpster.

A whimper escaped her throat as she gazed at her beautiful, crazy-expensive jacket. Even in the dim light of the alley, she discerned stains and spots marring its exquisite tan material. Her victory jacket. The one she’d bought so she’d look amazing when she accepted the Fizzola Cola account. A single tear trailed her cheek, and she brushed it away, fighting a sob of utter defeat.

She glanced at her watch. Two a.m.
Damn
. Yesterday she was on top of the world. Now she was sprawled in a gutter. Literally. Flashes of her drunken argument with the bar manager pulsed in her mind like a broken silent movie. Thankfully she couldn’t recall most of it. She did remember ordering Gerri to leave earlier. Crap. She was such a bad person to hurt her friend’s feelings.

“You broke your heel.” A soft voice rose out of the mound of black, garbage filled bags.

She jumped. “Excuse me?” She squinted in the dark and finally made out two eyes glowing faintly like tired, spent embers.

“Pity,” he said. “Nice shoes. Louboutins.”

Chapter 3

Talia crawled closer and made out a man curled in a tight ball in the corner beside the dumpster. Some homeless man? No. Homeless men didn’t know about Louboutin shoes, and she recognized expensive Italian loafers when she saw them. His black leather shod feet stuck out of the little ball he made.

“Don’t come near me.” The voice gained strength on a note of apprehension.

She paused. “What’s wrong? Did they throw you out of the bar, too?”

“No. No, I don’t…I think someone tried to kill me.” The figure shifted.

“Oh, my God! You should go to the hospital.”

“I can’t, my head’s pounding and my body’s on fire. I, I want to die. Just leave me alone. Please.” He closed his eyes, causing the strange glow to disappear.

Was that how pitiful she’d sounded when she told Gerri to leave? What a wretched friend she was. Well, she wasn’t such a bad human being as to leave some poor man to die in an alley. A really smelly alley at that. Even a rat shouldn’t die here.

“Let me help you. At least go somewhere, uh, clean…and think this through.” She sat on her haunches and held a hand to him. “Okay?”

The twin glows appeared and his gaze bored into hers. A strange compulsion tugged at her to go to him, hold him. It was like a magnet pulled. His eyes never left hers and she became lost in their depths. The world swirled around her in a fog. All she could focus on was his face.