Page 1 of You. Me. Us.

one

. . .

The blareof a car horn sent Hillary’s heart thrumming as she stepped back onto the sidewalk, blowing out a breath and taking her first pause of the morning.

“Getting hit by a car is not going to be the fix your life needs.” She muttered as the light changed, officially signaling her to cross.

Hillary darted through the busy streets, her chestnut ponytail whipping behind her as she clutched a stack of papers in one hand and a sloshing coffee cup in the other. The morning rush hour surged around her, a cacophony of blaring car horns and animated chatter from other walkers. She wove skillfully between briefcase-toting businessmen and cell-phone-engrossed pedestrians, her short heels clicking urgently against the sidewalk as if to taunt her.

If she was going to make it into the office to impress Olivia, she needed to hustle a lot faster. New York City was the busiest during rush hour, and her alarm hadn’t gone, making her late to the stupid train that took her into the city.At least you woke up on your own.

“Excuse me,” she murmured breathlessly as she narrowly avoided a collision with a street vendor hawking roasted nuts despite it being hotter than any fall day needed to be. The enticing aroma of cinammon made her empty stomach protest, but there was no time. She was already running late.

Again.

Stealing a glance at her watch without loosening her grip on the papers, Hillary sighed. The delicate silver timepiece her father had given her when she landed her coveted magazine job read just after nine.

Olivia is going to have my head, Hillary thought with a grimace. She picked up her pace, gritting her teeth as if it would push her feet to move faster or shrink the distance between seventh and fortieth and seventh and fifty-third.

Her calves screamed with each strike of her shoe against the concrete, but Hillary didn’t slow down. Not until the gleaming fifteen-story building that held all of Pendel Holding’s magazines came into view. It looked like every other glass-paneled building in New York, but for Hillary, it was home.

More than slightly winded, Hillary shouldered against the polished revolving door bar, pushing slightly to get the damn thing to rotate, and stepped into the sleek, modern lobby.

“Morning, Miss Hillary. A little late,” Johnny, the doorman-slash-security guard, said with a wink as she hustled past toward the bay of elevators.

“Only a little!” Grinning, she lifted her hip as close as she could to the panel that would read the code on the badge handing off her waistband and send the elevator to the pre-programmed floor. Thankfully, the chime came quickly, and the doors to the second elevator slid open. “See you around lunch!”

Leaning against the rail in the elevator, Hillary let out a sigh, grateful for the forty-seconds or so to relax before the day trulybegan. Far too soon, the elevator stopped, and the doors re-opened.

Hillary took a deep breath, steeling herself for another day of trying to find her place in this glamorous, cutthroat world so far from the small-town simplicities of her upbringing in upstate New York. Stepping out, she took a sip of her now lukewarm coffee. “You’ve got this, Hil,” she muttered under her breath as the doors closed. “Time to shine.”

As she stepped onto the eighth floor where Muse Magazine had their office, the air hummed with a familiar energy. The sound of ringing phones blended seamlessly with the rapid-fire chatter of her coworkers, creating a symphony of productivity. People bustled around with purpose, striding confidently between cubicles and conference rooms. The smell of fresh coffee and printer ink mingled in the air, adding to the bustling atmosphere. For her, it was both invigorating and intimidating— a constant reminder to keep up with the fast-paced world of journalism.

“Morning Alice, cute skirt!” Hillary called to the receptionist as she rushed by the front desk toward the other desks. “Thanks hon, knock ‘em dead!” Alice replied with a warm smile, waving her through.

As other magazine staff milled around her, exchanging industry gossip, a familiar pang of not quite belonging rose in her chest, making her all the more aware of how late she was. She smoothed her simple blouse and tugged at her modest pencil skirt, suddenly self-conscious of her understated attire compared to the cutting-edge fashions draped on everyone else.

Turning the corner from the noise of the art section, the energy only doubled when faced with the reporter’s desks and editor’s row of offices. Muse Magazine had one editor per news section, as well as digital versus print. There was never a lack of people yelling around the office.

She wove through the maze of desks, nodding and smiling at her colleagues as she made her way to her own small workspace.

“Hey, Hillary!” a cheerful voice called out. She turned to see Jack, one of the staff writers, grinning at her from his desk. “Did you catch that new superhero movie this weekend, Bone Jumper? I heard it was awesome, looking to get away from the parties tomorrow and find time to see it.”

Hillary’s face lit up, her nervousness momentarily forgotten. There weren’t too many people that knew she enjoyed a good superhero movie. “Oh my gosh, yes! The special effects were incredible, and the plot had so many unexpected twists. I couldn’t believe when?—”

“Hillary, do you have a minute?” a voice interrupted.

Turning, she found Megan, Olivia’s assistant, looking at her expectantly. Even though she had known who said her name before she turned, confirming that the editor-in-chief was looking for her did not make her Monday any better. Especially if Megan had been circling and knew Hillary was late.

“Of course,” Hillary replied, her enthusiasm quickly replaced by a flutter of anxiety. She gave Jack an apologetic smile before hurrying over to Megan.

“Olivia wanted me to check in on your progress with the lifestyle piece on the artist. She’s hoping to see a draft by end of day.”

Hillary’s heart sank. The article had been giving her trouble, and she was behind schedule because the fickle photographer didn’t want to be interviewed. She forced a confident smile. “Absolutely, I’m just putting the finishing touches on it. It’ll be ready.”

Megan nodded, her expression unreadable. “Great. I’ll let her know.” She turned on her heel and strode away, leaving Hillary standing there, her mind racing.

“You’ve got this,” she whispered to herself, echoing a similar pep talk from while she got dressed. “Just got to get to the desk and get on the phone.”

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