Page 45 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

“You have a hangover?” I whisper.

She drops her sunglasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose. “You could say that.”

“I just did.”

“Ha. Ha.” Holding the large black Chanel frames up, she looks me over. “You look like a lawyer.” I burst out laughing. Maybe I should wear this for Nick later. She continues, “Where are you going?”

Clasping my briefcase in my hands, I reply, “To see a man about a loan.”

Her mouth quirks up at the sides. “You’re going to see your dad?”

“I sure am. Wish me luck.”

She slides off the barstool and comes to hug me. “I wish you all the luck in the world, my friend.” Leaning back, she adds, “You got this, Nat. Don’t be intimidated. Stand up for what you believe in—yourself and us.”

“I will, and I hope you feel better.” I open the door, but before I go, I say, “And thanks for the pep talk.”

“That’s what I’m here for. That and the Lucky Charms.”

“They are delicious.”

“Magically.”

With a pep in my step, I hurry down the stairs and call a car to deliver me to Wall Street. As soon as I arrive on the infamous street, I duck inside the building and head up to the Manhattan Financials’ offices on the twenty-fifth floor.

The elevator doors slide open, and I keep walking toward the entrance, signaling to the receptionist that I’m here to see my dad. Although she’s on the phone, she waves me in after buzzing me through. I spent every summer from myeleventh-grade year in high school to my junior year in college interning here. I’ve worked every job from mailroom to reception. I was brought into meetings with my parents to observe them in action.

Despite their best efforts to teach me financial advising and the brokerage side of the business, I never acquired a taste for either. Stockbrokers are intense, and I’d rather spend people’s money than manage it. Although the gifting profession sounds easy, it takes a knack for reading people. What will have their heart racing with excitement not only to give a great present, but they seek the reward for the thought. I have to stay two steps ahead of popular gifts and know what’s the next hot item.

My parents have tried to understand what I’m trying to create, but other than hiring me to sort out their corporate holiday gifts, they lose sight of the potential.

Taking a deep breath, I psych myself up for the sales pitch of a lifetime and then knock. From the other side of the door, my father calls, “Come in.”

Entering his office has never intimidated me until now. “Hi, Dad.”

“Natalie.” He only glances up for a split second before he returns to analyze something on the computer monitor that has his face all twisted. “Have a seat and I’ll be right with you.”

Mom comes in before I sit down. Hugging me, she asks, “How are you, honey?”

“I’m good. Really good.” I want to sing Nick Christiansen’s praises, but my parents are the last people who should hear about my sexual exploits. Though they might be interested in hearing about what a gentleman he is and that he’s a lawyer. Parents love lawyers for their children, especially if one of said children has no aspirations of becoming one.

“That’s good to hear.” My mom sits next to me. “Let’s talk.”

With that phrase out there, I barely have time to set down my bag. My dad turns away from the screen to look at me. “It seems the loan was calculated at the correct rate and should last you through the end of the term. Which, of course, is the end of November.”

Covering my hand on the arm of the chair, my mom adds, “We know how hard you’ve worked on STJ, even with the heavy course load you were taking your senior year. We can see how it could turn into an exciting revenue stream. It utilizes your creativity, craftiness, and people skills. I can speak for both your father and I when I say that we do hope to have you join our team one day. But you’re allowed to pursue your own dreams, which you’re doing.”

A glance from my mother to my father is the equivalent of a tag in the ring to take over. Without missing a beat, he folds his fingers together on the desk in front of him. “I can see you came prepared, Natalie, and I’ve already read over the email you sent. Not to discount the fact that you’re here to defend your plans, but we support you.”

Still sitting with my back stiff as a board, I nod. “Thank you. That’s very much appreciated.”

He continues, “Most businesses take twelve to twenty-four months to turn a profit.” He clicks something on the keyboard and then squints at the monitor again. “You broke even the past three months. With two of the biggest gift-giving months ahead, we think it would be foolish to pull the plug right now.”I have worked so damn hard, and I’d almost wondered if they weren’t proud of me.But this endorsement goes a long way to heal that pain.

I try not to let my hopes get ahead of reality, but excitement ignites inside me. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” my mom starts, “we’ll extend the loan for another year.”

“Really?” I mentally pack the pie charts and the line graphs I’d memorized away.

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