Spilled Drinks

Then I decided to see what people said about his personality. I guess that he's covered in tattoos, which I guess makes him some type of womanizer, according to the magazines I searched online. I glanced at him now, searching his face for any hardness or bitterness. I did find some, which frightened me. Who knows how violent he got when he didn't get what he wanted.

I definitely didn't want to see that side of him."


1. Chapter One

"Heather, darling, I'm going to need those style reports ASAP! Thank you, darling."

Ann's voice echoed out from my phone, filling my silent office with her high-pitched voice. I sighed, staring at the papers in front of me. The almost finished papers that I had to turn in this morning. As in right now. I flipped through the pages, my white nails following the sentences that I'd written at midnight last night. Somehow, I hadn't finished it in the 2 day timeframe she'd given me.

Now, don't get me wrong, Ann Shoket is a great lady, and the best editor-in-chief you could have. However, at times she could be a real bitch. I guess if your that serious about your job, you get that way. In her defense, I was the exact same way. I was just following in her footsteps. Both of us were absolutely serious about our jobs, even though I'm just an intern at Seventeen magazine.

I scribbled down a few last notes onto the manuscript, then stood up, picking up the stack of papers. I placed a pink paperclip on them, holding them securely under my armpit, then stepped out of my desk. I accidentally jostled my desk, causing my desk plate to clatter onto the floor loudly. I sighed audibly, picking up the plaque. I read the inscription, smiling at the words.


Heather Winters, Fashion Intern, Seventeen Magazine


I was sincerely proud of the stone plaque, as I placed it carefully back onto my wooden desk. I walked confidently out, my nude pumps clicking quietly on the floor as I walked past the other workers. I waved at the people passing me, smiling widely.

Did I mention I was serious about this job? If I wanted to keep this job and the apartment that I earned by myself, which was one of the nicest apartment buildings in NYC, I would need to be a good worker. That included being nice to everybody, even the other bitchy interns, including Janice.

Janice was the bitchiest of them all. She was like a ring leader, with a little circle of followers. She secretly, no scratch that, very openly, hated my guts. I knew why, and she knew why. Ann liked me much better. Plus, my fashion sense was stupendous compared to her trampy clothes.

"Good morning, Gay-ther." I heard a snicker from behind me. Speaking of the devil...

"Morning, Janice! Hope you have a nice day!" I replied, peppy as usual. I turned around, my insides already boiling. Her nickname for me wasn't even good. You shouldn't joke around about those things. Plus, my nicknames for her were way better.

Jan-ass. Tramp-ice. Oh, and just plain old slut.

I could be a real doll if you got on my good side.

I knocked lightly three times onto Ann's door, just as she had told me to twelve months ago, when I'd first arrived at the New York City Seventeen magazine headquarters. I smoothed out my teal blouse and my black pencil skirt, double checking my pearls and outfit for any wrinkles.

"Come in, darling."

I took a deep breath, calming my persona. I always felt a little intimidated before stepping into her huge office. It was made for creativity, painted calming colors. I had also signed her up for feng shui appointment, to make her office flow better. I had no idea if it actually worked, but she seemed happy with the little Chinese man who came and told her to redo her entire office.

I opened the door, closing it softly behind me. "Good morning, miss."

"Good morning to you too, darling. Do you have those manuscripts?" Ann replied, turning to me in her big chair, her hands stopping her fast typing. I nodded, placing the papers on her surprisingly clean desk, considering she was the editor-in-chief.

"Mm, thank you, darling." She said, absentmindedly placing a different manuscript to the side, stamping it with her big, black stamp. The stamp that nobody wanted on their paper. I glanced nonchalantly at the name at the top, almost bursting out laughing at the name. Janice Garnier. She got the stamp, and that stamp was nicknamed 'The Stamp of Doom'. I'm not even joking. I've never had one myself, but I've heard the stories.

I waited to see if she needed anything else, and wasn't surprised when her hand raised into the air. "Hold on, darling. I need a Starbucks tea."

I pulled a black notepad out of my bag, a pencil already in hand. I'd taken millions of orders for Ann, like teas, coffees, food, groceries and much more. I could name her favorite foods and drinks from the top of my head.

"I will have a passion tea today. Thanks, darling." She decided, her fingernails tapping on her desk. "Oh, and a scone on the side." She placed money onto the desk, sliding it skillfully to my hands.

"Alright miss." I said, smiling with the confidence that was streaming through me.

"Be quick."

"As always, miss."

I hurried out, walking like a model on a runway down the hall. Then I heard her.

"Looks like Gay-ther is placing orders for Ann again."

I turned slowly, biting my tongue. "Yes, Janice."

"She probably wants you out of here so she doesn't have to see her failed designs she places on her desk 24/7." She snickered, a group of her followers following her. They laughed quietly, rolling their eyes at me and sticking their hips out. I felt my face grow hot, as I bit back more rude words. If she said one more thing, I'd explode...

"They're ugly, just like her."

I turned quickly, feeling my blood boiling. My blonde ombré hair was swirling around my face, and I probably looked insane by the time I reached the elevator. I pushed the button madly, my white fingernail polish probably chipping. The doors slid open slowly, as I held in a scream of anger. I just wanted to punch her square in the jaw, but I would never go so low as to do that. I was, of course, going to keep this job. Janice, on the other hand, lived in a rich family, and probably owned a house on every island of Hawaii.

I walked briskly on the sidewalk, regretting my choice of leaving my coat in my office. There was a chilly wind blowing through the busy streets of NYC, as people bustled by. I was used to the usual jostle of people, but today I was beyond pissed. I stepped quickly into the Starbucks, feeling immediately relaxed by the smell of coffee. I could still feel my stomach grinding as I stepped up to the counter and ordered Ann's passion tea, and a green tea for me. I paid for hers with her money, then mine with my own money. I waited patiently, watching as a young man stepped into the doors. There was a hoard of paparazzi behind him, which wasn't unusual, so I just shook my head and turned away.

"Heather!" I heard the coffee worker yell out my name, as I grabbed the teas and scone and thanked her. I turned around, straight into what felt like a wall. My steaming hot green tea smashed against me as I yelped out in pain and anger. Luckily, Ann's passion tea and scone were still intact. I glanced up to find out it was a person I'd run into. This cannot be happening...

"Thanks a lot, man!" I said furiously, all my anger bubbling out. I took a second look at the guy, remembering his face immediately. It was the brown haired one who was being followed by the paparazzi. Figures.

His green eyes were huge, and his mouth was open with surprise. "I'm sorry!"

He had an accent. I might forgive an accent... Nope. Not today. I was pissed off, and he was totally not getting off the hook. I then thought of myself on the news:

'Intern at Seventeen magazine beats up celebrity! Now fired and put in jail!'

"Whatever." I muttered, deciding it wasn't worth it. Not worth the scene. He grabbed my arm, his warm hand wrapping around my forearm easily. I yelped again, my eyes wide.

"I really am." He said, his green orbs right in front of my face. My heart galloped in my chest in pure fear, before I took to action. He shouldn't be messing with a pissed Heather Winters. It wasn't pretty when I went down on someone like that.

I yanked my arm out of his grasp, holding Ann's passion tea in the other hand. "I honestly don't give a single fuck."

I stepped away, hustling quickly away from him. He gave me the serious creeps. I didn't care if he was a celebrity, no way in hell was I talking to him again. I hurried back to work, knocking, then walking into Ann's office with a Starbuck pastry bag and a hot cup of tea.

Ann's eyes were focused on the computer in front of her, as her hands tapped away on her desk.

"What in the world is this, Heather?"

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