things most only dream about. I can show your viewers adventures that will make them salivate and inspire them to get off their couches and sign up for trips that your advertisers promote. Give me a chance, and I’ll make you money.”
The song ended and he led her off the dance floor. He handed her his card. “Maybe you do have what it takes. Give me a call, Heather Bregman, and we’ll talk.”
She took the card and slipped it into her clutch. “Thank you for the dance. I look forward to discussing the possibility of working together.”
Charlie was back at the bar, flirting. After tonight she might need to take her career into her own hands. Snapping her purse closed, she decided not to share with him that she had Steven’s information.
On the cab ride home, Heather gazed at Charlie and once again questioned her decision. Was asking him to take a break the right thing to do?
On their first date, Charlie had taken her to Café Bella Vita on Charles Street in Boston. They sat by the window at a smalltable with candles flickering in the centerpiece. They indulged in lobster ravioli, drank expensive red wine, lingered over soft layers of tiramisu while she stared into Charlie’s dark, Italian eyes.
He held her hand, caressed her thumb, and said, “Right now I’m at the bottom, an agent’s assistant. But my plan is to take the average Joe, like a personal trainer or a financial adviser, and make them into a household name. I would move that person into a column, a book, a self-help video, and his own television series. I just have to find the right client to develop.”
She didn’t care about his career. She’d never seen anyone so beautiful.
After dinner, they strolled along the sidewalk, peeking into Beacon Hill’s art galleries and antiques shops. At Pinckney Street, he grabbed her hand and hurried up the steep hill lined with brick colonial row houses. At the top, they reached a tiny park with two small trees. Before she could catch her breath, he kissed her, his tongue ravaging her mouth.
He pulled away. Stunned, she looked at him. This godlike man had kissed her. Desired her.
Charlie pointed to a row house. “This is where I’m going to live someday.”
Ornate white metal circles decorated the windows that surrounded a bright red door. Through the glass she could see a carpeted spiral staircase reminiscent of an old movie set.
“Do you want to live here someday?” he asked.
The ability to speak was locked up in her throat. She worked two shifts as a waitress and still couldn’t make ends meet. Bills were piled up on her kitchen table. When she’d moved to Boston, she’d maxed out her Visa with a cash advance to pay the two months’ security deposit and first month’s rent on her apartment.In the last three years, she’d opened a MasterCard, a Discover, and another Visa, which she maxed out paying rent and buying groceries when tips were low. She had student loans from the year she’d been able to attend college. But here was Prince Charming, and it almost felt like he was asking her to live with him in a mansion on Beacon Hill.
She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t have time for ambitions or dreams; she was too worried about becoming homeless. For one moment, she allowed her fantasy to emerge, though she felt like a four-year-old saying what she wanted to be when she grew up: “I want to be a travel writer for a magazine or newspaper.”
“I have a friend at the Globe . If you write an article, I’ll help you publish it,” he’d said.
Charlie had helped her to make her biggest dream come true. Meeting him had changed her life. And now she was going to end their relationship.
The closer the cab came to their apartment, the less Heather could feel her body. Her arms and legs felt invisible, or detached. Charlie paid the driver as the car came to a stop in front of their building. A spinning feeling began. A child’s racetrack whirred in her head as her heart beat
The song ended and he led her off the dance floor. He handed her his card. “Maybe you do have what it takes. Give me a call, Heather Bregman, and we’ll talk.”
She took the card and slipped it into her clutch. “Thank you for the dance. I look forward to discussing the possibility of working together.”
Charlie was back at the bar, flirting. After tonight she might need to take her career into her own hands. Snapping her purse closed, she decided not to share with him that she had Steven’s information.
On the cab ride home, Heather gazed at Charlie and once again questioned her decision. Was asking him to take a break the right thing to do?
On their first date, Charlie had taken her to Café Bella Vita on Charles Street in Boston. They sat by the window at a smalltable with candles flickering in the centerpiece. They indulged in lobster ravioli, drank expensive red wine, lingered over soft layers of tiramisu while she stared into Charlie’s dark, Italian eyes.
He held her hand, caressed her thumb, and said, “Right now I’m at the bottom, an agent’s assistant. But my plan is to take the average Joe, like a personal trainer or a financial adviser, and make them into a household name. I would move that person into a column, a book, a self-help video, and his own television series. I just have to find the right client to develop.”
She didn’t care about his career. She’d never seen anyone so beautiful.
After dinner, they strolled along the sidewalk, peeking into Beacon Hill’s art galleries and antiques shops. At Pinckney Street, he grabbed her hand and hurried up the steep hill lined with brick colonial row houses. At the top, they reached a tiny park with two small trees. Before she could catch her breath, he kissed her, his tongue ravaging her mouth.
He pulled away. Stunned, she looked at him. This godlike man had kissed her. Desired her.
Charlie pointed to a row house. “This is where I’m going to live someday.”
Ornate white metal circles decorated the windows that surrounded a bright red door. Through the glass she could see a carpeted spiral staircase reminiscent of an old movie set.
“Do you want to live here someday?” he asked.
The ability to speak was locked up in her throat. She worked two shifts as a waitress and still couldn’t make ends meet. Bills were piled up on her kitchen table. When she’d moved to Boston, she’d maxed out her Visa with a cash advance to pay the two months’ security deposit and first month’s rent on her apartment.In the last three years, she’d opened a MasterCard, a Discover, and another Visa, which she maxed out paying rent and buying groceries when tips were low. She had student loans from the year she’d been able to attend college. But here was Prince Charming, and it almost felt like he was asking her to live with him in a mansion on Beacon Hill.
She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t have time for ambitions or dreams; she was too worried about becoming homeless. For one moment, she allowed her fantasy to emerge, though she felt like a four-year-old saying what she wanted to be when she grew up: “I want to be a travel writer for a magazine or newspaper.”
“I have a friend at the Globe . If you write an article, I’ll help you publish it,” he’d said.
Charlie had helped her to make her biggest dream come true. Meeting him had changed her life. And now she was going to end their relationship.
The closer the cab came to their apartment, the less Heather could feel her body. Her arms and legs felt invisible, or detached. Charlie paid the driver as the car came to a stop in front of their building. A spinning feeling began. A child’s racetrack whirred in her head as her heart beat
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