I sighed deeply as I sat back in my Bentley. After wiping a smudge off of the dashboard, I looked around and contemplated on staying around the area for a few to check it out. I haven't been this way in months, maybe even a year. And last time I was in Brooklyn, it was for a meeting that I was not particularly interested in, so I left early.
I started to drive around, the city being taken in by my big, blue eyes. I decided to turn down a side street, suddenly being surrounded by old, brick townhouses and complexes. The place seemed to be doing great. I drove for a little longer before suddenly passing a large, red, brick building that was covered in hand painted murals. It was the only building in the area that looked to be colorful and full of life.
That must be the local theater that Ellison was talking about. It did seem awfully small on the outside, though.
By the time I made it home that night, it was already dark out. I managed to pull into my parking garage after typing the code into the keypad and parked in the usual spot on the top level. I then took the elevator down to the second floor of my house where I decided to change out of my work clothes and into my gym shorts and ripped t-shirt in order to work out in my home gym for a couple hours.
After, I ate dinner, answered a few emails and climbed into bed, turning on the stock market channel just to see where the increase and decreases were in the economy today. It was a boring night, really, after such an eventful day.
On Wednesday, I decided to inform Mr. Thatcher that Royal Oaks had received the grant and that I would be in town that Friday to meet with him and the other staff– Ellison included since she was the head of the student body. Or maybe just because I wanted to see what deranged costume she could wrench out for this one.
"Mr. Horan," I glanced up from my overwhelming stack of city record papers to see Emily standing at my door. She was the only one allowed to open it without permission. Her grey eyes caught mine and she gave a slight smile. "Wall Street Journal put out an article this morning. You should read it." My eyes raised in surprise and I gave a nod.
"Good or bad?"
"Excellent." She winked and slid out, closing my door behind her.
Emily was a very good looking girl. She had a small, but tall, pointed frame, with shoulder length blonde hair and small, grey-blue eyes. Her chest didn't seem too small, but they weren't exploding from her shirt either, nor did her arse stretch the seems of her knee-length pencil skirts that she wore everyday. Her class and work ethics were always on point and she seemed to always be smiling or spreading joy through my not-so-joyous 43 floor building.
I actually hired her off sight one day in Manhattan when she was running down the path along Central Park. I had been sitting on the bench there, drinking a coffee and reading the newspaper when she came jogging by. However, her presence wasn't just a usual one. No, she was saying hello to everyone like she knew the whole city and her face had lit up every time she passed a new person.
She was wearing nothing but black joggers, a long sleeve with a black vest, running shoes, and an ear covering headband, but she had this whole new presence to her that did not come around very often. And honestly, I did not even need an interview with her to know what she was like, I knew without even knowing her. So here she is, four years later, still shining everyday.
Lightly exhaling, I sat the black, Horan Inc. pen down, and pushed the papers further up onto my desk. My computer was unlocked and before I knew it, the Wall Street Journal for September 9th was displayed across my screen.
"Horan Incorporation to Pump $50 Million into Economic development
Horan plans to hire over 500 people, invest in higher quality production, HI expected to expand to Manhattan and Queens by 2018
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Burn // NH
Fanfiction~ "I'm going to steal your heart, Niall." ~ Niall James Horan is what you would call your not-so-typical multimillionaire. He's lived his whole life striving to build his company, Horan Incorporation, leaving no time for silly games and romance. Mat...