What a curvy girl wants

A day off

"He's working that's why I called you!" She hollered back.

"Reschedule!!" I could only tell her finally, I would find a way to make up lost girl time. Surely I suck for putting work before a friend but for some reason I always felt a pull to help Mr. Sinclair when he asked. I was putty in that mans hands and all he had to do was be him.

It wasn't that hard tracking Mr. Sinclair's apartment. He lived on the upper east side while I lived on the lower. So I just had to back track from my home and transfer a few stops. Which led to rushing and got soda spilled on me by a toddler who's mother wasn't paying attention to how she carried the boy.

With the ferocious New York air gusting irrationally, my hair looked like a hot mess, I was sweaty, was sticky like red soda and smelled like left over Halloween cherry blow pops. Gross.

Soon I was outside of the large condominium and took in a breath. "This is..wow." I kept looking up at the tall building in awwe as I kept walking till I had to look back down to open the door. Mr. Sinclair lived on the 7th floor of what looked like 172, the dark floored marble lobby glowed and was carefully decorated with classic paintings on the tan walls.

I looked above at my self as I was reflected in the humongous chandelier above with more than one hundred twinkling bulbs of light.

"Is there something that you need?" The man at the lobby counter said and I realized what I was doing. "Oh um, sorry I was just..this is a really nice place...my boss lives here and he called me over to help ah-

"Name?"

"Excuse me?" The man looked annoyed at my obvious confusion. "Name of your boss. I can't just let you through unless you live here or the person you're visiting can confirm your arrival. This is a private living area if you hadn't noticed." Well, someone's sassy..

"Okay.."

But I didn't put up much of a fight seeing how if I did I would just sit on him and see how much he likes being uncomfortable. I clapped my sticky hands together and walked over to the desk slowly.

"Andres Sinclair, my name is Juliette Lake." His bored eyes looked at me then picked up the lobby phone ticking in numbers. Weren't concierge services suppose to be nicer than this? Hmph, the disrespect is blatant.

"Hello Mr. Sinclair, I have a woman down here who says you know her." His eye trailed up my body in a manner that suggested that he was anything but pleased with my size. Well guess what, I beat you to hating my body for years so Ha- take that. "A Juliette Lake.. Brown hair, a bit of an air head.."

I gasped at the insult. "Rude much?" And he put his fingers to his lips to sush me. LIKE I WAS THE ANNOYING ONE. "Very well sir, she'll be right up. Go on." He told me going back to writing something down on his desk.

I wanted to stick tounge out at him but then remembered I was a grown ass woman.

"That's why my jobs better than yours hmph." He sneered making me smirked and clack my heels down the marble floor to the elevator. The doors opened to the seventh floor and when I stepped out a hand grabbed me and I screamed.

"Shh Juliette, it's me" The male voice said and I got a better look to see that it was only Mr. Sinclair, wearing his glasses and shirt that was buttoned a little too low. Not that I was complaining. I breathed out a sigh of relief and he let he go. "You could have just said something Mr. Sinclair." I told him strung out. I'm not good at dealing with surprises.

Seeing that all of the surprises in my life so far screwed me over. He smiled apologetically and pushed me along to his space of 7G.

"Sorry, I just really need you. And what did I say? When we're alone call me Andres. This work is disastrous. Can you sew?" He started explaining that a dress during the runway rehearsal malfunctioned and was severely torn.