Ella

On Monday, a week after I accepted Sharon's offer of the internship, I stood outside Penn Station and debated what to do with the next three hours until I picked up my keys to my Airbnb short-term rental in Chelsea. Early that morning, I'd taken the train from Durham, New Hampshire, after a tearful goodbye to my parents and bestie Steph, and arrived in Penn Station, tired but ready for a new adventure.

My mother strongly disapproved of me up and leaving New Hampshire so soon after breaking up with Jerkface. She was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make it on my own in Manhattan. My father seemed happy that I'd thrown Jerkface over. He'd even fired the bastard and sought legal counsel from another firm, and so I knew I'd made the right move not giving him a second chance. Neither of them wanted me to move away and warned me that I was unused to a city as big as Manhattan, and that I was naïve about life in general, having been sheltered and pampered.

But he did not approve of me working for Dominion Publishing.

"It's a subsidiary of MBS and you know how I feel about that bastard of a J. P. Macintyre."

I'd heard all about my father's hatred of J.P Macintyre, the chairman and CEO of Macintyre Broadcasting Corporation. Their news division had run several in-depth exposes of my father's business partner after he was caught using insider information to sell and buy stock.

Undaunted, I'd made plans to leave and work for Sharon regardless and my father had finally relented when I told him it was a minor part of the overall business empire.

"It's my chance to get my toe in the door of publishing, Daddy," I said, explaining why I had to take the internship despite it being unpaid.

He finally relented and gave me his blessing and I was filled with a renewed hope that the future I once dreamed of living could be possible. I'd do everything in my power not to return to Concord, tail between my legs.

Now that I was finally in Manhattan, I decided to store my luggage in a locker and take the subway to see the building where my internship would start on Wednesday. I grabbed a subway map from the kiosk in the underground station, bought a pass, and tried to figure out how to get to the office.

At one thirty in the afternoon, the place was packed with commuters. It was a bit of a circus, with people dressed for business, both casual and formal, as well as people who looked like they were on the way to work at the local carnival freak show. 

I left the subway station and stood for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk, the pedestrian mass parting around me as I soaked up the atmosphere.

Ahh, Manhattan. Tall buildings. Great nightlife. Gorgeous men...

I walked the rest of the way and arrived at the Macintyre Building. An old Art Deco in the middle of the block bordering Central Park, the building was about thirty stories high. It was gorgeous and I couldn't wait to go up and meet Sharon, find my own office and get started.

I saw a coffee shop across the street and decided to grab a coffee before returning to Penn Station to get my luggage and go get my Airbnb. Because the traffic was backed up for the entire block, I decided to jaywalk to the coffee shop instead of going to the crosswalk. I'd barely got half-way across the second lane when I was almost run over by a bike courier in full riding gear threading his way between the cars.

I honestly didn't see him. Traffic was at a full stop and the light was red, so I thought I'd be safe. That was my first mistake. Usually, I was a law-abiding citizen, but it seemed safe enough to cross, given the traffic snarl. I felt him knock against my arm and managed to step back, his shoulder the only thing that touched me as he zipped by. I gasped and held my hands up as I backed away, but it was too late. His bike wobbled as he swerved to avoid me, and he hit the corner of the taxi ahead of him, crashing to the ground, his bike clattering to the pavement.

I covered my mouth in horror and ran to where he lay on the street, his bike in a heap beside him.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he said, rubbing his elbows and knees. "Use the damn crosswalk, lady."

"I'm so sorry," I said, and knelt beside him. "I didn't see you. You came by so fast."

He stood and shook off the dust, grabbing his bike and walking it to the curb. The light had changed, but traffic was still backed up the next block and none of the vehicles moved.

I walked beside him, feeling like a total ass for not checking for cyclists. I honestly had no idea they rode in the middle of the street like that. I had figured they'd use the bike lane at the side of the road.

When we got to the sidewalk, he removed his helmet and goggles and examined his knees, which were both bloody as were his elbows. That was when I got a good look at him and ohhh...

He was a total babe.

I felt bad ogling him at a time like that, but I couldn't help it. He had light brown hair, slightly longish on top, several days' worth of beard, and the bluest of blue eyes. Add to that full kissable lips and a jaw so square you could cut your tongue on it.

It had been a few months since Jerkface and I broke up, and I was needy.

"I'm so sorry. Can I do anything?" I asked, wringing my hands.

"I don't know," he said, his deep voice frustrated. "Can you? Do anything, I mean?"

Can I do anything...

Yeah, I didn't miss it. He looked in my eyes, and I could see anger in them, but at the same time, he didn't seem mean. In fact, his lips quirked up in one corner just enough for me to see he was amused at his jab.

"Can you get worker's comp or anything for those injuries?" I asked, having no idea what bicycle couriers were eligible to receive.

"Worker's comp?" he asked, his voice slightly taunting.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I don't know whether bicycle couriers even qualify. Can I get you some bandages, at least? I saw a drugstore down the street. Doesn't look like you need stitches. I can call your boss, explain what happened if you need someone to vouch for you."

He glanced down at himself, then smiled. "I'm good. I can afford to buy my own bandages, thanks. Bicycle courier pay isn't much but it pays for the occasional bandages. Just make sure to check the street before you try to jaywalk, okay? Better yet, you might consider crossing at the crosswalk."

"I will. I'm so sorry. This is only my first day in Manhattan. My first hour, actually. Honestly, I had no idea bicycle couriers didn't use bike lanes." I looked at his scuffed knees and elbows. "I hope this doesn't stop you from being able to do your deliveries."

"No, it won't stop me from making deliveries." Then he did smile – a full-on smile. It was brilliant. He actually laughed.

I didn't smile. I felt my eyes tear up from embarrassment.

"Hey, it's okay," he said and reached out, touching my shoulder. "I'm fine. We bicycle couriers are used to getting knocked around by the public."

Then he got back up on his bike, which apparently was totally functional despite the spill, and drove to the front of the building out of which I had just come.

I watched while Mr. Handsome Bike Courier bent over to adjust something on his bike, his glutes straining. God, what an ass, and that cycling suit showed every very round curve of it.

It made me ache deep inside, wanting a man in my life to fulfil my needs. While I now hated Jerkface – the sonofabitch – I did miss the sex. Even writing erotica didn't entirely make up for his absence in my life. Nothing could do that like a nice hard man.

Like Garbo said, 'A hard man is good to find.' I needed to find one.

Mr. Handsome Bike Courier was a candidate, though I wasn't sure my father would approve. He had expectations that I'd marry someone rich and of political benefit to him. Not that I was going to marry someone to please my father, but still. A bike courier didn't have the same level of ambition as I did, so while Mr. Hunk had everything going for him in the looks department, I wasn't sure he and I could be more than sex buddies. Which at that moment seemed like a pretty good deal, except that there was probably no way he'd even look twice at me, considering I'd caused him to fall off his bike and probably ruin his day of deliveries.

Maybe I'd meet some cute, ambitious finance type at the local watering holes. Some MBA who didn't mind people who were nerds at heart, and who loved books as much as I did. That was the dream, anyway. As I stood alone on Fifth Avenue, my nerves finally starting to settle down after the near collision, I thought it was a real possibility, given the number of business suits walking by me.

At that moment in my life, finding a man should have been the last thing on my mind. I had to perform and impress Sharon enough that she'd be willing to give me a paid position once the unpaid internship was finished.

I had known I'd get to see a lot of man candy when I came to the Big Apple, and there, in all his glory, went my first real piece. I watched him through the plate glass windows of the building while he walked his bicycle to the elevator. I couldn't wait to text Steph, who loved to ogle handsome men on Pinterest with me.

She stayed in Concord, where we both had been born and raised. She was planning on moving to Manhattan at some point, once she saved enough money. I felt like inviting her to stay with me, but there was absolutely nowhere for her to stay in the tiny studio apartment I'd rented. When she was able, though, we might share a place.

I exhaled, deciding to walk to the crosswalk, get my coffee from the coffee shop and explore a bit more before my appointment to pick up my keys at the Airbnb in Chelsea. Despite my near-collision with a bicycle courier, I felt excited about being in Manhattan.

For the first time since Jerkface and I split, I felt a real sense of possibility – like my new life was starting and I could put the old sad one behind me.