[02] Spending Another Christmas with the Hot Emo Delinquent?

"Hey Nathan," Alicia mutters. Nathan snaps out of his trance and looks at Alicia questioningly. "The guy next to her looks awfully familiar don't you think," Alicia says, her brows furrowing. To be honest Nathan isn't even paying attention to the older man next to her.

"What?" Nathan says, perplexed. The image of a lovely young woman in a black cocktail dress, simple black high heels and long, flowing black hair that she decides to curl for the event is playing in his head. That's her. He saw her earlier.

It's when Alicia pointed the man that he notices something.

"Ekstrom Media?" he says, looking at her questioningly. "What the hell are they doing there--?"

Oh.

A look of horror pass through Alicia's face. "Mode Couture is under Ekstrom Media publications!"

A muslce in Nathan's jaw jumps. "You read the magazine for how many years now, and you didn't know that?"

"I read the contents. Not the little credits at the front or anything," Alicia defends herself. Ekstrom Media is a client who came to them first a few years back, demand so many ridiculous things that Nathan refused to renew their bond.

In fact, his exact words are, "I'm sorry but my staff and I don't feel comfortable working with a bunch of douchebags."

So as if to rub it in their faces, as if telling them how wrong they were to make that decision, Ekstrom Media asked for a rival's PR firm to help them grow and expand. Nathan was just glad that he won't be seeing them again.

"Whatever," Nathan finally says, trying to ignore the part where Charlotte is working under Ekstrom Media. "I just want you to give me a few basic details of Charlotte."

"Why?" Alicia asks, an eyebrow raised. "She's your friend?"

You can say that. Nathan isn't even sure of what his relationship with her is.

* * *

Ouch.

I stagger towards my apartment. Although the pain is starting to make me forget what number it is in the first place. I'm not even sure if I still remember what floor it is on. I just want to sit down and rest.

I was running in heels all day. And my feet are covered with blisters that's threatening to pop. My vision is blurry. I am THAT tired. You see, the photographer refuses to take a picture of Flaviana. No actually...he took her pictures, but Flaviana couldn't stop rambling about how unflattering she looked in his pictures.

And talk about getting another face-lift.

I think that scared the crap out of Evan.

Scott and I went out to the pub to wash down the events that happened today with red wine. Things started to go foggy from there.

"What happened to you?"

"You wouldn't want to know," I laugh, and look up to greet my creative, hot neighbor...who is a struggling musician right now. And I wish I could do something to help him. He sounds awesome. But instead of staring straight into the hazel eyes of my neighbor...

I'm staring into a pair of brilliant blues'.

The corner of my lip twitch. "You stalker," I say, my heart aching. I don't really know what to say at this point, it is shocking enough to see him here. I'm just trying to not...look so suprised. And I think that failed.

"It wasn't that difficult to stalk you. Heck, your bio was screaming for someone to stalk you."

"Not a wise deicision, I know," I reply, giving him a sheepish smile. We stand there for a few more awkward minutes. In the cold, narrow hallway, I begin to wonder if this is some sort of a dream...an illusion that I really want to see.

"Charlotte?"

I blink. Hard.

"Who are you talking to?" Justin Gardella, my neighbor asks.

And all at once Nathan is gone. And biting my bottom lip, I sob out "I want to go back to New Jersey! I want to go back to when I was 16 again--"

Justin looks aghast by the sentence "16 again".

"--that jerk. That jerk! He saw me, J. He saw me and he left. He fucking left!"

Oh shit I'm drunk. I'm so drunk I begin to wonder if Bumblebee from Transformers would be my car when I wake up tomorrow. That would be so utterly cool though wouldn't it? To have a kick ass car like Bumblebee. And he's yellow and mellow and...

Shut up Charlotte.

"He left," I repeat, pouting slightly. I feel deflated. Justin place a hand on my back and guide me to his apartment. "Let us calm down," he says, like a good personal therapist he is. "Sit down...and I'll make you a nice cup of coffee..."

"Don't you have any wine?" I ask and Justin rolls his eyes. "Do you think you can handle it right now?" he asks and I sigh. "Don't you have an article to write or something?" he scolds. This is Justin. He nags for a living.

"I swear Charlotte, remember the last time you procrastinate?"

Not really.

"You don't want to get more drunk than you really are."

But I do.

"I'm not that drunk," I sneer and he eyes me suspiciously. "You're talking to yourself in the hallway. That's the drunk language."

"Pfft."

I was not talking to myself.

I was er...

Right Charlotte. Who were you really talking to? A hallucination of your winter love? Nathan Bradley? Please. He's in California, surfing or something. He must have a happy life already. Probably a wife pregnant with his little boy and the three of them would have picnics together.

Get over it Charlotte. He's moved on. He never visited, he never called. Why can't you move on?

"I'm so pathetic," I say, looking out the window. "I can't get over my first love."

"Well, can anyone really?"

"It's a guy I met when I was 16," I point out. "Really? I thought you were talking about John."

John was my boyfriend. Was.

I can't remember how or why we broke up, but it involve something along the lines of finding a pair of lacy knickers inside his car. "John's an ass."

He sighs. "This would be a long night won't it?"

"Aaaaas. John the Ass."