Her New York Minute
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Darby Baham
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16,5K
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23
Chapter One
This is going to be my year.
That was all I kept thinking as my plane began descending into JFK International Airport, carrying hundreds of passengers and all my hopes and dreams of kicking ass and taking names in the most limitless city on Earth...plus my year’s worth of luggage.
In just six months’ time, I’d gone from being the portfolio manager of a team that had shocked our global investment company when we’d raised $500 million for a little social impact fund that no one but us had really believed in to being offered the opportunity to go to our New York office to duplicate my efforts in America. So, I bloody well knew the impact I could have in a short amount of time, and I was ready.
Like I said, this was going to be my year.
Never mind that I didn’t really know what I was in store for—all that mattered was that I had a grand plan and I was going to execute it to perfection. On my agenda? Show up, flawlessly polished stilettos in tow, wow the US office with my ideas for taking what we’d learned so far and expanding on it, and prove to everyone that I was even more than the superstar they maybe imagined I might’ve been. I’d already started to establish myself in the UK office, having overseen multiple million-dollar portfolios since, but it still sometimes seemed as if people were waiting for me to take my next step up. And even if they weren’t and it was all in my head, I’d certainly put enough pressure on myself to excel that it made up for at least ten people at once. Either way, I knew one thing to be true—I couldn’t just succeed in London if I wanted to move up the ladder at my investment management group; I also needed the C-suite brass in America to see what I could do up close and personal before they, hopefully, eventually gave me the thing I really wanted: head of the portfolio division.
So, there I was, on a flight headed thousands of miles away from the only home I’d ever known, taking on a new position that they hadn’t fully described to me other than saying, New York needs you, and we think this can be a great opportunity. Not exactly a detailed job description, but I had decided to bet on myself. And as long as everything went according to my plans, I expected that this time next year, I’d be flying right back to the UK, a year older, perfectly positioned for a promotion to senior portfolio manager at thirty-six and in line for my dream job soon after. What more could a girl from Brixton really ask for, yeah?
I closed my eyes and waited for the plane’s wheels to hit the ground so that my new adventure could begin, allowing the smooth sounds of Tems’s voice to calm my nerves as “Free Mind” played softly in my ears. About two songs and five or six minutes later, one of our flight attendants turned on her mic and announced what we’d all been waiting for after sitting around for eight hours on a plane.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began. “Welcome to New York City, where the local time is 5:25 p.m. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisles clear until we are parked at the gate. Be careful when opening overhead bins as items tend to move during flight... On behalf of all of us here at JetBlue, thanks again for choosing us. For those of you from New York City, we’d like to be the first to say welcome home. If you’re visiting, we hope you enjoy your stay, and we look forward to seeing you again soon.”
Welp, I thought as I readied myself for the eventual dash off the plane, this is it. And as my friend Robin would say, Here goes nothing and everything all at once.
Once I heard the familiar ding letting us know that we could unbuckle our seat belts, I began packing up all my items in an attempt to have my ducks in a row before I inevitably had to wrestle down my heavy luggage from the overhead bin. Down into my knapsack went my bottle of water, the snacks I’d been noshing on the whole flight, a book I’d ambitiously thought I would read and hadn’t and, of course, my trusty earbuds only after I’d reluctantly turned off my playlist. Each item had its own place in the gray-and-teal backpack that served as both my carry-on and purse for the day, meticulously plotted out during the weeks prior to my trip to ensure I didn’t leave anything I really needed in London. The plotting and planning also helped me to make sure I could magically fit everything I might need in a year into what I could only bring with me on the flight: my backpack, a carry-on and two checked pieces of luggage.
As soon as I saw the rest of my row begin to move, I dutifully slid out of my seat, stood up tall and turned to face my luggage nemesis that had already given me a struggle when I put it in the overhead bin. But I was also me, Olivia Robinson, a badass woman on a mission, so I wasn’t about to let a bit of heavy luggage stop me from starting things off just right. Fully determined, and with a deep breath conjuring up all my strength, I resigned myself to the struggle I’d ultimately overcome and then reached my right arm up and pulled on the top handle with all my might, tugging it with proper force...only for it to not move even one tiny little spec.
“Okay, that’s all right,” I whispered to myself. “Even Beyoncé has to do things twice sometimes, yeah.”
I prepared myself for my second attempt, this time rising onto my toes in my white low-top trainers and using both hands to try to wrestle the carry-on out of its home. I jiggled it. I tugged at it. I even grunted while I pulled. But again, no such luck. To make matters worse, the frustrated sighs I had been worried might come if I didn’t stop holding up the progress in the aisle began loudly making their way to my ears, causing me to not only feel completely embarrassed but also wholly upset with myself that I couldn’t just will this thing to work.
This was not how I’d planned my year to start. Not staring down a stupid little heavy carry-on trying to make me second-guess all my beliefs in a matter of a few minutes. The fact of the matter was that the way I’d lived my life for years now was pretty simple: you put your all into something, you believed in yourself fully and the results you desired would come. Why didn’t this carry-on understand basic physics or whatever?
I was two seconds away from going down a nasty rabbit hole in my head when I heard a deep-toned voice behind me, offering what felt like the nicest gesture known to man.
“Can I help you out here?” he asked, startling me out of my thoughts.
With a heavy sigh of relief, I answered with the only thing I could utter in that moment: “Yes, please.”
Then, swiftly, I came off my tippy toes, closing my eyes briefly in thanks, and turned toward my knight in shining armor.
“I would really appreciate that,” I added, running my hands down my dark blue skinny jeans as I laid my eyes on the kindest smile staring back at me.
It was one of those full smiles, where the joy permeated on every part of the person’s face, showing up not only in the off-kilter upturn of his lips but also in the fullness of his cheeks and the glow in his eyes. His teeth, white like a Colgate ad, sparkled in contrast to the dark brown hue of his skin, set off perfectly by his low-cut beard and the goatee that traced along the indented curves of his mouth. But it wasn’t just his smile that caught my attention. His chuckle—just as deep-toned as his voice and probably stemming from my less-than-stellar attempt at trying to compose myself in his presence—revealed a playful nature underneath the suaveness of his gentleman persona. And his beautifully sculpted arms, covered only by a long-sleeved white shirt that left nothing to the imagination, only served to add to my now very persistent desire to melt back into my seat so I could watch him work his magic in full view.
Resisting that particular urge, I simply stepped aside to give him full access to my luggage in hopes that he could quickly rescue me from being the embarrassed woman holding up an entire international flight of people from deboarding their plane. With one hand and one full swing of his arm, my handsome knight snatched the luggage down from the overhead bin as if it were the lightest piece of paper on a table. Then, with his eyes stayed on mine, he delicately placed it on the ground, lifted the handle and put it right next to my hand so I could easily grab it and wheel myself off the flight.
“Wow,” I uttered before I could stop myself. “Thank you, honestly.”
“It’s no problem at all,” he replied with a wink and a gentle head nod toward the exit. “I was a little worried the eye daggers you were getting were going to turn into real ones, so I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself too much longer.”
“Truthfully, I was, too.”
Taking his cue, I turned toward the exit, gathered myself and tried my best to walk as fast as I could down the aisle. To my absolute horror, this only served to embolden the crowd behind me, which proceeded to give me a loud round of applause for finally moving out of their way. It wasn’t exactly the first impression I’d planned, but I had my luggage, so I was back in swing mode. Plus, as recently as two days before, I’d experienced something far worse than a bunch of strangers mocking me—I’d maybe, kind of, sort of broken up with my boyfriend of two years, except it had gone about as well as my attempt to pick up my luggage, so I really wasn’t quite sure.
All I did know was that despite any mishaps that had occurred between now and then, I was in New York. And so, if nothing else, I was going to hold my head as high as the top bun that my waist-length, brown-and-blond passion twists were tucked into as I walked off that plane. I also vowed to myself not to look back at anyone behind me until I got to baggage claim. The last thing I was going to do was let these strangers see me sweat. Not after I’d fought through all my fears to be right where I was.
My handsome knight, however, didn’t seem to get my telepathic memo that I was avoiding anything and everyone from that plane experience—a fact I soon realized as I heard him calling from behind me as we stepped into the gate area of the airport.
“The clapping might have been a little unnecessary,” he said, falling in step with me as he quickly caught up to my five-foot-four stride.
“Ha. Oh yes, a bit,” I replied, a little flustered that he wanted to keep talking...to me.
“Though you were giving ‘damsel in distress who refuses to ask for help’ vibes, so maybe they felt you needed some encouragement.”
Ah, so he was a funny guy, too, I realized. Just my luck.
I paused my steps and turned to directly face him, wanting him to see clearly that while I’d appreciated his help, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for his jokes. Unfortunately for me, as soon as we locked eyes, I completely lost my train of thought. The devious and kid-like smirk on his face somehow took hold of my very brain process, causing me to simply—and almost uncontrollably—smile back at him, which then led to us both tumbling into a series of giggles that only we understood.
“It wasn’t that I refused,” I replied, trying to contain my chuckles and suddenly feeling like I needed to plead my case. “No one offered until you did.”
“Fair point.”
He dipped his head slightly to the side in acknowledgment, all the while keeping his eyes trained on mine in some sort of hypnotic force that demanded I stare right back. The wild thing was I didn’t even think he was actively trying to seduce me, but in the brief period of time that we’d stopped walking, I’d had to catch my breath on at least three different occasions in his presence. Maybe this captivating effect was something this guy was used to, I theorized. After all, the man had the makings of every picture-perfect model that my friends and I would cut out of our Right On! and J-17 magazines to hang on our bedroom walls when we were preteens.
Standing at what looked to be about five foot ten, with gray eyes so deep they matched his baritone voice, he also had the kind of broad shoulders every heterosexual woman dreamed of holding tightly on to when she was in the throes of passion with her man. His hands were also impeccably manicured and looked like they were both soft and moisturized to perfection but also might have a slight gritty texture on the back side, as if he might have been a former athlete who now only used them to get someone’s attention in a restaurant. And his body? Let’s just say I imagined even Broderick Hunter would be envious.
I shook my head and all the arresting thoughts of this man who I didn’t know out of it, reminding myself that I was barely single and not at all in New York to meet new men, let alone captivating ones in airports. Plus, I wasn’t starring in anyone’s romantic comedy film last I checked, so I quickly put aside any foolish notions of some sort of meet-cute where the slender, brown-skinned woman from London met the dashing American with an intoxicating smile, and brought myself back to our conversation at hand.
“Also, maybe if they had, the whole ordeal wouldn’t have lasted as long as it did,” I opined.
“Or...and don’t try to tussle with me on this...you could have asked for what you clearly needed, and that also would have resolved your problem.”
He tilted his head to the side again and held back what looked like another smirk, betraying how much he was enjoying our banter as the single dimple he had on his right cheek poked out from behind his beard.
“I guess I’m not used to asking for help,” I admitted in a slight whisper—and then almost immediately regretted being that open with someone whose name I didn’t even know.
“I gathered. Which is why I stepped in.”
For a split second, he allowed himself to look at me sincerely, and the eyes that had once shown me kindness and then turned playful were suddenly relaying that he understood what I’d meant on a foundational level. That I didn’t need to explain to him why everything in my body resisted asking anyone for help; he already knew. Thankfully for my weak knees, he just as quickly returned back to his jokes, because I was fully unprepared to have someone read me that well in a matter of seconds.
“You know, to rescue you from your damsel ways,” he added, winking at me again before going back to his insanely hypnotic stare.
“Well, I do thank you kindly, sir,” I replied, and then mockingly curtsied before him. “Whatever would I have done without you?”
“In my head? I imagine you would have eventually climbed onto the arm of one of those seats, grabbed that suitcase with all your might and forced it to bend to your will. It might have taken you another five to ten minutes, but you would have gotten it.”
“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult,” I said, still smiling.
“Definitely a compliment. You seem like a woman who doesn’t back down from a fight and who usually gets what she wants. I like that.”
Stuck standing in front of each other as if our feet couldn’t move if we tried, it felt like he was waiting to see which route I would take our fairly innocuous conversation. As if he were silently asking me: Are you going to choose to be even more vulnerable with a perfect stranger in the airport, or should I keep up our surface-level teasing rapport until we part ways?
The answer seemed pretty obvious to me, of course, especially as more people piled off the airplane and rushed past us on their way to Passport Control. Door Number Two was what normal people chose in airport interactions. They went about their business, and if they actually spoke to anyone, it was surface-level chitchat that they’d forgotten by the time they jumped into their Uber and headed home.
As obvious as my choice should have been, there was something about this guy that made me want to choose Door Number One. I wasn’t sure if it was the way I kept losing my breath every single time he hit me with one of his bloody intense stares or if it was the fact that he was quite literally stunning or if something behind his eyes just made me want to know more. Whatever it was (and maybe it was all three), the temptation was strong. Any normal woman would have already melted right into his arms, really, told him all her fears, hopes and dreams, and plotted out how their chance encounter would evolve into a marriage proposal within the year. But I...try as I might...had never once been accused of being normal, at least not by any of my exes. Of being a founding member of #TeamTooMuch? Sure. An incessant planner who didn’t know how to let life come to her? Mmm-hmm. Unemotional, coldhearted and only focused on winning? Yes, yes and yes. But never normal. So, it was pretty clear what my choice was ultimately going to be.
“Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “Once again, I find myself saying thank you to you, so th...thank you, genuinely.”
I fumbled my way through my words as I started trying to walk away, hoping to end our impromptu conversation as soon as possible so that I could go on pretending like I didn’t notice the little crinkle on his nose as his smile grew wider while watching me squirm.
“Is that a Brixton thing?” he asked, seamlessly matching his steps with mine as he once again caught up to me.
“Is what a Brixton thing?”
“Overly thanking people.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t know that you could thank someone too many times,” I replied. “Plus, how do you know I’m from Brixton?”
“It’s hard to miss the accent, love. And I’ve spent enough time in London that I’m starting to learn the differences.”
“Oh, well, good on you, babes.”
I caught myself right before I winked at him in some sort of instinctual effort to mimic his demeanor toward me even as we continued walking in step.
“But...to answer your question, no, I wouldn’t say we are overly generous with our thank-yous. And to prove it, I take mine back.”
I lifted my eyebrows to show him that I could join in on the teasing, too, when I wanted.
“Well, that’s not how it works,” he retorted with a big smile on his face and that damn crinkle catching my attention again. “Once it’s out there, you can’t take back a thank-you.”
“Oy, you say that, but I believe I already have, innit. Thankyouverymuch.”
“And...you just thanked me again.”
He burst out laughing, bending forward as he proudly chuckled to himself and causing me to stop walking again as I protested my point.
“That doesn’t count! You know what I meant there.”
“Doesn’t matter what you meant, love. It’s what you said.”
I sighed loudly.
“Fine. Well, now that you’ve added to my embarrassment from the plane, th—”
This time, I caught myself before finishing my sarcastic thank-you in response. The grin on his face showed me I didn’t catch it soon enough, however.
Ugh. How had my knight in shining armor so quickly turned into someone who I wanted to shake—and maybe kiss, but mostly shake—that fast?
Really, it didn’t matter. I just knew, as I’d known all along, that I needed to get out of his presence as fast as I could before I succumbed to whatever chemistry we seemed to have that had me equally intrigued and frustrated since it was more than I’d ever once had with the man I’d been dating for the past two years.
“You know what?” I asked rhetorically. “I think it’s time for me to head to Passport Control. I assume we’re going in different directions, yeah?”
His once bright smile faded upon maybe, finally, realizing that I really was trying to end our airport banter.
“Wait, wait, I’m sorry,” he replied sincerely. “I’m not trying to embarrass you further, I promise. I was just having a little fun.”
“At my expense?”
“I’d like to think not, but if I really have offended you, please let me know.”
The look on his face was genuine and probing as he waited for my reply, almost as endearing as the first time he’d slipped his cool and had shown how caring he could be. So, as much as I wanted to play coy and get him back for all his teasing, those deep gray, thoughtful eyes wouldn’t dare allow me to let him think he’d actually hurt my feelings. He’d pulled me in yet again.
“No, you definitely didn’t offend me,” I admitted with a smile. “Though it certainly has been an interesting welcome to a new country. I’d been told that New Yorkers weren’t this talkative, so already you’ve managed to throw everything I believed out of the window.”
“Hmm,” he said, stepping in closer to me. “Well, that might be because I’m not originally from New York.”
“No?”
“Uh-uh. I mean, I’ve lived here for almost a decade, so it is home. But I’m actually from Philly.”
“Philadelphia, Pennsylvania?” I asked to clarify.
“Yep, born and raised.”
“On the playground is where you spent most of your days?” I joked, using the follow-up iconic line from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’s opening theme song.
“Hold up. Y’all were watching Will Smith in London, too?”
“Don’t do that. London’s not on an entirely different planet, you know.”
“No, I know. But to be honest, it’s not like we grew up thinking about what anyone outside of America watched or listened to, so that’s kinda interesting. Makes me want to know more.”
He shrugged casually as he said his last statement but also drew his eyes back up to mine with that familiar probing look that had almost made me choose Door Number One before.
“We had our own stuff, too, yeah,” I replied. “But especially among us Black Brits, we definitely paid attention to what Black Americans were doing. You know, diaspora and all. Beyond that, however, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air was just bloody popular in the UK. It shaped a lot of what I thought about America when I was a little girl.”
“You are aware now that it’s very different, though, right?”
“Ha ha, yeah. I’ve seen a lot more shows since...oh and rap videos, too. Very important,” I teased, and watched him stare at me wide-eyed in horror.
Finally, I had him on his toes, which I took great pleasure in, biting my lower lip and playfully raising my eyebrows before I continued.
“I also have actual American friends now, too...so that’s probably helped the most.”
“Oh, good,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “For a moment I thought I was going to have to give you a breakdown of Black American culture, complete with my top ten movies you have to see, a nineties-music playlist and at least one full-season watch of A Different World.”
“Just not the first season!” we said in unison, laughing like we’d known each other for ages.
Locking eyes with me once more, he moved in a few steps closer so that I could just barely make out the cologne that seemed to perfectly complement his entire essence. Again, a different woman, a normal woman, might have inhaled deeply to take in his full scent, but I resisted. I didn’t have the luxury to get caught up in some fairy tale with a guy who was likely just a big flirt.
Remember, Liv, I reprimanded myself, we’re only here in America to improve our chances at a promotion. Handsome, charming, irresistibly sexy men are not in our plans.
“How long are you in town, by the way?” he asked, wrestling me out of my thoughts again.
“A year,” I said with a wistful sigh.
“Wow, okay, that is not what I expected you to say.”
“Not even with my heavy luggage?”
“Oh, true, that could have been a giveaway. Or you could just be a bad packer.”
“I think maybe quite the opposite, or at least I hope. I’ve had to pack up a year’s worth of luggage for this flight, so fingers crossed I got it right.”
“Something tells me you made damn sure you did,” he replied, sending chills down my spine again as he caught my attention with yet another bloody intense gaze. “Can I ask—what are you doing for the next year?”
“Well,” I said, clearing my throat again, “my job is interested in seeing if I can pull off some more big portfolio wins for them, this time in the States. And I’m using it as a chance to kick ass and take names, so that they have to give me the promotion I want.”
“Well, all right, Ms. London. Welcome to America, then.”
I smiled as I recognized his admiration for my ambition. It was a nice change from what I’d been dealing with in my relationship with David, where it felt like any big win that I’d had at work made him more and more resentful of me.
“Ha ha, thanks,” I replied sheepishly, realizing I’d done it again but hoping he didn’t take the bait and call me out. “What brought you to New York, by the way?”
“So, actually, I came here after law school, but I didn’t always know that I wanted to be a lawyer. Before that, I worked in tech sales for a little while, stacked some money, and then decided to try something new—law. After that, everything just fell into place—I knew where I wanted to work and that I loved to travel. New York law firms offered me the best chance to practice law in the US and overseas, so it was kind of a no-brainer for me. Once I passed the bar, I started working for my current firm, and now here we are.”
“Wow, that’s really cool,” I said, genuinely impressed by him and, frankly, myself for correctly assessing that his current job wasn’t one that was physically labor intensive. I could totally understand why he wasn’t intimidated by my ambition, too; he had his own with some to spare, it seemed.
“Yeah, guess we’re both doing our thing, right?”
He raised his right hand up toward mine and stared into my eyes as he waited for me to meet his hand in return. After a short hesitation, I lifted mine as well, meeting him for a high five as I also realized that my cheeks were starting to get heavy from cheesing so much. Then, the two of us stood in front of each other, not knowing what else to say but simultaneously not quite ready to leave...our right hands falling down together and moving into something of a handshake that neither of us wanted to end.
In truth, I probably could have stood there forever now that I finally experienced what it was like to feel the touch of his skin, but that would not have been a smart move on my part. Just as I’d presumed, the texture of his skin was soft with just a hint of roughness underneath; what I hadn’t counted on was the electricity that had flown through us as soon as our hands collided.
With another quick breath, I slowly began to untangle my fingers away before I lost myself and never wanted to let him go.
For better or worse, he took the hint.
“Well, it’s been nice meeting you,” he said as he took a step back from me.
“And I thiiiink it’s been lovely meeting you, too,” I replied, still smiling but inside realizing this was definitely goodbye. “At the very least, us meeting helped me get my luggage off the plane.”
“At the very least, yeah.”
My shining knight took another step away from me, and with one final wink, he turned to his left and walked out of my life. Well, it was to go to the American Passport Control entrance, but for my purposes, that was the same thing. I grabbed my earbuds again and started my playlist back up, falling right into the achingly apropos “Yebba’s Heartbreak.”
