My first story ever on this website, be merciful.
Summary: Fifteen year-old Laila Blaire wasn't expecting a celebrity and his famous girlfriend to work at her father's dingy Bakery/Convenience store. But here they are, she doesn't know what she's in for when she learns the secret and begins to slowly fall in love with the actor. But his girlfriend will hear none of it, when her boyfriend is falling back. Alice Irine is out for blood to gain her revenge. What'll Laila do? Will she be able to save her home and her love life? R&R!
A woman lunged for the phone. She was a pencil-straight woman with red hair pulled tightly in a bun, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and she wore a classic business suit.
This phone call would be very important, confirming the status of her client. She tapped her foot impatiently while she waited for the person on the other side to say his hello.
"Yes," she snapped after he said a five second hello. "How are the arrangements with Blake?"
"Blake?" the caller sounded confused, and then his voice became warm. "Oh, yes, Blake, well he and Alice should be coming in soon."
"Soon is not enough," the woman said, slightly irritated by the stupidity of the man. "He needs to get over here now." She hoped he would understand the urgency of the time. She leaned back in her desk chair. She was sitting in an office, on the fourteenth floor in a building in NYC, Manhattan. She frowned and let her gaze skim the room around her. A high, polished to perfection desk was in front of her. Everything, of course, was in place. The drawer's held the names of her clients in alphabetical order and a small round pen-holder held her pens.
"Of course, Clarissa, dear-" the man began, but he was cutoff by the woman (whose name may have been Clarissa.)
"Don't call me that," the woman (Clarissa?) said through gritted teeth. She hated it when people called her by her hated first name. Only ding-bats called her that, and that's because they had no idea she would rip their heads off. Clarissa (oops, I said her name), was also famous for her line of business. She was well known to get a client in less then thirty seconds; whipping out her business card wasn't difficult though. No one messed with Clarissa Jacqueline Knightly. No one. Well, only ding-bats did, but as you saw above, that's because they have no idea.
"Well okay then Missus," the man chuckled over her anger. (Poor, poor man. He has no idea what's coming for him). "But Alice and Blake are on their way over. I was just trying to joke around." He chuckled again.
Clarissa pursed her lips. What was his wife's cellular number? She thought his wife would like to know what her husband has done with Chloe Honeysuckles at that one bar. (See what I mean? No one messes with Clarissa Jacqueline Knightly.)
Suddenly the extension rang. She didn't even excuse herself before answering the line.
"They're here Miss Knightly," the buzzer said in a British tone. "Do I send them up?"
"At once!" she shrieked, but then calmed herself. "Hurry them up."
Clarissa slammed the phone down, and began to drum her fingers. Then realized they would notice her waiting. What would that do to her reputation? So, she picked a random file and began to leaf through it, processing nothing. Suddenly the bell rang, and she clicked the button beside her to allow the kids to come in.
"Sit down," she smiled. "Take a seat."
The girl and boy sat down. Both were about sixteen years old, and both were gorgeous.
"The seats are much more comfortable then last time," the girl commented. She smirked at Clarissa.
"Yes," Clarissa forced a smile. "I took your wonderful advice."
The girl sucked in her cheeks, and flipped her hair. Both movements made her the famous person she was today.
"Well let's get down to business," Clarissa folded her hands on the desk. "Are you sure about your decision?"
The girl patted the boys arm. "Of course we are Clarissa," she said oh-so-sweetly.
Clarissa pursed her lips. Only this girl was allowed to speak her name. If she didn't let the brat do so, then her whole business would go down the drain, swish-swish.
The boy nodded. Both teens were wearing clothing that looked casual but yet cool.
The girl was wearing a pink sundress with a chunky black belt, this would've looked horrible on any other girl, but it looked fabulous on her. She also wore her hair up in a gih ponytail and let strands frame her heart-shaped face. Her sandals were so in according to all those ridiculous magazines. They strapped up, a bit past her ankle.
The boy wore a tight shirt with a vest over and baggy jeans. He wore high-tops and his hair was nearly touching his shoulders.
"Well then," Clarissa swiveled in her chair, her back on them. "Go then. Go ahead."
"Did you see that new Brandon Linger magazine?" my best friend Jen Bailey gushed in my ear. I was standing on the balcony from our apartment; my cell phone was pressed against my ear.
"Hmm," I murmured. I hadn't; of course, I was right now in fact, watching people dive in and out of the building swimming pool below.
"Laila!" whined Jen. "Listen to me!" Well there you go. That's my name. Well Laila Blaire really. I was fifteen years old. And of course, my life was going down the drain.
"Yes," I said softly. "I'm listening." I seriously fought the urge to lay my cell phone on my bed, and leave Jen gushing into my pillow, but I couldn't since Jen had caught me last time and hade given me an earful about it.
A strand of my curly dirty blond hair whipped across my face and I pulled it behind me ear. I was getting sick of her bubbling.
"Oh, Jen," I said gently. "Dad needs me to come down to Rosalie's." He didn't really, but this was my usual excuse to get away from picky conversations.
"Okay," she sighed. "But call me later. We can watch Brandon's TV show together!"
I said bye and hung up. Sliding my cell into my pocket, I continued to gaze down. People were sun tanning on towels and children were splashing in the clear aqua water. But then people began to pack up and retreat, so I followed suit, sliding the glass door to our apartment.
It was a complete mess, my father's suitcases were open and clothing were spread everywhere. Dad had left the faucet on and I hurried to shut it.
"Laila," my father called from behind me. "I need to tell you and Scott something." Scott was my eighteen year old brother. "Before I leave, so hurry over to Rosalie's would you?"
Now the story would have to get out.
Dad was leaving to some African continent to help treat my grandmother and his sister (my aunt). They were sick with an unknown disease, and they had requested him. He was leaving tomorrow and leaving me and my brother to care for Rosalie's (with a few employees of course). He was going to be gone for two weeks. Or so he said. Where is my mother? Well she died when I was nine years old with cancer; my father didn't want the same to happen with his mother and his sister. The store was named after my mother, Rosalie. I had started to work their last year, but hadn't been paid until now. Dad usually took care of the of the bakery side with Colin, but now that he was leaving, I was going to have to pitch and roll some dough. The store was a small bakery/convenient store, and was very close; in fact it was in the lobby of our building!
What if Colin or Lillian or Samantha quit? What will Scott and I do?
"Has Colin quit, dad?" I asked as I stepped through the piles of clothing my father had created.
"No, no, Laila dear," my father said as he folded faded jeans into one suitcase. "Please hurry down, Scott is already there." He looked really worried so I hurried down. We lived in the cheap side of NYC, on some sort of Boulevard? Our apartment was/had the following:
-On the eighth floor.
-Three small bedrooms. (Me, Dad and Scott; until he leaves for college)
-One small bathroom. (Don't ask how I work my magic.)
-One tiny kitchen.
-One small (can hold up to ten people) living room.
-And one hall closet, where we shove our shoes and jackets in.
It was in the middle of April, and if you looked outside you could spot all the puddles it created. Nope, no little cutsie flowers. Just puddles.
I clicked the button L. The elevator began to move downward slowly, I was so used to it, I even had read all the posters saying Don't smoke! It's a crime to your health!
I frowned in thought. What did dad have in mind?
The elevator slid to a stop and I slipped out my key to the back door to Rosalie's. I unlocked the door, opening it and shutting it gently behind me. Lillian was ringing up the cash register, and Samantha stacked some Reese bars onto the candy rack. They both smiled at me. Today Sam was wearing short shorts and her oversized Rosalie shirt, her black hair in a braid down her back. Lillian was wearing overalls over her own red and blue Rosalie shirt, her own blond hair in two ponytails. I grabbed some Reese's from the box in Sam's hand and began to help.
"So…" I wondered if either of them knew what Dad's surprise was. "Do either of you know what my father's got in store for Rosalie's?"
Samantha blinked. "My guess is as good as yours, Reese." She called me that since I was obsessed with those peanut buttery chocolates.
Oh great, I thought as I planted a few more Reese's onto the rack. Dad's surprise better be good if he's so secretive about it.
"I have no idea either," Lillian smiled from the counter. "But I know it'll be good."
Suddenly the storage door slammed and Scott appeared with boxes.
"Hey, Laila!" he grinned at me, while placing boxes in my hand. "Do me a favor will ya? Bring those to Colin in the bakery section." I nodded without bothering to ask Scott. He probably didn't know, if he was down here too. It was both our days off.
I hurried to the bakery counter where the smell of brownies wafted from the oven. I opened the small divider and stepped in.
Colin was bent over some tiny cupcakes, icing them. He was wearing a chef's hat as a joke and he had an apron over his jeans and Rosalie shirt.
He saw me and straightened, laying a hand on his cramped back.
"Hey there, kid," he laid the sprinkles container beside him. "Watchya got there?" I handed him the box.
"Laila!" my father's voice suddenly called from the front. "Come here with Colin!"
We exchanged worried glances; Dad wanted all of us over. Colin removed his chef hat and apron and followed me through the divider. A look of worry was imprinted across his face.
"You're not going to be fired," I hurried to reassure him. "Dad has a surprise. It's probably a good one."
We hurried through the chips aisle. My father was standing with Sam, Scott and Lillian.
Oh and he was standing beside two gorgeous teens.
"Welcome our new employees, Blake and Alice."
Ouch my hand is cramped. I promise more action in chapter two!