𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

2.

The 4 hour train trip to NY left me completely exhausted because:

1. Public transportation is uncomfortable for sleeping.

2. Since I couldn't sleep I reread over again the documents about the foundation and Nicola Ricci.

3. Every 30 minutes I had Spotify ads blaring in my ears.

4. I'm nervous as fuck and I can't even describe why.

"I am confident" I heard my phones talking and I repeated to myself I am confident.

What I am.

Confident of my abilities as a journalist, confident of my thoughts and ideals, confident that today's event will make me stand out in this world.

As I stepped out of the train, I felt the cold winter wind ruffle my light brown short hair with some red highlights, the only cut I always wear. I have never let it grow below my shoulders, and I wish I could, but I' ve always been used to the ease of short hair. The only problem is that in this lousy weather it will start to curl out. 

I will fix it later. 

I've lost count of the number of times I've dyed my hair, black, red, blonde. I don't recommend it. I had to invest a lot of money to strengthen it after that.

In fact, all the money I earn I invest in myself, especially in fashion. Today's outfit consists of a pair of black leather pants, a black turtleneck sweater, a white platform all star, and a black trench coat that ties a knot around my waist, so long that I almost trip over it. Comfortable and stylish. Always.

I rummage in my shopper silvana tweed bag from guess, the paper with the address of the event and call a cab to the location. The traffic was chaotic and my stomach was roaring with hunger. 

I should eat something, why didn't I bring food? 

I sighed, of course I didn't bring food, idiota. I can almost hear my Latin mother's voice yelling at me to have a balanced diet aka eat and lose weight. I rolled my eyes at that thought and the pressure I've experienced for so long, that's the biggest reason why I hate looking in the mirror so much.

The cab stopped in front of a white and considerably small building for the ones that Nicola Ricci usually opens. I paid the taxi driver with the money the newspaper gave me and got out of the cab towards the two men who were smoking in front of the closed gate of the building. 

Confusion filled my head, am I in the right place? Where are the rest of the journalists? The event doesn't start for another 2 hours but usually has a huge line of people.

"Can I help you?" said the boy with shaved hair, dressed in a blue suit and an open white shirt. His brown eyes looked down at me and I scoffed. Men. He's only a few inches taller than me, with one kick I'd get your eyes in place.

I smiled "Good morning, I'm a journalist-"

"Nicola is not here" the other said as he expelled the smoke from his cigarette. With curly black hair and a brown suit, his eyes looked at me with funny in them. They are quite handsome and both of their muscles stand out from their suits.

"The event won't start-"

"Not for two hours" the boy continued and I started to get irritated that I kept getting interrupted.

I inhaled " I know, but I came early to ask for the press credential and save a good seat in the front "

The bald man scoffed and the other continued to speak "Big fan?" what?