ink. (haylor)

i. first meeting

a/n:

can y'all please let me write this (very) cliche story. okaaayyy thanks :)

-kay

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[Taylor's POV]

"All I know, is that I love you so

so much, that hurts."

Chris Martin's voice echoed through my room, successfully rousing me from my deep slumber. For some reason, I'd had the insane notion that if I had my ringtone as a song I loved, I would be more eager to wake up in the mornings.

Wrong.

It just made me start to kind of hate the song.

Instead of the steady calm I had become acquainted to in the mornings, I was hearing loud bumping and scraping sounds that punctuated my every breath. It sounded a lot like someone was moving furniture.

Being the only person who lived on this floor, I figured that couldn't be true - unless someone was moving in. As highly unlikely as that was, I felt a new sort of excitement building somewhere deep in my core.

I lived in the penthouse of a glass paneled sky-rise in central New York. Every evening, I watched the busy streets and busy lives panning out in front of me. Couples holding hands and stealing sweet glances at each other as they walked. The traffic never stopped moving - there was never a dull moment on the streets below.

Sometimes I sat at my over-stuffed chair in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window pane, overlooking the miniature people down below and contemplated things. Things like love and life and death and happiness. Karlie, my downstairs neighbour and close friend, would sometimes drop by in the evening and find me in the same place as I was in the morning.

"You think too much," she'd sigh after asking if I'd really been sitting in the same place all day.

"You don't think enough, love," I'd say and give her a side-hug as I followed her into my kitchen.

Not many people ever moved in because of the ridiculous property prices in Tribeca. No doubt, if I didn't have the job I had now, there was no way I'd have been able to afford this place. My dad could have easily paid for it, but at nearly twenty-six years old, I needed some independence.

So I'd moved out of the sprawling estate my family had owned for the past twenty-odd years and found my current apartment. With a massive open floor plan and the giant glass windows that spanned from floor to ceiling, this place was far too big for just me. At first it was weird to hear just my own footsteps echoing against the polished hardwood floors and only have one of the five bedrooms occupied.

But in a way, it was sort of lovely living alone, not having to worry about waking anybody up when I came home late from a particularly crazy party.

Not that I even went to parties these days. It was meeting, after meeting, after sales pitch, after conference call. Work had to be my main priority because, with my father retiring next year, I was to officially take the reigns of the family hotel business.

One person who was happy with me leaving my partying ways behind was my dad. Oh, and Janelle, the Chief PR Officer. "Less messes for me to clean up," she claimed.

The newspaper headlines went something like this nowadays;

New York Royalty Taylor Swift Ditches Her Wild Ways?

Daughter of Scott Swift, Hotel Mogul, Finally Gets a Grip

Taylor Swift: The Truth Behind Her Crazy Year