You are mine

In the search

Driving in front of the Ziegfeld Theater, flashes almost blind him throw the tinted windows of his car. He takes a stomach deep breath before the driver opens the door for him. Dressed in a charcoal grey suit, grey striped tie and black dress shoes, James slips out from the backseat and hands in a hand for her date. He had been stressed for his new movie's first premier for weeks, trying to defeat the attension forced on him. But it was good money, millions to be exact.

He stands infront of the large white sheets, what have the name of the movie on it and smiles as wide as he can. Its hard, exchausting and trains all the strenght he still has. Walking pass reporters he hears a photografer yell: " Who is the gorgeous lady in your hand?" He looks at her, and she smiles back at him. To be serious, he don't even remember her name. He had the possibility to come here alone, but as his manager suggested, bringing a girl with him brought good press. He laughted at the thought of it. Good press ahhh? More like lies on yellow pages.

Last night at the bar he rescued a young girl from an asshole and kissed her. But the result this time was different. He made his move and she rejected him. Well... This had never happened before. Usually women fell on their knees in front of him and they never said NO! But she just said 'Good night' and left! That springed up intrest in him, to find her and ask, why she didn't fall for him? James knew that he was arrogant. Kind of a dush but this was who he was.

Bending down his knees, he picked up a heavier bar. The gym was empty and drum and bass filled his thought as he worked out. Puffing air inside and out, he raised the bar and pushed it up from him, taking in air as he did. Sweat glistening on his forehead, he pumped up the far furiously, speading anger around him and devoureing every stroke he did. He leaned it on the holder and crabbed his towel. 

Whiping his forehead he thought about her again. How she tasted, how she felt against him, as she fit perfectly. Get her out of his mind, God deemet, forget her for God sakes, he thought. But the picture of her face still lingered in front of his eyes. He shook his head and stood up, crabbed a bottle of water and drank it with one breath. Tossing it into his bag, he grabbed his phone and called Jack.

"Hey. I need you do to something for me!" he said, his voice calm but ordering. "I need you to find someone!" he said, walking out from the gym and into the locker room. He threw the bag on the bench and sat next to it. 

"A girl in a bar, In Hocklet's, she was talking to me in the bar, the barteneder might know who she was. Go there and ask!" he ordered, pulling his shirt over his head and shoveing it into the bag. Stripping from his clothes he took a towel from the rack and discarded his phone. He needed to find her, just for fun he thought.

When he came to his car, his phone rang, it was Jack and he answered fast. "So?" he asked, turning on the motor and putting the phone on speaker. "He don't know her, but there was a guy in the bar with her. He is a photografer in New York Times. They might be coworkers!?" he said. Fine, this was a start, he thought driving away from the curb and into the city traffic. She had mentioned that she was with friends, so they might even work together. And it was a long shot, if it was possible to find her in the city.

Parking in front of NYT building, James looked himself in review mirror and slips his hands throw his hair. Maybe he will get lucky today, or even luckier. He winks to himself, puts on sunglasses and steps out. Walking up to the receptionist he takes off his glasses and places them into the hem of his t-shirt. The girl behind the table almost gets a heartattack as James leanes over the table. "Hi!" he says with a smooth voice that sounds really flirtic. The receptionist almost jumps at him, eating him with her eyes and almost pushing her cleavage at him. "Hmm" she responds, her words stuck at her throut. 

James scans the lobby and turns back at the blond ogling at him. "Is there a girl named Anna working here?" he asks.

Yet again, the girl just nodds and leans at counter, few inches from him. 

"She is a journalist, works on the 4th floor!" The girl says, playing with her hair. 

Jackpot! 

He found her.

 But still he had to be certan, that she really was here. And a plan came to mind. The New York Times had tried for weeks, to make an interview with him and every time he had declined. What about if she would interview him?