The French Girl

3

If we go down, then we go down together..

It's way too cold. Darn, you would think that March in NYC is warm but no, mother nature just had to make it cold. I run my hands over my damp hair, wrapping myself in my lavender towel after the warm shower. I tip toe outside into the common area, being careful to not wake Peter up. Poor guy has been working night jobs and day jobs to get himself a manager. Although I told him that I could get him a manager no problem, but Peter wanted to work for his own stuff.

"Okay," I gasp out, getting ahold of my clothes. If I hurry, I could still get to Helen's office in about 30 mins, not including the traffic. My clothes were simple, but professional. A pair of light blue, ripped jeans, black combat boots, a white ruffled collared shirt, my pastel pink jacket with gladly a hood.

"Going to work already?" Peter sits up from his bed, rubbing his eyes. He had bags underneath his eyes, his eyes bloodshot from all the coffee he had drunk. I nod, smiling. My feet just made their way over to Peter's bed. I sit down at the foot of his bed, Peter smiling at me. "How's work?" I ask, despite me knowing I'll definitely be late.

Peter sighs, rubbing his temples. "Not well. I've been only making 10 dollars an hour. And the manager that I really want, is at least 2000."

I pat his back in a circular motion, something my mom did whenever things weren't going well. God, I miss her.

"Peter, I can help. Only if you let me." Peter hasn't been the best at letting people into his problems, but for once, he has to or he'll literally die from stress. Finally after a long silence, Peter nodded.

"Good, now Snow needs a bath." I stand up, helping him up as well. Peter chuckles, "Oh I definitely know Snow needs a bath. She stinks."

Helen taps her foot angrily against her office floor. "Blair, honey. You know for a fact, that I can't pay for a manager. That's not in my department." We've been talking about Peter's problems for quite a while already, and it seems like Helen's patience had worn out. "Okay Helen." I say defeated, looking down at the strand of my split ends.

"Oh, honey. If I could, I really would've. Here's your paycheck by the way." Helen drops a thick stack of hundred dollar bills on my lap. I gasp out looking inside the envelope. There could easily be enough to move out of the crappy apartment. "Tiffany Industry's wants to buy your entire collect for 2.2 million dollars." Helen smiles, sitting on her desk to face me.

I laugh, my eyes welding up with tears. "Thank you Helen!" I hug her tightly, Helen hugging me back a bit gentler than me but hey, can't blame a girl for being happy. Can't wait to tell Peter, or my sister. Whom of which, I haven't seen in years, but I still know we would tell each other anything that's important in our lives. Especially when a billion dollar industry is willing to pay 2.2 million dollars for my collection!

I immediately grab my bag, and race back to my apartment. "Peter! Peter!" I shout once I get through the doorway. Peter sits on the couch, munching on some leftover cereal (lucky charms cereal if I may add). "What?" Peter perks his head up from the tv to meet my eyes.

I shove the envelope full of hundred bills into his chest with a sly smirk. "I did it! After all these years, an industry wants to buy an entire collection!" Peter is shocked, slowly setting the bowl of milk on the table.

A few seconds went by, with Peter just in an utterly shocked phase. Then he jumps up and hugs me.

"Knew you could do it."