Kinda Maybe: Big City Nights, #2

By Elise Daniels

Kat Hilliard is unprepared when New York's most eligible bachelor, Reese Tremaine, bumps into her on a downtown train. Her simple life will never be the same. 

Determined to live out a lifelong dream, Kat Hilliard moves cross country after college to New York City to chase her destiny. Knocking out 140 character tweets for a financial firm by day and engaging in all the sexy options Manhattan has to offer by night, Kat is suddenly swept into the hideaways and haunts of the extremely rich and decadent as her life spins out of control and into the headlines. 

Burdened by an unwanted celebrity, Kat fights to remain true to her dreams and herself as great sex, a heated political campaign and the dark secrets of a soldier returned home push her toward the one mistake that could keep her from living out her New York fairy tale. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elise Daniels
• Release date: Jul 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536563528

Book preview

ABOUT KINDA MAYBE

Kat Hilliard is unprepared when New York's most eligible bachelor, Reese Tremaine, bumps into her on a downtown train. Her simple life will never be the same.

Determined to live out a lifelong dream, Kat Hilliard moves cross country after college to New York City to chase her destiny. Knocking out 140 character tweets for a financial firm by day and engaging in all the sexy options Manhattan has to offer by night, Kat is suddenly swept into the hideaways and haunts of the extremely rich and decadent as her life spins out of control and into the headlines.

Burdened by an unwanted celebrity, Kat fights to remain true to her dreams and herself as great sex, a heated political campaign and the dark secrets of a soldier returned home push her toward the one mistake that could keep her from living out her New York fairytale.

NOTE: Kinda Maybe  is the second book in the Big City Nights Series. It contains some explicit language and sex.

All books in the series are interconnected, standalone novels, featuring many of the same characters.

- Chapter 1-

I’m not like the other girls. I don’t dream of being a princess or meeting my one true love. I’m not going down that way. I just take it one day at a time and try to have fun when I’m not working.

If I meet a guy who can hang and is worth my energy to get to know, then I might invest a small piece of my heart in the process with minimal expectation. It’s best not to ask for too much in life.

New York bursts with possibilities. I’ve been here a week. My best friend, the princess who totally believes in true love, helped me move from coast to coast. Erin and I grew up in Los Angeles. We were inseparable. Now we are as separated as we can possibly be while still residing in the United States.

She lives on the beach in Hawaii and I sublet a bedroom in a shared apartment in Brooklyn. My housemates were strangers the day I arrived on their front stoop.

My new neighborhood is the Park Slope section of Brooklyn. Erin knew a girl who had once lived there and said it was a trendy spot for freshly minted college graduates to land. I went with that because Erin grew up in the right kind of world to know such things and I did not.

I live with two guys here. Although I had guessed correctly that one was straight and one was gay, I was dead wrong about both of them. The one I thought for sure was straight is not and vice versa.

Benji, my gay roommate, is so hot. He never wears a shirt at home. I shamelessly enjoy his sculpted torso every day. It’s like salivating over the glossy image of a dessert in a menu only to find out the restaurant is out of that delicacy.

Evan, my other roommate, is on the skinny side and wears sweaters in August. He’s not my type and I don’t seem to be his which, of course, makes him a smidge more my type. Guys who are not at all into me are so annoyingly intriguing.

I tried the tank top without a bra trick around him a few times. Nothing. Not a grin. Not a blush. Not even a peek. Forget Evan. He’s no fun. He studies all the time and when he does talk to me, it’s because he’s curious about something in a book.

It’s the night before my first day at Sanders Reed and Benji is taking me out for Indian food at a place just down the street called Baluchi’s. He insists that Evan come along. To my surprise, Evan only mildly resists.

Eduardo and Isabel will meet us for after dinner drinks at Lowlands, Benji says as he holds the chair for me.

I take a seat in the dim, candlelit restaurant. They’re both so adorable, I say. My heart and lungs expand as I breathe in the sweet smells of the place. It’s good to be young and living in New York City.

Eduardo and Isabel are the only other people I know in the entire city. They came to our apartment twice this week. Isabel and I went shopping at a thrift store one afternoon.

It’s dark in here, Evan observes, not quite embracing the outing.

Said the happy penis, Benji replies.

Dude, Evan fires back disapprovingly.

I cover my grin as if I am some prudish girl. I haven’t come completely out of my new girl shell yet. Benji senses my dark side, but I’m not ready to be vulgar in front of Evan.

Oh, don’t be a wuss, Evan, Benji scolds. You’re going to loosen up tonight if I have to beat it out of you with a Tandoori chicken.

Evan scratches the back of his neck and glances off into the distance like every guy when they think they’re cool. I just got it, he says, trying to stifle a grin. Funny.

Benji shakes his head and glances at me with widening eyes. Did he just respond to my penis joke like he was grading a term paper?

I think he did, I say. Laughter is not for everyone.

Benji winks at me and I wish he was straight just once. I never met a straight guy so comfortable in his own gorgeous skin.

Laughter is an involuntary response like a hiccup, Evan says. I like to control my responses.

Yeah, Mr. Roboto, we noticed, Benji says.

Tandoori robot chicken, I add.

Evan turns his intense green eyes on me as if seeing me for the first time. How very Tourette’s of you, Kat.

I’m not sure why but I feel an iciness in my chest and cannot respond.

Benji laughs and slaps Evan’s back. A little on the mean side but funny. I give you a B plus.

Benji snatches the menu out of my hands when the waitress suddenly appears. He makes the entire order himself. Evan adds a beer. I add a cosmopolitan.

Sanders Reed, Evan says. That’s old money. What will you be doing there? I thought stock brokers were dying out like newspapers and golf.

"My official title is researcher in their social media department."

Evan bends his face. Sanders Reed has a social media department?

Doesn’t everyone? I ask.

Benji grins. You have to understand, Kat. Evan has a severe case of cultural lag. If he was a computer, he’d be a dial up. He’s still mourning the fall of the abacus.

I can’t help but blush and grin right in Evan’s face. I get it. He’s analog in a digital world.

Again he stares at me with intensity. "Analog in a digital world? I hope your financial tweets are more original than that."

Okay, Benji says. That was mean and not funny.

I’m sorry, Evan says. Is the restroom back there? He gets up and quickly disappears into the dimness of the place.

What’s with him? I say.

He likes you, Benji says with a wink.

Are you fucking crazy?

That’s beside the point, Benji says. He doesn’t look at you. He can’t even check you out. I’m gay and I check you out. If a guy doesn’t check you out, he’s hiding something.

Uh, I say, that’s actually sweet of you to say.

I don’t do sweet, Benji says. You have a lot to look at. You’re curvier than that famous street in San Francisco.

What? I laugh. You mean Lombard Street?

Even your booty is a D cup, Benji says.

Enough, I say blushing. You’re gay. Not all straight guys like curves and there’s more to a girl than her curves.

Benji scoffs. It can be tedious talking to straight people. You have so many fears and insecurities. Honey, if Evan ever saw you naked, there would be nothing more to the whole world than your curves.

Hush, I say. I’ve lost 12 pounds. I’m not so curvy.

We both laugh.

Now you know that’s some bullshit. A tiny waist just makes it all the more noticeable.

You’re great for my confidence. I say. Unfortunately, about a million other guys, including Evan, are not.

Oh good, Benji says. The drinks are here. That will make all the heterosexual delusion and denial easier to take.

I take my cosmopolitan. Benji has a tall thin glass of something he calls a holly hook.

Eduardo insists that drinking from a skinny glass will slow down my drinking, Benji says, but this little concoction is so potent you could fuel a car with it. Isn’t he a prince to be concerned though?

By the time we finish dinner and make it to the Lowlands Bar it’s half empty. Eduardo sits with his back to us watching Isabel draw on a napkin carefully. We approach unnoticed.

Five shot glasses are lined up on the table waiting our arrival.

Let me guess, Benji says. That’s Tequila.

Eduardo and Isabel turn to us with the kind of easy smiles reserved for the oldest of friends. I feel warmly welcome but also ever so slightly like an imposter dropped from the sky into someone else’s circle of friends.

Isabel stands to kiss my cheek and then Benji’s cheek. But, of course, she says. We wanted our California girl to feel at home.

Eduardo slides in so Benji can scoot in next to him. Isabel directs Evan to sit first and then she sits between him and me.

They place a Tequila shot in front of each of us. Eduardo picks up his glass and holds it out over the table. We all lift our shot glasses in similar fashion.

It’s going to be a bumpy night, Benji promises with a wink.

Thanks, Bette Davis, Isabel says.

A toast for New York’s newest immigrant, Eduardo announces.

We all smile in anticipation except Evan who acts as if his arm is getting tired holding up the shot glass.

To our dear new friend, Kat, Eduardo toasts. May our magical city fulfill and inspire your wildest dreams.

We clink our glasses together and quickly spill the dry, earthy burst into our throats. I swallow it down with a little shiver.

The city doesn’t give two shits about anyone’s dreams, Evan says. Someone grab the waitress. I’ll buy the next round.

- Chapter 2-

Walking through the doors of Sanders Reed is like entering another dimension. The imperfect world of the fleshy, the infirm and the imprecise gets wiped away by the exacting world of ironed shirts and crisp collars.

Here rows of numbers hold secrets and dollar signs are the razor sharp weapons of the American aristocracy.

I wear business skirts that reach my knees and tasteful nylons. I try to hide and forget my sexuality. Not all of my feminine lines can be hidden completely and, at times, I feel my hips have violated some unwritten code or my other girlish assets are rebelling against the Sanders Reed way.

By Wednesday I know my way around the five floors of our office and will actually write my first tweets representing the company. Vicky Winters heads the social media department and has instilled in me the idea of brevity.

The world may have 140 characters to express themselves, but the cutting edge minds of Sanders Reed will always express themselves in 118 or fewer characters. I am told that Sanders Reed gets to the point quickly and precisely.

Brevity instills confidence, Vicky explains.

Got it, I say.

The first few days I watch Vicky and others distill financial headlines and investment strategies into hourly tweets. Secretly, I try to guess everyone’s ages and imagine them out in the real world. Vicky is nearly wrinkle free, slim and has incredibly toned legs. She might be pretty if she ever smiled. I guess she is a youthful thirty-six and am shocked to find out in the break room from a guy named Dave that she turned forty-four last month.

Vicky hands me a printed news release with the seriousness of a high priestess anointing the newest believer in her Wiccan cult. You’re doing the next hourly post.

I take the brief news item into my hands. Yeah, all right, I say with a little smile as I take a deep breath.

Excite them to action, Vicky says with an encouraging wink.

I nod and get to work. My first attempt is a clumsy 132 character effort that will not excite anyone. I delete it and start over.

3rd quarter to mark a spike in investor optimism across multiple sectors. See @SandersReed best 3rd quarter picks.

That will work and just 117 characters. Perfect. I decide to look busy for another five minutes before submitting my prospective tweet. I do not want to make anyone feel that what they do is so easy that the new girl could do it in just two attempts.

Vicky and a few other girls from the office decide to take me out to Bar Seven Five for a happy hour drink to celebrate my first official tweet. The bar is full of mostly men and thousand dollar suits. The slick-haired wealthy investors glance at us with dead eyes as if making a valuation based on key physical indicators.

Does anyone ever smile in the financial district? I say deciding to be my complete self for the first time in weeks.

Nita and Keisha consider my brazen words and let them float right past.

Didn’t you know? Vicky says. The act of smiling is entirely an affectation of the disenfranchised and unrepresented.

I smile to show them how it’s done. Let’s drink to the downtrodden, I say as the waiter approaches without even a shred of mirth.

Hi, Trent, line us up with four mind erasers, please, Vicky orders.

Oh, no, Keisha says. You’ve done it now, Kat.

Four shooters coming right up, Trent says and smiles. He winks at me, spins away and returns to the bar.

Did you see that, girls? I say. A real-life smile. Teeth and everything. And that boy is sizzle hot.

Why do you think we come here? Nita says. Vicky has a huge crush on Trent.

Oh, fuck off, Vicky says. He’s a baby. He’s half my age.

I love it. Girl talk. Finally. I felt like I have been drowning in decorum all week long. You’re blushing, Vicky, I say. I’m thinking you would love to suck on baby boy’s big pacifier.

The entire table considers me now mildly shocked. Okay, maybe that was too much too soon. Nita saves me by laughing.

This kitten is a little frisky, Nita says.

Nah, Keisha says. She’s just undersexed.

I nod. Ya think? I agree. I broke up with my ex three months ago.

Trent returns with our mind erasers. Sorry to hear about that, Trent says glancing down at me.

What are you sorry about? I ask.

Your breakup, he answers.

Our strapping waiter seems to be either hitting on me or buttering me up for a bigger tip. I see disappointment in Vicky’s eyes.

It’s okay, I say. I’ve decided to become a lesbian. It’s all worked out for the best.

Trent grins. Anything else, ladies?

All good, Vicky says quietly.

I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Whenever I am in doubt, I always do the same thing. Stick my foot in my mouth.

Trent, I say. Can I ask you something?

Trent hesitates, holding his empty tray. Absolutely.

Vicky’s nervous eyes stare at me pleadingly.

So, Trent, what do guys think of older women these days?

Trent processes the question. He seems to be doing the equation and then a slight smile emerges on his granite features. He glances at Vicky who is mortified. I’m older than you think, he says.

Oh, really, I say. I think you’re twenty seven.

He laughs. That means you thought I was twenty-four before I gave you a clue. He glances at Vicky again. I’ll be thirty-two in October.

We are all a little surprised, even impressed somehow. That means this good-natured, hot-bodied boy toy is not a boy at all, but a man with maybe fifteen years of experience in the sack.

Really? Vicky says and covers her mouth momentarily.

Really, Trent says, staring sweetly down into her eyes. And I think older women can be extremely hot.

He waves his cool smile across the entire table and spins away to disappear quickly behind the bar. Vicky tilts her head and lifts her eyebrows to let me know I was out of line.

You’ll thank me later, I say. He’s so into you.

You’re just dumb, she says. He’s fishing for a tip. He’s polite, unlike you.

Lighten up, Vicky, Keisha says. That’s more progress than you’ve made with that boy in the whole year we’ve been coming here.

Nita giggles. Even if he is fishing, Vick. It’s all good if he lets you play with his fishing pole.

Keisha and Nita punch their fists lightly together like teen boys.

You’re all so vulgar, Vicky replies.

We grin as she shakes her head. I’m sorry, Vicky, I say. At least we know he’s not that much younger than you.

Don’t be sorry, Keisha says. "She needs some vulgar in her life like yesterday. She needs some sweet and nasty with a real live man. There’s only so many times you can watch 300 with a vibrator."

Subject change, Vicky says trying to conceal a blush. That’s gross. We’re here to celebrate Kat’s first tweet with the firm.

Oh, goody gum drops, I say. Is there a cake? Because if there is, I’m hoping Gerard Butler pops out.

For the first time in my life I do the fist-punch thing as Keisha holds out her fist to me. Vicky exhales at us, then turns to spot Trent wiping down the bar. He stares deliciously our way.

The subway sobers me up with its assortment of city characters. The alcohol lingering in my taste buds mixes with the smell of the cheap chemicals used to clean the train. Or perhaps I am smelling some dreadful perfume or cologne of one of my fellow citizens.

I laugh a drunk laugh quietly as I consider the strangers who join me on the train. I get a few leading glances from a young professional man with messy, over-gelled hair. A homeless man stumbles past mumbling something