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[manhattanmedusa-blog]

“You can do what you like. The decision is yours,” Octavia responded, fingers reaching out to tug the side of his face - eyes looking to search his. A false sense of security came in the form of assurance that it was them pulling the strings, but that was always far from the truth. “But I won’t offer again.” A god didn’t bend the knee to man, and nor did the lion to it’s prey. 

“No?” He mused, shooting her a sideways glance. A girl doesn’t always need to have a catch. The words sounded genuine from her tongue, but they were precisely the opposite of every other female in the city. “Should I call your bluff now or later?”

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"I know it’s taken,” Octavia began, a formation of words lining up on her tongue as fingers grasped purposely placed items and a sharp smile directed her lip into a false sence of understanding. “By me.” Bronzed legs slipped together, one over the other as she showcased the results of a mid-week trip to Milan. The Persian coffee which caressed her senses, sat idly in her hands as she turned her head towards Hazel. “I understand not wanting a urchin to sit next to you. But for me it’s just rude.”

Hazel rubbed her forehead, nursing a hangover one could only have after having dinner with the Williams. She remembered now more than ever why she’d gotten her own place as soon as she could and the reason started with M and ended with other. She took a sip of her coffee, all too aware of the large amount of people in the cafe. At the sight of a figure near her table she purposefully filled the seat next to her with her belongings praying that the person didn’t get any funny ideas like thinking that they could sit next to her. “That seat is taken.” She stated, not bothering to look up at the person.

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Like the first flowering of daffodils in spring, Octavia’s mind games started anew. She’d supply a beautiful meadow to disguise the growing weeds. “A girl doesn’t always need to have a catch.” But Octavia Bass did. “I just wanted to celebrate a win.”

“That’s quite the promise,” Tyler stated, browline raising as he brought his glass up to his lips. It was a proposition that would have sounded crude from any other’s mouth, but from her it was more like a riddle. Getting a girl like Octavia Bass into bed surely wasn’t that simple. “What’s the catch?”

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Words were injected with innuendo, each one a fatal promise. Her appetite for the man was insatiable, yet denial was often found in her own mind. It had to be when she said it was, when the cards were stacked in her favor. So when her head drew closer to him, a suggestive glance upon her face, words whispered with both honey and spice, “If you’re lucky, you get much more than mere tea. I’ll serve up myself.”

After the past evening’s occurrences, he was surprised by the grin that graced his features at her words. His heart had been hollow for the past 12 hours, worse than it had ever been. He glanced at the bartender as she spoke, not surprised to see him nodding in compliance. “I hope you’ll be serving more than tea,” he said, answering with a wink of his own. 

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“It’s such a relief! Being an intern just wasn’t my style.” Natalie’s presence often brought a lighter atmosphere, a friendship not divided by Octavia’s cruel ambition. The blonde was among the few that Octavia decided she’d never stab in the back - but the list was short. “No party necessary, let’s just take advantage of the fact I pay for none of this alcohol!”

“Who are you again? Wait – Oh my God, Tavia!” She laughed out, grinning, before pulling her in for a hug, a squeal of delight leaving her lips. “You got it? That’s so freaking exciting! We must celebrate. Can I throw you a party? Or do you just want to get roaringly drunk?”

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Faces often imprinted themselves, their mark etched upon her brain - all labelled accordingly as she recognized friend from foe, there was no middle ground. Octavia could not recall the guy who spoke, so immediately deemed him to have personality of a wet mop. If he was the son of greatness, Octavia could not see it in the tufts of hair that stood before her. Her fingers retracted from the bar, slight body turning away from him as she widened the narrow gap between the two - she didn’t care to know to much, so invading her breathing space was completely unnecessary. 

“I work at Vogue magazine. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what that is.” Sour words escaped her mouth, gin on her tongue and a flicker of pompousness igniting the depths of her eyes.  She already thought herself better than him. But on the Upper East Side, who had more wealth or r power than a Bass?”

What he knew about Octavia Bass was more that he knew of her; in his mind, she was a distant persona composed of glossy magazine photos and rumors carried along the breeze, incomplete without the infamy that came attached to the Bass name. Considering that this hotel belonged to that name, it shouldn’t have been strange to see her appear at the bar, but it was- like meeting a celebrity endorser in the flesh after seeing their face on a bus a hundred times.

The rooftop bar of the Empire Hotel was not something Thomas would call a usual haunt; in fact, it was the first time he’d ever found himself here and it was not entirely by choice. Rose had urged this blind date so much that he had finally caved, more for her sake than his own, and now that said blind date was nowhere to be found, Thomas felt like she’d take the failure much harder than he had. He was taking a tentative sip of his whiskey sour when Octavia materialized and, in the same blink of time, announced her good news- seemingly to him. Thomas raised his eyebrows in mild surprise and nodded, before giving her a fraction of a smile. “Well, uh, congrats. As a current intern, you have both my best wishes and my envy.” He placed his glass down, all but full. “Where do you work?”

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Novels fantasized friendships, convinced girls that the only way to stay bonded was to tell one another everything. But Octavia was never one for imparting wisdom on others, even girls she considered herself close to. So as she glanced at Isabel, fingers skimmed the rim of her glass as thoughts poked at her mind. “Hard-work and determination to be the best,” Octavia answered, saying nothing of the guts for glory method that reigned over her entire life. 

Her fingers were wrapped around the stem of a wine glass, just one, she had promised herself and then she’d return back to the flurry of taking phone calls and fetching papers. Upon the arrival of Octavia, she glanced up, after hearing her voice. A slight pang hit her heart, jealousy knew no boundaries, before her smile widened into a genuine grin. Escaping being an intern was something to be proud of, even if Isabel was currently mourning the fact she was one. 

“Congratulations!” Isabel replied enthusiastically, “That’s terrific news.” She beamed, lowering her voice playfully, before, “How did you do it? I’m dying to shed the label of intern.”

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Her smile was sugar sweet, crystals melted on lips and chin held pertly up. In recent years, there had been an influx of people talking about Selene, but she had never held a fascination for her. Even when it was Octavia’s fingers who hit keys, secrets spilling on the canvas of a blog page under the alias of Gossip Girl, she had found herself completely un-dazzled by the brunette that stood before. 

“I’ve earned the right to be.”

Selene wouldn’t have necessarily said she was hiding but she was hiding. It was the only fathomable reason she’d be in a respectable hotel like the Empire in the first place. 

“That’s great,” she replied distractedly as she refilled her own glass, sounding appropriately enthused but practiced like she’d made a career out of convincing people of one thing when she was most definitely another. As she set the bottle down on the counter it  revealed that it was something unholy and cheap, likely dragged in from whatever party she had crawled out of from the previous evening.

“I can’t wait for you to get more pretentious. That’s like, my most favourite thing in the world.”

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Her head turned towards the bartender, hand pulling at the glass. “Make sure that the room attendant has stocked the king suite full of everything I asked for. I don’t like to be disappointed,” Octavia requested pointedly, leg slipping from it’s previous position to glide against Tyler’s, flesh to fabric. “I’m throwing a tea party,” she grinned, aiming a wink at Tyler. 

“Oh?” He inquired, his brow raising at her comment. Everything that slid off her tongue seemed to be an innuendo, each one causing his grin to broaden. He watched her fingers, the tips playing on the hem of the skirt against her skin. She played him so easily, even he knew it. “Well, I never say no to cake.”

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Her head turned towards the bartender, hand pulling at the glass. “Make sure that the room attendant has stocked the king suite full of everything I asked for. I don’t like to be disappointed,” Octavia requested pointedly, leg slipping from it’s previous position to glide against Tyler’s, flesh to fabric. “I’m throwing a tea party,” she grinned, aiming a wink at Tyler. 

“Oh?” He inquired, his brow raising at her comment. Everything that slid off her tongue seemed to be an innuendo, each one causing his grin to broaden. He watched her fingers, the tips playing on the hem of the skirt against her skin. She played him so easily, even he knew it. “Well, I never say no to cake.”

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Her head turned towards the bartender, hand pulling at the glass. “Make sure that the room attendant has stocked the king suite full of everything I asked for. I don’t like to be disappointed,” Octavia requested pointedly, leg slipping from it’s previous position to glide against Tyler’s, flesh to fabric. “I’m throwing a tea party,” she grinned, aiming a wink at Tyler. 

“Oh?” He inquired, his brow raising at her comment. Everything that slid off her tongue seemed to be an innuendo, each one causing his grin to broaden. He watched her fingers, the tips playing on the hem of the skirt against her skin. She played him so easily, even he knew it. “Well, I never say no to cake.”

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Octavia had already moved past his blunder, uninterested in his lack of fashion magazine knowledge. If she wanted that kind of conversation, she’d go and search for Natalie. Instead, she idly played with the short straw which sat in her glass, passing it between the gaps in her fingers as her other hand came to rest against the hem of her skirt - smirk painted on her lips. “Either that, or you can grin like a Cheshire Cat. I don’t plan on having a tea party. But I might be able to order a cake that says ‘eat me’.”

Blue eyes widened slightly at her response, an embarrassed chuckle escaping him. “My mistake. I must have confused-” He shook his head, cutting himself off with a breathy laugh. He looked back at her, fingers tapping lightly on his glass. “I always forget that,” he responded, subconsciously glancing down at the bare flesh of her leg that had suddenly exposed itself a few more inches. Her limbs were long, long enough for him to get lost in. After the previous night, he found himself wanting to. “Would that make me the Mad Hatter?”

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“I think you’ve already been exposed to some kind of toxin. At least then you could blame your personality on that,” Octavia bit back, smile replacing the glimmer of a sneer. Jamie Buckley was more tolerable than his sister, but she did not favour his company any more than Grace’s. But tolerated it with an easier stomach. “At least you’re productive with your time,” she responded, eyes rolling backwards.

“Wanna take a road trip to a 7-Eleven? You can get culture shock and probably something airborne from mingling with the commoners.” While he was usually the one sticking his nose up at anything less than elite, it felt good to rub it into Octavia’s face, Jamie’s lips twisted up satisfactorily. “Ten minutes, sounded good though, didn’t it?”

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Nestled between her ribs were dying flowers, each one a representation of the morality she possessed. Every bad decision, every cruel intention killed another touch of softness - where others had a garden, she had a posy and one by one they died, leaving nothing in it’s place but cruel determination. Octavia had done what was necessary to make certain that Rianne Howard had not grasped the highly coveted role - it was just like her performance in Alice in Wonderland. Octavia had been told that the role was between herself and Ginny Weston, later that day Ginny had been suspended from school. Nothing was done purely, but the black mark against her name had been nurtured by Bartholomew Bass until his death, the visionary man implementing dark ideas into his daughter’s willing mind. 

“It’s Vogue, not Cosmopolitan. The latter lacks the class and status that is deserving of myself,” Octavia corrected, words cut like knives as fingers fluttering around the awaiting glass. “My plan is to get drunk on the rooftop bar. Therefore, I took the liberty of getting the keys of the second best suite. The best being my brothers, considering he owns the hotel.” She crossed one leg over the other, exposing softly bronzed skin from a brief work trip, the length of her skirt rising up slightly as she lent her head forward. “You can stay here all night if you wish.  Or fall down the rabbit hole with me, you might just find yourself in wonderland.”

“You heard the lady,” Tyler said jauntily to the bartender, who smirked in response. The words were devoid of their usual pomp and circumstance, though they were slightly less melancholy than he felt. He hated even thinking of being on the receiving end of sympathy, especially in present company. 

Her attitude was infectious, his grin greeting her own. He couldn’t deny that in the few seconds since she had arrived, his mood has improved. “I suppose this is the part where I pretend like I know what that is,” he responded just as the bartender slid her drink in front of her. He picked up his own glass, offering it in her direction, “Cheers to Cosmopolitan’s newest fashion editorial assistant.”

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There was nothing manufactured about the happiness which lit up her features, giving her a glow brighter than the one she’d adorned as a goddess only hours prior. Even as her eyes fell over Tyler, who looked more worn than normal, she could not shake her happiness. Instead, heels hit the ground as she jumped up from her on stool and moved to sit in the one beside him, alcohol on his tongue and splattered on marble, napkins weeping on the side. 

Despite the fact that it was her brother’s hotel, and she bought absolutely nothing, Octavia did not deny Tyler’s offer. Letting a man think he was in control by buying the drink was like convincing a trained monkey that their actions are all of their own autonomy. “I’ll have a gin and tonic,” she began, lips popping together briefly. “I’m now a fashion editorial assistant.”

A ring of condensation had begun spreading its way slowly around the glass on the bar in front of Tyler; he had long since discarded the napkin the bartender had slid it on across to him, now in a soggy mess beside him. Bit early for a drink, isn’t it? The bartender had asked him, a knowing glance in his eye. Tyler had grimaced before throwing it back and ordering another. The sound of a familiar voice caused his head to snap around, the look on the girl’s face something of a rarity.

“Congratulations, all around,” he responded, a smile spreading across his features. He turned, waving the bartender down for another round. “Drinks on me. What’s the job?”

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Behind designer shades, Octavia’s eyebrow raised briefly, in synchronicity  with the beginning of the terrible joke. “I almost had a heart palpation when you said you went to the grocery store.” She sipped on her matcha green tea smoothie, straw caught between cherry red lips as she laughed into her drink - but only a little. Bad puns weren’t really her idea of humour inflicting sentences. “How long have you been rehearsing that joke?”

“I fucking love going to the grocery store,” Jameson oozed, his cigarette clenched limply between two straight teeth, the joke offered as he leaned up against the brick of the building, face tipped up to catch what remained of a gorgeously sunny day. “The cashiers are always checking me out.” The ba dum tiss was implied, he waited a beat then glanced down at his audience, lips carved into a grin.

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With a spring in her step, Octavia’s styled waves spun in the light spring wind. If there was to ever be a theme song in her head, which played in dramatic moments and became the chorus of greatness, it would have played in that moment. Smiles tumbled from her lips, fingers pressing against them as she entered the Empire Hotel elevator. 

Triumphantly, Octavia let out laughter, hands grappling the side of the rooftop-bar as she shot the bartender a smile. “I’m here for celebratory drinks. I presume you know who I am.” She span around on the stool, eyes falling on a familiar face. “I’m having a fantastic day. I don’t even care if you don’t want to know. I just got a call saying I got the promotion at work! Bye bye, intern status.”