The cries from what appeared to be a dead cat called out from outside his Upper East Side penthouse, cursing at his doorman’s inability to keep those whom do not own a flat in the building led him to scuffle his Gucci sliders against the wooden flooring - opening to what appeared to be a very drunken ( or sick ) man. “No, I’m not Ashley, nor is there one that lives in this building. If you’re looking for Regina - however -” He nods towards the door opposite, “She is currently married, and her husband is home.” A lie, but he cannot help the jealously that riles. 

“Her husband?” Eric hadn’t a clue on where he was or who he was talking to, but he thought his mistake could lead to a bit of fun. “Mind if I wait in here with you until her husband leaves? I’ll even let you keep the ice cream.” He suggested trying to keep a serious face. “Nice shoes.” He added as his blue hues glanced down and noticed the slides that looked particularly expensive. 

        “Shit,” Selene breathes, furrowing her brow as she shakes her head in disbelief. The first person to really be honest with her out of all the damn applicants spicing their resumes up. She narrowed her eyes over at the guy in question and wondered, then, if he’d be the right fit for her as a personal assistant; he certainly wasn’t what she thought she wanted nor needed, but maybe that was precisely what she needed. “Well, the one thing I value most is honesty, so I’ll admit you haven’t started off on the wrong foot. Have you done this kind of a job before? And what was your name again?” 

“Eric Ripley, at your service.” He exclaimed with his hand held out for the brunette to shake. It was then that he caught the question she had asked before and he slowly shook his head. “Can’t say that I have since I don’t even know what the job is. What is the job anyway?” He asked, wondering if what started off as a joke actually could landed him some extra cash.

                                    Kendra found herself house sitting for an old friend, she had only accepted to get a couple of days away from the crowded penthouse that her home had become. She had thought about moving out, but there was still in her mind that she could still undo the unfortunate marriage her father had gotten himself into. The brunette heard the calling and at first she thought it was somewhere else, but then as she got closer to the door she realized it was on her door. Swinging the door opened she gave the man a smirk as she raised one eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “And you’re not my dinner order.” She chuckled. 

At her response, Eric let out his own chuckle. “I could be.” It was a simple flirt that matched the goofy grin that began to spread over his features. “You’ve never had ice cream and booze for dinner? This is a classic New York and will always put you into a fantastic mood.”

           Though she had grown up in Brooklyn, there wasn’t much left that she could claim. Most of her friendships died out, except for a couple that she’d see when she was in New York. Ashley, being one of them, had asked to watch her apartment for the weekend. What she hadn’t told her, before leaving her all alone, was that there would be past hookups begging for her attention. Normally, she wouldn’t answer her door to a complete stranger. But the last thing she wanted was to cause a scene in the hallway, addressing angry neighbors and having the whole story blow up on Twitter. So she opened the door, leaning against the doorway. “No, I’m not.” She crossed her arms, glancing down at the alcohol and ice cream he had bought. “But it doesn’t matter, she’s never going to fall for that shit.” 

Hearing her response caused Eric to let out a low huff. “Of course she would, this is her favorite flavor.” He replied before glancing down at the pint in his hand. “Or maybe it’s not.” He questioned himself then decided it wasn’t worth another thought. Not knowing that this wasn’t his friend, Eric continued to speak. “Lily are you going to invite me in or let me stand in this hallway forever?”

Being clumsy was her forte. No matter what she was doing or how hard she tried at keeping it together, she couldn’t. She was accident prone and it never seemed to go away with age. But god, she really hated her inability to stay afloat right now when she had covered someone else’s shoes in paint by accident. And she half expected a massive freak out—some uptight New Yorker ready to rip her a new one. But when that didn’t happen, she had to admit, she was shocked. “You… can’t be serious,” she huffed, a small smile forming across her lips as she looked up at him nervously. “I mean, I’d do it if I knew there wouldn’t be some massive blow out from the other person… which I’m kind of shocked you haven’t started to do just yet. After all, I did just ruin your shoes. Not that the Kelly Green color doesn’t look good on you, because it does, but it doesn’t exactly go with much. But hey, maybe you’re like me and into that the art of mismatching your attire for the day.” And again, she was rambling. 

When it came to fashion, Eric wasn’t concerned in the slightest. Growing up, he wore rags and if we wanted something nice for himself, he most likely stole it. Paint on his shoes happened to be the least of his worries. “I’m the master of mismatching.” He replied, glancing down at his outfit once again. Whatever was clean in his closet, that was what he wore. “So let me ask you something. Is throwing paint on someone your attempt at picking them up or am I able to get conned? Should I expect your partner to come by soon and steal my wallet, because jokes on you, I’m broke.”

        Avery could feel her smile widen when the hungover man accepted her offer, but she could also feel her happiness decrease once realizing she was a little too joyous for any hungover person’s taste. “Nothing too important or special, I promise. I’m just offering to pay for your order, that’s all.” She grinned, trying to make sure she was just the right amount of quiet. “You don’t have to let me pay for you if you don’t want to. You can easily say no and move along with your day.”

“I may be hungover, but I’m not stupid. I’d be an idiot to say no to free coffee.” Eric chimed in, his smile beginning to grow. “Can I at least know the name of my coffee savior?”

        Looking up to see someone he particularly couldn’t recognize, Damon took in the man’s question. After staying quiet for a few moments, he decided to fill him in on what happened. “I was shot in the knee during my time in the military not too long ago.” He spoke before resting his eyes on his stump again. “It looks a lot worse than it really is.” Looking up at the man again, he realized he was wearing a suit, so he assumed he was at the Bord’Elle last night. “How’d you like the Bord’Elle grand opening last night?”

“Shit.” Eric grumbled upon hearing what had happened to him. “It looks pretty bad to me.” It seemed as if he needed to learn how to hold his tongue, but that would be a lesson for another day. At the next question, he glanced down at his suit, fixing the loose tie that hung around his neck. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know if I did or didn’t. I don’t remember a thing that happened last night.”