@linapvpen​
She remembers rainy days. They cloud her already hazy memories of childhood. The selective recollections of a young girl are the scars of the human psyche. The Upper East Side was a messy string of scattered storms. The raindrops raced down her bedroom window. She picked a favorite, placed her bet. If that little droplet reached the bottom first, daddy would take her with him on his trip. The voices in the hallway distracted her. When she looked back, her game was over. She was not the winner. He never did go on his trip, not the one he was packing for.
That was almost fifteen years ago. The Carnegie name, so prized and revered, is now replaced by Morgan in homage. For it was Morgan who made Carnegie the richest person in his own time, and that's exactly who Nina Morgan will become. She is billed as talent agent, exclusively devoted, staring up from her seat at who she represents. The droplets splash across the window next to her, awaiting the next bet. This is too important to risk. She ignores them. 1-2-3. 1-2-3. 1-2-3. She hates herself. She is Nina Morgan. She is Carolina Papen. She doesn't need her droplets. She's made it this far without them. She loves herself.
"I ordered ahead," she says, watching her. "I didn't know how long you'd take, but I asked for a bottle of Merlot to be chilled until you came. Is that all right?"
