The sound of the intercom on her desk crackling to life startled Vanessa O'Conelly from her 3:00 pm daydream.
"Vanessa?"
With a sigh of relief she rubbed the want-of-sleep from her watering eyes and pressed the speak button on the console, "Governor Thorton?"
"I'm sending the Mayor out."
She did a little spin of joy in her wheeled desk chair, jumping up and running in her kitten-heels across the exquisitely laid wood flooring, past the rows of cubicles and stopping at the double doors at the end of the hall. She straightened her skirt, and grasped her clipboard to her chest with regained poser. The door cracked open.
"I'll be seeing you here September third then, Mayor Bloomberg?"
"Indeed you will," the portly little mayor bowed out of the office smiling at her on his way out, "Lovely to see you again, Vanessa."
"Did you get that down?" Governor Thorton turned to her as she was scribbling away on the clipboard.
"Yes sir!" she said beaming at them, "Lovely seeing you as well, Mayor Bloomberg, tell your wife I look forward to seeing her at the Gala tonight."
The Mayor waggled a finger at her, "Keep her close, Ray, this one's a gem! Pray you, let her come teach my assistant a thing or two?"
"Not a chance, Michael! She's all mine. We'll see you this evening."
Vanessa followed Governor Raymond Thorton into his office, closing the door behind her as he filled a crystal tumbler on his mahogany desk with aged scotch. She watched in silence as he raised the liquid to his lips, its burnt orange color matched the hue of his graying hair almost exactly.
"Ray?"
"Vanessa?" his tone was playful, crows feet played at his eyes as he took another drink.
"It's three can I-"
He waved her off with a thickly callused hand, "Go on, I know how long it takes for women to get ready."
"Thank you!" Vanessa gripped her clipboard tighter to keep calm. She was already late for her hair appointment, "Thank you sir, it's a big night for Greg-"
"Why are you still here?" He chuckled.
Whirling around she tossed one more thank you over her shoulder and skated back down the hall, government office workers jumping out of her way, to retrieve her coat from the entry closet. She folded the crisp Burberry jacket, a gift from Senator Gregory Killibrew, over her forearm, pushed in her chair and headed into the hall. With a newly manicured nail, she pressed the crystalline button on the wall, the door opened with an elegant "ding!" and glided into the gilded elevator, heels clacking slightly on the mirrored floor.
A sleek black sedan awaited her below, prepared to whisk her away to the salon and her dress fitting at Dior. As she settled into the heated leather interior she contemplated, not for the first time, her luck that she had gotten the job as Thorton's assistant at the precise moment Greg had chosen to run for Senator. He has strolled out of the elevator wearing a pressed Armani suit, his dark hair slicked back just so and asked her to dinner before she could open her mouth.
Almost a seven months had passed since that day and she still marveled over the perks that came with dating one of New York's most wealthy senators. The coat, the car, the dress: yes, perks indeed.
However, Greg had been so much more than a senator to her: he had swept her off her feet, hand delivering flowers to the office and dressing her in Dolce, De La Renta and Chanel. He had flown her to see her mother when she was in the hospital, rescued her from days traveling the subway and cooking ramen noodles in a tiny apartment.
These things made every public event, every moment calming him down from a rage about voters, worth it. Which is why she would look her best, be her best, at the Lucifer House Gala tonight.
As the car pulled up to Dior on 57th, she looked quickly in her hand mirror, running her hands through her long strawberry blonde hair. Yes, tonight she would be the very vision of perfect for the Senator.