"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to JKF International Airport. Local timeis 4:16 pm and the temperature is 37˚. For your safety and comfort, please remain seatedwith your seat belt fasteneduntil the Captain turns off the Fasten Seat Belt sign..."

Britta finished her water and stashed the empty plastic bottle in the seat-back pocket. She was finally over her cold and anxious about getting sick again, desperate enough to google 'how not to get sick on an airplane.' The most sane advice was to stay hydrated. Poor Troy and Abed had come down with the flu right before finals, and in between bringing them goldfish crackers and soup, and hauling them in to see Nurse Jackie when they spiked fevers, she caught strep throat. On the bright side, missing a few days of work gave her some more time to study, so she couldn't be too upset. Though now that the semester was over and she was getting back to New York for the first time in forever, she really needed to focus on some self care and stay healthy. She even brought her own Purell for the first time in her life. It sucked her manager couldn't give her as much time off as she put in for—Jeff had wanted to stay in New York through New Year's Eve, but Britta had to be back by the start of the next weekend, the 28th. She'd miss fireworks. It was dumb of her to even consider missing working New Year's Eve though. She would probably make good money that night. When would she have a "real" job with real hours? Four years? Five?

"On behalf of Delta Airlines and the entire crew, I'd like to thank youfor joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Have a nice stay!"

She turned on her phone and texted Jeff. 'Just landed. Txt u when I'm in the cab." Best scenario, Britta figured she could be at the hotel by 6. Jeff's lawyer client party thing started at 9, so she'd have time to change into her dress and grab something more substantial than the granola bars and coffee she had for lunch. She was able to stuff everything into her carry-on and her backpack; this hotel would have better shampoo than she used at home anyway.

It definitely did. She'd seen some pictures of The Standard in an article she read about the High Line, but they hadn't prepared her for actually staying in a hotel this fancy. She'd only done actions against politicians staying in hotels like this (and gotten kicked out). A bellhop escorted her to the room, even though she was given a key at the front desk and she felt ridiculous handing him her backpack. They rode in one of the elevators with two women who were clearly supermodels. It was very uncomfortable.

Britta knocked on the hotel room door. Jeff opened it, dressed in a dark suit with a dark tie and bare feet. It was kinda sexy, even if a tiny bit of her resented how relaxed he looked leaned against the doorframe. "Hey," he smiled, grabbing her luggage and letting her step into the room.

'This isn't weird,' the voice in her head said, as she attempted to reassure herself as she took in the room. It was relatively small by the standard of other cities, but one side of the room was a giant floor-to-ceiling window facing Greenwich Village.

"This is fucking ridiculous. Why'd they even bother putting a desk in here," she joked. "Who's coming here to get work done?"

Jeff dropped her stuff in the closet. "Funny you should ask." He slid open the top cabinet of what she thought was the large desk to reveal the slickest looking minibar she'd ever seen.

"Holy shit." She couldn't help herself. It was like a 21+ candy store, with real glassware in various sizes, and sleeves of Oreos, full size bags of fancy chips and designer olives and cherries for martinis and manhattans. And then she saw earrings, make-up, Emergen-C…Jeff motioned to the bourbon. "No, thanks," she declined. "I'm kinda hungry though? Do you want to get dinner before this thing? I'll change and we can go somewhere?" she offered.

"Yeah, you want to pick something and I'll order while you get ready? We have time, it's just cold out. We only have another day here- we should enjoy it, right?" Jeff handed her the room service menu. She bit her lip, but she wasn't going to dig her heels in. She hoped the firm was picking up the tab for $25 pasta.

"Wait- there's no bathroom door?" she suddenly processed. There wasn't even a full wall between the bathtub and the bed, or curtains on the window wall. It was a hotel room designed for exhibitionists. Jeff shrugged. "Nope!" Britta protested.

"I've seen you naked." Jeff parried back.

"Yeah, but obviously at some point in the next couple of days I'm gonna need to pee, and we'll never be that close."

"Ugh, no! No. There's…" he didn't even want to have to explain, so he pointed in the direction of a tiny private toilet separated from the rest of the bathroom.

"I was seriously ready to leave."

"I saw it in your face."

"So what have you been up to here? You like it?" she asked. They hadn't really talked since he called to let her know he got there.

"Entertaining clients…I've got two pre-nups and this kinda big-deal tech guy who wants to try mediation but doesn't seem to really get what mediation means, but at least it's non-binding. I want to get in front of a judge again."

Jeff stood with his hands open as she dug around for her makeup bag and toothbrush, throwing a pair of jeans on the bed. "What are you doing? This isn't your apartment!" He opened a drawer and threw her jeans in it. She had been in New York for two hours and he was going to drive her insane. She let out a loud breath through gritted teeth.

"Can you find something to do for ten minutes that's not this while I get ready for your stupid ego-fest party?"

Jeff grabbed the room service menu and sat on the edge of the bed, smirking. "You would know stupid parties, tranny queen." The reference stung; he could be so frustratingly obtuse.

"Are you gonna put on some socks?" It was all she could come up with while she was preoccupied unpacking and finding her curling iron. He ignored her and called down their dinner order. She wasn't entirely sure how much she cared about impressing people she didn't think she'd like, but plugged the curling iron in anyway.

Three hours later, a bouncer stepped aside and they were waved into the separate entrance for the Boom Boom Room by a very young, very blonde hostess. Britta felt like rolling her eyes at the ridiculous strip club name. It was all so stupidly over-the-top and pretentious, and she was a little mad at herself for buying into it. She realized her coat, which kept her perfectly toasty in Colorado, did not at all go with her dress, so rather than stress Jeff out, she sucked it up and went sleeveless for the twenty foot-or-so walk from the hotel lobby. She'd noticed him sneaking glances at her in the elevator down from the room, and it had made her self-conscious. She looked for her reflection in mirrors in the lobby to see what was wrong, but gradually realized this was Jeff's new way of letting her know she looked good.

They were told to find the elevator up to the top floor at the end of a short, dark corridor. If Britta could compare it to anything, it would be the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland. A mysterious elevator with no buttons, and small screens on each side playing videos of galaxies. It was mesmerizing. Two other couples walked in behind them. Of course, no one watching the videos; the point was to act like none of this fazed you- that this was somewhere you'd been before, and would go again. And somewhere between the ground and eighteenth floors, something clicked. She and Jeff weren't playing around at being grown-ups, goofing off and enjoying the open bar at a work holiday party. They were grown-ups and this was Jeff's job now, probably forever. They'd both need a drink to deal with that.

…to be continued…