Writing a Wrong by Tiffany King Page B

How would it look if you were carrying your own luggage?"
    "Oh God. If I would've known I'd be walking through this much shit, I would have worn my waders."
    "Just a little humor. Not that I'm going to hand over one of the bags. This is job security for me. Gotta make sure I pull my weight," he joked, leading me toward a nondescript black SUV. I grinned, feeling instantly at ease. Meeting new people was never easy for me, but I could already tell Greg and I were going to get along. He reminded me of my brothers.
    The temperature in New York in January was noticeably different than what I had left in Florida. There was no snow on the ground, but it was cold nonetheless. Even though I had dressed appropriately, I was already shivering as we made our way to the vehicle. Greg noticed my reaction and started the vehicle to get the heat running before stowing my luggage in back.
    "Here you go," he said, opening the door for the second row. Shaking my head, I opened the front passenger door and climbed in, leaving him with a puzzled look. "I'd rather sit up front," I said, closing the door. I kicked an empty Mountain Dew bottle out of the way and tossed the empty fast food bag that was on my seat to the second row.
    "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly as he climbed into the driver's seat. "I was running behind and grabbed a quick bite. I thought you'd be sitting back there."
    "Don't sweat it. I have three brothers. This is nothing compared to their cars. It takes a shovel and a gas mask to clean out my brother Tony's car."
    Greg flashed another grin. "Well, this is actually cleaner than normal. Sometimes I collect so much stuff it looks like I'm living in here."
    "Do you live in the city?" I asked, grasping the armrest on the door. Greg's driving was more aggressive than I was used to. He whipped from lane to lane, around several taxis and a city bus. No matter how many times I traveled to New York City I would never get used to the traffic. Every moment felt like an accident waiting to happen. I should have sucked down a drink before we left the airport to dull my senses, or better yet, one of those tranquilizers they give to traveling pets.
    "Nah, too rich for my blood. I got a place over in Jersey."
    "So you drive in this mess every day?" I closed my eyes, wishing that I would have taken his original suggestion of sitting in the back seat.
    "Oh, no way. I take the bus and train into the city." He blasted his horn at a motorcycle that narrowly swerved in front of us, causing my eyes to jump open again. My hands moved instinctively to the dashboard, bracing for a collision. The constant stop-and-go motion of the vehicle combined with Greg's insistence on switching back and forth between lanes was making me nauseous. "You know, it's probably a good idea to get me there in one piece," I muttered, looking up at the ceiling in the vehicle.
    He chuckled, patting my hand that gripped the center console for dear life. "Don't be afraid. I've got plenty of experience at this. Plus, this baby is built like a tank." He patted the steering wheel reassuringly.
    "That's great, but I have a thing about accidents, and bridges, by the way. So understand—you are killing me right now." Bridges under normal circumstances freaked me out. Combine them with New York traffic and I was in hell. I suddenly felt a twinge of homesickness thinking of Alec. If he were here, we'd have a laugh while he teased me about my long list of phobias.

Chapter 7
     
     
     
    Miraculously we made it to the hotel in one piece, which led me to believe there might actually be a god, considering my nonstop prayers during the drive.
    Greg took care of my luggage and checked me in since the publisher was footing the bill for the hotel. Travel, lodging, food, and now an assistant, all covered. I would have to be careful not to let this rock star treatment go to my head. That being said, it was hard not to get excited when your every whim was being catered to. It was a surreal