Love All The Way

1| Stripper red

The lipstick shakes as I raise it to my lips. It's called Russian Red, but Luke would have called it Stripper Red, the color of whores. I steady my hand and pucker my lips. One point for Kennedy, one million points for him.

Beyond the Uber window, Central Park is a wintery canvas. Sheaths of snow had fallen through the night, the powdery substance covering everything in a blanket of white, leaving only a few Elm trees exposed. I take it all in, desperate to find my inner Christmas spirit, but the only spirit I feel right now is the Whiskey I downed before I left.

Up ahead, cars honk as a line of traffic curves around the street. I feel jittery and nervous - not in a good way, like when you're excited about something, but in an I'm about to puke all over this little black cocktail dress way. Tonight is my punishment, the cosmic damnation I'd known I was due. Like some spirit-stick legend, I'd cursed myself and was headed for Hades.

Hades, in this case, is Laurelle's Christmas Ball - my first at Long Bridge Real Estate and a time-old tradition in the New York Real Estate circuit. While a relative baby compared to some of the big names, Long Bridge has the financial backing of a New York Broker heiress and does relatively well: an exclusive boutique agency for the wealthy, we make the buying, selling, and renting of houses a personal experience - if you can afford it. Last year, having been a lowly five on our seven-floor hierarchy, I was politely excluded from the intimate guestlist, but this year, I'm a six.

The way the company works is like this: the further up the floors you climb, the more valuable you are. I started on the ground floor as a measly-paid intern, and now I'm on the sixth floor, one floor away from the multi-million heiress herself. If I get the promotion I've put myself up for, I'll be working on seven by January.

In theory.

I straighten out my dress for the fiftieth time. The old Kennedy would have jumped at the chance to attend such an event - I'm a sucker for fancy canapés - but knowing he will be there with his shiny new girlfriend kind of dampens the mood a little.

The he in question is my ex, Lucas, who I'd been dating two years when we vied for the same promotion. We'd vowed to remain together no matter the outcome, but the day he moved to seven, he ended things, leaving me single - and broke - in the run-up to Christmas.

See, people like to think they'll be one of the lucky ones, but they're wrong. One way or another, hooking up with a coworker will end in disaster. Maybe he'll get that promotion and forget you. Maybe he'll replace you with the personal trainer he told you not to worry about. Or maybe he'll move out of your expensive apartment, leaving you with the rent and the high-maintenance fur-ball you didn't even want. The point is the company ink is off-limits for a reason, and this? This is my punishment.

The Uber pulls up to one of several skyscrapers lining the street. My best friend and coworker of two years, Jess, stands on the icy sidewalk in a deep-set red dress that pops against her brown skin. Her mouth forms a perfect 'O' as I climb out before extending into a grin.

"You made it," she says, trapping me in a hug. "I half expected you to bail."

"I thought about it," I say, pulling back, "but I looked too cute in this dress to turn back."

"Amen to that." She unzips her clutch bag and pulls out a spare black lace mask I'd asked to borrow. I tie the two ends around my head, pulling it over my eyes. She adjusts it for me, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she rearranges strands of my dark hair. "Nice lips," she says with a not-so-subtle smirk – she knows Luke's stance on red. "Russian Red, Mac?"

I nod. While Jess plays Estate Agent between the hours of nine and five, her real passion is the makeup channel she runs on the side.

"Okay, now, remember the plan," she says, all business-like. "No, and I mean no, mentioning of You-Know-Who. Tonight is about drinking away our sorrows and celebrating that fat guy who crawls down people's chimneys to talk to kids."