"Shanna Swendson - Enchanted, Inc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swendson Shanna)

lying in wait for me on Monday mornings, so I didn't dare come in even a minute
late. I'd have to take the subway to work, even though it would take a precious two
dollars off my MetroCard. I'd make up for it by walking home, I promised myself.

When I reached the Union Square station, I was surprised to see Miss Airy Fairy
head down into the subway ahead of me instead of continuing toward the university.
People who work downtown tend not to dress like that for work. As I followed her
down the stairs, I noticed that she wore what must have been platform shoes with
Lucite soles, which gave her the appearance of floating a couple of inches off the
ground. She moved remarkably gracefully for someone wearing what had to be
pretty clunky shoes.

As usual, no one on the platform gave her a second glance. I'd been here a year, and
I'd yet to exchange one of those knowing "only in New York" glances with anyone.
How could everyone be so jaded? Surely there were people around who were newer
to the city than I was, and then there were the tourists, who were supposed to stare
at everything.

But then I noticed a guy looking at Miss Airy Fairy. He didn't seem shocked or
surprised, though. Instead, he smiled at her like he knew her. That in and of itself
was odd because he didn't seem the type to spend his weekends wearing a cape and
playing Middle Earth in Central Park. He looked like a typical Wall Street type,
wearing a well-tailored dark suit and carrying a briefcaseтАФthe kind of Mr. Right that
just about every career girl in New York hopes to snag. I'd guess he was a few years
older than I was, and he was quite good-looking, even if he was a little shorter than
average.
Mr. Right (if he wasn't mine, he had to be somebody's) glanced at his watch, then up
the tunnel, like he was looking for the next train. He muttered something under his
breathтАФprobably something like "Where is that train?" or "I'm going to be
late"тАФtwitched his wrist, and next thing I knew, I heard the rumble that signaled an
approaching train. If I didn't know better, I would have thought he summoned it. I
wasn't complaining because I needed the train myself.

The waiting passengers shoved their way onto the train, then the conductor's voice
came over the PA system, saying, "Attention passengers. Due to a onetime situation,
this Brooklyn-bound N train will stop next at City Hall. If you need stops prior to
this, please exit the train here and board an R train or another N train. Thank you."

There was a chorus of mutters and groans as passengers poured out of the train. I
took a now-empty seat and looked at my watch. At this rate I'd be early to work.
This wasn't a bad way to start the week.

Mr. Right was still on board, as was Miss Airy Fairy. Mr. Right exchanged a grin
with the guy sitting next to me. I turned to look at that guy and then wondered if
there was a polite way I could move to another seat without it being obvious that I
was avoiding him.

He looked like the kind of guy who spends his lifetime defending against sexual
harassment charges, the kind who thinks of himself as so irresistible that he can't
imagine his advances being unwanted. Unfortunately, that type is never as attractive