"I don't get the whole 'do you want sugar in your coffee' question. Look at me. Of course I fucking want sugar."

Marnie sat across from me in our cubicle, staring at her computer screen while she ranted in her flat, monotone, sarcastic voice.

Her voice didn't go up. It didn't go down. It sat at the same pitch. Sort of how her expression was always bored or homicidal. Depending on her mood.

She was a short plump girl with large features and shoulder length brown hair, glasses and blunt bangs. Her lips and eyes were huge and hidden behind retro spectacles.

But despite the fact she had no enthusiasm for anything that life had to offer and she was almost thirty, she had still fast become one of my best friends in New York.

Our boss appeared beside our cubicle and tapped his pen on the thin wall. "Marnie. Do we have those numbers drawn up? The partners are coming in at around three. I need stats for the presentation."

"Yeah," she said, sipping on her coffee. About the only thing she had an immense passion for. "Sure. I'll pretend like I've finished the numbers since you asked me to do them twenty minutes ago. That's not unrealistic at all."

Jordan, our nice enough boss who was in his mid forties, wore too much aftershave and wore the same shirt but a different colour every day, narrowed his eyes as if he was suspicious about her claim. She was right though. He'd given her a big task less than half n hour ago.

He slowly nodded and gave her a tap on the shoulder. "No problem. Just before three."

He left and Marnie scowled at her shoulder. "I wish he didn't insist on these friendly 'it's not harassment if it's above the shoulders' pats. Thomas down in printing literally said he touches his penis at the urinal and leaves without washing his hands."

"Right," I said. "But Thomas did also tell us his Mom died from cyanide poisoning and then she was in here dropping his lunch off a week later. She's a very sweet woman. I think Thomas is a pathological liar."

"I'd hope so," she said, tapping on her keyboard. "Because he said he's had sex with your model sister at a bar in manhattan."

"My sister is in a serious relationship," I rubbed my temples. "I'm going to have to talk to Thomas I think."

"It really wouldn't even count as sex," she said and picked up her post it pad, scrawling out a quick note and sticking it on the edge of her screen. "I've had sex with Thomas. It was like being fingered by a teenager. Pathetic."

"Good to know," I said and tried not to visualise Marnie having sex with a teenager.

There were a number of tasks on my screen that needed to be complete. I had to schedule and confirm a number of appointments for Jordan with several different clients that needed marketing strategies drawn up for new products.

I had to email contracts and read over negotiations for existing ones. But it was all things I was able to achieve day to day. It was simple work that didn't get my stress levels up and I could go home at the end of the day without thinking about it.

Jordan appeared again and dropped a large thick envelope in front of me. "That's a contract I need signed. The dude is old school. He won't do a digital signing but he's here in the city. Some art gallery we're doing promotion for. Can you go and make sure he signs that."

He looked at Marnie. "Don't forget about those numbers."

She watched him leave and then let her bored stare settle on me. "If I throw myself off the roof of this building, can you take care of my parrot?"

I stood up, pushing my chair in before I grabbed the envelope. "No can do. That bird bit me. It hates me. I'm not looking after the bird."

She exhaled. "Can't win."

"Nope," I laughed and looked out the window for some indication on the weather.

The sun was out but without the help of trees, it was hard to tell how hard the wind was blowing. That was one of those things about working in a tall New York building.

I decided to risk it and left my jacket behind, leaving in just my dark blue shirt and black jeans. If it was cold I could roll the sleeves down.

But outside, I was pleased to find there was a light breeze. The sun was warm and I hailed a cab after reading the address on top of the contract.

The gallery was located about fifteen minutes from the office. It was tucked in beside a cafe and small bookstore.

The entire front of the store was glass windows and I almost couldn't find the door. But there was a brass handle that allowed me to push the panel open.

The sign above the store read 'Delgado' and was made of iron that looked rustic and aesthetic.

Inside the concrete floors were polished and gleamed. Down the middle of the room were wooden posts that stood about a meter tall and displayed ceramic art. A vase or sculpture.

The walls were lined with exquisite paintings of beautiful locations. It was classical art. It wasn't the new age art that looked as if a toddler had been let loose with a paintbrush.

No offence to impressionists.

I walked through the quiet space and admired the pieces until I heard the sound of heels clacking against the concrete.

When I turned around I saw Amalia approaching with a curious smile.

"Twice in two weeks," she said. "This is a surprise. I hope it's just a coincidence."

"I'm actually here for your dad, I think?" I held up the envelope. "Elias Delgado?"

She stopped in front of me. "That's him."

"I thought his gallery was in Philadelphia?"

"He just opened a second one," she said. "I'm helping oversee management but I told him I couldn't commit to a full time position. Working in the parlour is my priority."

I nodded and gave her an unintentional once over.

She was wearing a loose pair of black sheer pants. They were tight around her waist and ended just above her ankle. She wore a tight white tank top tucked into her pants and a thin black chord around her neck.

Her hair was down in loose curls and her freckles were still prominent.

For a moment I couldn't begin to understand how Lucas had let her slip away. She's gorgeous.

Not to say Milly isn't beautiful. She is. But Amalia was unique and exquisite. The sort of girl you couldn't pass in the street without looking at twice.

Of course, Lucas fell for Milly for more than just her appearance. Those two were match made in disturbed heaven.

"So," I averted my attention. "Is your father arou—"

"Que carajo está haciendo este aquí?!"

Amalia and I turned around to the sound of a man shouting in Spanish. He wasn't tall but he was well built and pointing at me with a terrifying expression on his face.

Amalia held her hand out. "Papá, cálmate este es Max. El gemelo de Lucas."

He stopped and gave me a quizzical once over. "El también es un descarado?"

Amalia sighed and pinched her brow, shooting me a quick apologetic smile as if I could understand whatever was happening. "No papá. El no lo es. Por favor se cortés y relájate."

She gestured at me. "This is Max, Dad. He's here for business related purposes."

"Good to meet you sir," I held out a hand and he shook it. "I'm here on behalf of Jordan Cramer from Cramer and Co. He wanted to me to hand deliver a contract to be signed."

"They wanted me to sign it with my finger on a computer," he said. "I don't know when pen and paper went out of fashion."

Amalia gave me an amused side on grin. As if she thought her father's refusal to catch up with today's technology was tiresome but admirable.

It didn't bother me that he wanted to keep it old school.

"That's an amazing painting, Sir," I pointed at the piece that I had been admiring before Amalia found me. "Basilica de la Sagrada Familia, correct?"

He nodded, a slight raise in his brow.

"Antoni Gaudí was commissioned in 1883 to design the basilica as a neo-Gothic church," I said, admiring the eighteen towers stretching high above the buildings in Barcelona. "He didn't stick to the plans though, he created a signature example of his famous surrealistic Art Nouveau architecture. He had no firm ideas in mind, preferring to alter and add to the plans as work progressed but obviously he didn't finish the building, even though he indicated ten to fifteen years."

Elias nodded as he held his chin and smiled. "You know a thing or two."

"We studied a lot of this sort of thing at school," I lightly swung the envelope and pointed at the art work. "I just found a lot of it fascinating. It wasn't hard to retain."

"So do you speak the language?" He asked.

"Not a lot of it, sir," I said. "And not well. Rest assured I could not follow the conversation you two were having a few moments ago."

Both of them laughed. "I apologise," Elias held a hand to his chest. "I thought you were Lucas. I was not pleased with how he treated my Amalia."

Amalia rolled her eyes and took the contract out of my hand. "Why don't you go and sign this, Papá," she gave it to him and gestured towards the door at the back of the studio. "Max and I will chat about the art work. Tal vez lo pueda engañar a que me compre una pintura."

Elias laughed and nodded before he turned around and wandered off. When Amalia looked at me, her smile seemed devious. Playful. But devious.

"What did you just tell him?" I asked.

She began to walk down the gallery with her hands clasped behind her back. "I just thought I'd give my sales skills a whirl," she stopped beside a painting of the Roman theatre of Mérida and straightened her shoulders with a professional grace in her form.

She cleared her throat. "This is an oil painting of the The Roman Theatre. After the theatres abandonment in Late Antiquity - the time of transition from classical antiquity to the Middle Ages in mainland Europe - it was slowly covered in earth. Only the upper tiers of seats remained visible. Local folklore—"

"Referred to the site as The Seven Chairs," I interrupted and grinned when she tilted her head to the side. "Where according to tradition, several Moorish Kings sat to decide the fate of the city."

"Very good," she said, seemingly surprised. "I just love how gorgeous it is. It's so—" she seemed to be struggling for the right word — "rich. It's rich in culture. You can see it's history just looking at it. I don't know. It's beautiful."

"It is," I agreed. "I'll take the painting."

She recoiled. "You will?"

"Sure," I said. "It'll look good in my modern apartment in the middle of New York."

"How do you afford a decent apartment in the middle of New York on an assistants income?"

"Mom and Dad help a bit," I admitted. "Just with rent. Food, transport, cable, wifi and whatever else is up to me. Hence the job."

She didn't seem to be judging the fact that Mom and Dad gave me a hand. "I sort of expected that they would have covered all of that as well."

"Oh no," I said. "No. Mom and Dad will help sure. But we have to look after ourselves if we want to live out of home. Ya know, learn to stand on our own two feet and all of that."

She smiled and reached up to grab either side of the canvas. Before she pulled it off the wall, she peered back at me. "Are you sure you want this?"

"Yeah," I nodded with an enthusiasm I didn't realise I had for oil paintings. "It'll be my first piece of art to be hung in the apartment. I mean, there is a canvas of the skyline in the bathroom. It came with the apartment. I'm almost certain it's from Target."

She giggled and carried the canvas over to the counter. It was a small, tall desk wrapped in the same distressed iron the sign outside was made of.

She set it on the floor beside her and I stood on the customer side of the desk, pulling out my debit card. Her long thin fingers tapped the keyboard while she put in the painting serial number and details.

Her wrist was tattooed with a sugar skull. A female one with intricate pattern around her face and floral design that seemed dark but meaningful. She wasn't as inked as I imagined someone who did it for a living would be.

"Alright," she said, interrupting my staring. "Seven hundred and sixteen dollars."

I blinked and waited for her to tell me she was kidding. She didn't. "I know. You don't have to buy it."

"It's fine," I handed the card over so she could swipe it through the machine.

I could hear the bills burning. I could smell the franklins going up in flames. It made me think about what it was like when we lived at home and we dropped thousands of dollars as though it was nothing.

Now I was cautious and far more careful with spending habits.

"We can have that delivered and installed," she pointed at the painting. "So you don't have to lug it around."

"That'd be helpful," I said and filled out my address details on a post it note.

"So," she stepped out from behind the counter. "What happened to law? I expected you would have been at Harvard by now?"

I smiled, surprised she remembered. "I'll still go to college," I said. "I just needed a bit of a breather from the stress and pressure. It felt like I was living with a band around my head for such a long time. I wanted to spend a bit of time not feeling the weight of the future on my shoulders."

"I understand that," she said. "You went through a lot last year."

"It wasn't smooth sailing for you either."

"You're referring to Lucas?"

"I guess. Yeah."

"It's literally not a big deal," she said and we made a slow wander towards the door. "People date. People don't work out. It hasn't kept me awake at night. Ya know?"

"Right," I said understood what Lucas meant when he told me she was 'almost too fucking chill to be a woman.'

"I mean, I don't know if it would have worked out in the long run," she said. "I never felt. . . relaxed with him. I mean, I did think he was funny and I enjoyed his company but I'd always be waiting for him to say something hideous to the wrong person. I didn't tell him, but it did stress me out a bit."

"That's Lucas. You get used to it when you've lived with him for as long as I have. Our Dad might be worse if you can believe it."

She lightly laughed. "I don't mean anything bad by it. He was really nice to me. He definitely doesn't do anything by halves. Passionate was how I described him."

"Yeah," I scuffed my foot on the concrete and had a sudden pang of distress.

I missed Lucas. We needed to get together soon. Perhaps I could invite him to New York for a weekend.

"There are a few notes I've made in the contract," Elias appeared with the envelope in his hand. He waved it in the air as he strolled towards us with bare feet. "Tell your boss man I won't sign it until the conditions are met. Please. I can also come up to the office if he needs. Or Amalia. Which ever is easiest."

"Yes sir," I took the envelope and thanked him for his time.

"I better get back to work," I told Amalia after her father had turned around and marched back towards his office.

"I better as well. But thank you for buying the painting. Dad will be thrilled when I let him know," she slipped her hands into her pockets and started to back off. "And someone will come and deliver it within the next week. Does anytime after five suit?"

"That's perfect," I said and headed towards the door. She smiled and waved goodbye but I watched her for a moment longer than I meant to.

When I finally did get outside, I tucked the contract under my arm and pulled my cellphone out so I could send Mom a text.

Unexpected financial situation. Can I please borrow a bit of extra cash this week. Love you.