Stepping from the cab, and into the crunching leaves of the curb, Bre could feel the sting of early autumn air…Clad in spectator pumps, and her most capable looking suit, she clicked hard against the pavement…With the over-populated street entering her head like a freight train, she trudged on through the crowd toward her destination…”Oh God”, she thought, hearing the words echo through her head along with her racing heart…”Please don’t let them eat me alive  ...her mind briefly combed through the most resent history of submissions…she loathed the idea of yet another New York art critic, standing afront her work with a numb scowl on his face…with alas, the same rejection and explanation …”Too overt”….”Not suitable for mass consumption”, they would inform her…Shit….what did they know about her methods…some little Harvard grad brat with pimples on his ass, holding her career and reputation in his sweaty palms….”No way”, she confirmed to herself…”There is no chance in hell that I’m selling short”…Building her confrontation skills, and forcing confidence, she arrived….Moving her black, piercing eyes from the earth, to the very tip of the building, she whisked her fingers through her raven hair, letting it’s length fall over her shoulders…With her chin toward the sky, and her lips pursed in a slight smirk, she played the role…after all….this was New York City, 1929….a new decade approaching vastly, with possible change for women…”Hell yes” she demanded…”I’m ready”…..

The brisk, cool air quickly transformed to controlled warmth, as the toe of her pump grazed the fading corporate carpeting….the air was filled with the familiar scent of crisp paper, and  beginning restoration of aged paintings…After finding her place in line, and glancing at the clock, thoughts of her present environment were suddenly sidetracked to the faint scent of a man’s cologne as he whisked by…triggering situations past…her mind was immediately lost in his form…the movement of his fingers as traced her back…the smoothness of his lips brushing against the curve of her neck…damn, how she craved him…craved him still….but she need not be concerned with that now…her involved vision, was soon interrupted by the cold sting of an edgy, corporate voice…”Do you have an appointment”, the voice inquired…shaking his image from her hair, she quickly confirmed with “Yes.. indeed I do…I have a 9:00 with Carl Diminico”…. With a seasoned brown laquered nail, the assisitant pointed toward a darkened oak door which clearly signified that this place had character….