Page 1 of The Best of Times

CHAPTER ONE

Rain deluged New York’s iconic Fifth Avenue. The world-famous shop fronts illuminated the puddles on the sidewalk with their Christmas lights. Every year they competed to have the biggest and brightest displays.

The Christmas dollar was a powerful thing.

The taxi Aron Wimpole was in had been caught up in the usual bumper to bumper traffic. He should’ve known to take the subway by now.

He glanced at his watch.

“Fuck.”

He hated being late.

“Here,” he said, thrusting a twenty-dollar bill toward the driver. “I’ll run the rest of the way.”

“Hope you got your mac, buddy.”

Of course he didn’t. When he’d left to go to a meeting downtown it had been a sunny day. The clouds had overwhelmed Manhattan while he’d been discussing possible events for the next year.

Aron climbed out of the cab and ran down the sidewalk. All the shoppers darting from one place to another appeared to be going in the opposite direction to him. He swerved amongstthem. Dodging carrier bags and dogs like he was in an arcade game from the eighties.

“Slow the fuck down,” one shopper shouted to him.

“Sorry,” Aron replied over his shoulder.

“Asshole,” came the reply.

Aron chuckled to himself. He loved New York for that raw honesty. In London he would have got a stern huff.

With remarkable speed, he scaled the steps of the New York Public Library and burst through the revolving door like a bullet out of a gun. The impressive marble entrance hall awaited him. There were a few people dotted around but it was a welcome dose of tranquillity after the madness of Fifth Avenue.

Bedraggled in his wool coat, he glanced around.

“Ah, here he is.”

His boss, the imposing Calvin Terry, stood with his arms folded. He even managed to make the huge Christmas tree in the foyer seem weedy. The hundreds of lights twinkled but Aron couldn’t see anything but fury in Calvin’s eyes.

As Calvin was the President of the Library, it did not do to keep him waiting. To make matters worse, he had his impossibly handsome assistant, Theo Moore, with him.

This is turning out to be quite the afternoon.

He had no time to get a towel so would have to drip all over the marble floor. Quickly, Aron took his sodden coat off and laid it over his arm. As calmly as possible, he walked forward to meet them.

At six foot four, Calvin towered over Aron, who was barely five seven. With his dark hair and pale skin, Aron had always veered on the side of puny. Thankfully three times weekly sessions with Rosie, his personal trainer, meant he’d bulked out since he arrived in New York. A mission that he’d taken seriously from day one. He’d arrived in the city desperate for change which had begun with his appearance.

Although he was not in the market for a new relationship, it was nice for his ego to notice the increased amount of looks he got from both sexes.

He shrugged. “Sorry about that. I had a meeting in the Village and traffic is the usual disaster.”

To the right of the tree and under one of the impressive staircases sat a roped-off area. As the Director of the Library Administration, Aron had come up with the brainwave of dragging relics out of storage to go on a display for short periods of time. The library owned a few Dickens artefacts, which were perfect for Christmas.

He smiled to himself. Back in London, there was someone who would be very impressed with his idea.

He led Calvin and Theo over to the work in progress. It didn’t look as impressive as it would by the time he’d finished.

“What am I looking at, Wimpole?” Calvin said, rubbing his chin.

“It’s Dickens’ writing desk and paper knife,” Aron explained.