The New Yorker Candace Bushnell Novels & Stories

A small opening appears high above, between the glass counters. I watch, fascinated as the opening produces a smaller than usual, iPad looking television. Okay, cool! Damon deftly swipes through the remote until he gets to a channel currently streaming entertainment news. The flawless, blonde lady on the screen smiles at the camera as she divulges tidbits of whatever is happening in the lives of celebrities around the world. Where the hell is Mason? "...and in other, very exciting news, New York billionaire and seven time winner of most eligible bachelor, Mason Lachlan, is rumoured to be in some sort of love triangle…"

He wasn’t sure what he was going to watch since he didn’t watch TV that often. **** Beverly was at The N.Y. offices catching up on her email. The N.Y. was a two-year-old news website that put out a hard copy magazine every month. Some people called it a gossip rag. Whatever it was The N.Y. was the most popular online site in New York. The N.Y. was popular for not holding punches and printing anything about anybody newsworthy. Beverly had just made full-time employment. The pay was better than being a temp all over the city, but she still had to watch her pennies. New York was not a cheap city to live in.

The newspapers seem to have an incredible pull towards the Ashfords. "No thanks," I reply, scanning the New York Times to find an article about "Amelia Ashford, the teenager billionaire." I open the article, and it's like a small compilation of everything she has ever done in her sixteen years of life. She really lives in a world of luxury because, in every single picture of her, she is wearing very expensive clothes, shoes, and bags.

“Mr. Sebastian Hughes III, I’m Anna Walsh of Women’s World Magazine. We would be delighted if you could grant us an interview. Since you’re voted as the Sexiest Billionaire, we’d be honored to put you in our cover for next month’s issue.” “Call my PA Elle to arrange an interview.” So my ego fluctuated when I heard the news, but unfortunately, it made my life miserable. I mean who would have thought your haircut would be big of a deal? And even the coffee you drink, and verywhere I go, people took pictures of me.

At first, she was enjoying watching cartoons, but as time went by, it’s becoming less interesting, so she started switching network after network, trying to find something that’d pique her curiosity. Just as she’s about to stop the search, thinking of reading some online books, a certain news channel caught her attention. A man, wearing a suit and horn-rimmed glasses, was speaking fluently, his hands clenched together on a counter. There was a headline propped in the upper part of his head that stated, ‘New York is a City of Suicide.’

Poured another whiskey. His phone buzzed. Vanessa. Did you see the Post? That woman from the gala is all over Page Six. "Mystery CEO Steals the Show at Cross Charity Event." They’re saying she’s the most interesting person to hit New York since— He didn’t finish reading. He set the phone face down on the desk.

"She's an attorney at a prestigious law firm that probably has more dead partners than living ones and offices in Papua New Guinea and a few dozen other places you've never heard of. I'll be right back." "You are a nut," Nicole bumped me as we weaved our way to her buddies. "Ladies, this is Cáel Nyilas. I think I mentioned him once." By the looks on their faces, once had been enough. "This is Zelda, Marsha, Phyllis, and Rivka -- Rivka Feinstein, ADA for New York County," (that's Manhattan for us hicks). "Ah crap," I exclaimed. That wasn't what they expected. "I confess," I looked at Nicole, "I saw the name in an article on the back of the Village Voice. Sadly, they had R. Feinstein and I stu

Cassidy’s Domain Cassidy Vale’s office was a symphony of control — glass walls, cold marble, everything gleaming under the sharp city lights. The woman herself sat behind a wide desk of dark oak, a glass of deep red wine resting near her manicured fingers. Before her, a newspaper lay open — the latest edition, its front page screaming the words she had written through proxies: “COUNCIL INQUIRY TO EXPOSE QUINN’S TRUE FACE.”

Then the memories came rushing back — the flashing cameras, the fake smiles, the weight of his hand on my waist as the world watched us play the perfect couple. I groaned and buried my face in the pillow. What had I gotten myself into? I was supposed to be writing exposés, not acting out fairytales for billionaires with image problems. But one look at my phone — twenty unread messages, three missed calls from my editor, and a dozen notifications from gossip sites — reminded me that this was no longer a secret arrangement. Alexander Cole and his new fiancée, journalist Harper Quinn, steal the spotlight at last night’s gala. Who is Harper Quinn? Inside the life of the woman who tamed New York’

Rachel replied. "Bloggers are going to print these juicy story first thing at 12 midnight," Yandel laughed. "Oh tell me about it," "Something like...Billionaire's fiancé abandons her in the middle of a red carpet for a strange woman...that would have been the end of it, but no, Yandel had to be in the story too, CEO of the Baldwin Ink tech enterprise (BIEE) abandons date and goes to save secret love interest in the middle of the red carpet…"Lovers in Feud!"...The perfect heading for tonight's drama" Rachel spoke with a newscaster's voice putting her hands together making Yandel burst into a fit of laughter.