Natalie Vs. Prince

I have the destination coordinates for where I need to go near the UN plugged into my wrist tracker and it shows me the bearings I need to get to from where I am. I begin making course corrections, all the while trying to keep the fear of seeing the ground getting closer and closer from overwhelming me. My heart's racing at 2,000 beats a minute and I know that with one wrong move, I would just be the former Prince, having to be scraped up off the sidewalk. The tabloids would talk about how the Prince of the Party lived hard, and definitely died hard.

My wrist indicator starts beeping and flashing red. I'm too far off course! I begin to panic. If I don't correct myself in time, the parachute won't open properly. I focus. The ground keeps coming closer and closer.

Just when I seem ready to consign myself to death, I manage to hit a jet stream and am able to angle my body to move just right. I glide several yards north and change my trajectory so that I'm spot on. My wrist indicator goes from red to green.

Time to deploy the chute.

I tug at the drawstring and the chute pops out. But in my struggle to get the proper bearings, I had waited too long. This is going to be a rough landing.

2

Natalie

"He's a very important client for our firm," Lisa tells me. She has one manicured hand on her hip and the other cradling a paper cup of hot coffee. She removes the lid and blows on the steam.

"Why does the barista insist on making it so darn hot?" she asks, momentarily distracted.

I know why Lisa's giving me this talk. She's a veteran PR manager and has been at the Gage Price firm for over a decade now. She knows I'm young, fresh out of college, and she thinks my age and inexperience is a liability. But I know what I need to do, and I'm not going to mess this up. I'm motivated. If I play my cards right with this client, I know I'll be up for a promotion.

"You don't need to worry about me," I reply. "I realize that Connor D'Avington is paying good money for our PR."

"It's more than just good money," Lisa says. "It's more money than Gage Price has ever received from a diplomat before—and we've represented quite a few. But we're definitely going to need to work extra hard for him. Prince D'Avington has a lot going against him right now."

"I saw the YouTube video," I nod in agreement. That notorious video has 5 million views already and counting.

"The one in Vegas?" she asks.

"Connor, three strippers, one hot tub—yeah, it was definitely Vegas."

"The media is having a field day with that one," she says, shaking her head. "Did you see the way he was boasting in front of the camera, pounding his chest like Tarzan? Who does that?"

It's true, that video didn't cast Connor in a favorable light—scandalous, boastful, and with an ego that borderlines narcissistic.

"I don't know," I say. "But I'm here to help him turn that all around."

"Good," Lisa replies. "That's the right attitude. But you should also know that he's facing increased political opposition in St Albans from a local party—the Constitutionalists. You and George are going to have your work cut out for you,” she says, referring to my direct manager, George Brown.

"Yes, and they want to do away with the Monarchy, correct?"

"That's right; they believe the country should be overhauled. So the D'Avingtons are working extra hard to gain the trust of the people of St. Albans."

As she's talking, I look down at my watch—I know, I know … I'm a Millennial who wears a watch. I like to be punctual okay? In fact, I'll admit that it borderlines on OCD. And according to the time, Prince D'Avington should be here any minute. We’re supposed to be meeting in the lobby of the U.N.

"Lisa, I better go."

"Good luck, the firm is depending on you," she says with a wink. “I know you’ll wow George with how you manage this one, babe,” she tells me. Her confidence seems unshakeable.

No pressure.

I wave goodbye to Lisa and look around the lobby. I see various men in suits walking past flags representing a number of different countries, and I wonder how late the Prince is going to be. Chronic lateness is a pet peeve of mine.

Honestly, it's a huge turn off.

But I don't wonder for long because all of a sudden I hear gasps erupting around the lobby and a crowd forming. There appears to be a man falling from the sky with a parachute on his back, and he's headed straight for the UN lobby.

I squint and try to get a better look.

Recreational skydivers aren't allowed to jump from planes into New York City, are they? So who could this man be, and what is he trying to do?