My office has its own small closet for when I need to change. I do so before I leave for lunch; out of my business dress and into more proper lunch attire: ripped black jeans, blush coloured cable knit sweater over a white button down, and black waterproofed platforms, basic and comfortable. I threw my purse over my shoulder, grabbing my coat and hat as I walked out of the office.

I was quick down and out, the valet already having pulled the car round. Then I was out in traffic, ready to head the eight miles uptown to reach lunch with the girls.

Emelié and Lorette are longtime friends; we met when I spent a semester during high school in Paris. They flew in last night and were going to stay two weeks touring around and visiting friends they hadn't seen. We had been quick to organise a lunch when we realised their time was limited and already booked.

They were the best people when it comes to connections within the industry. They talked to everyone at any chance they could get and their friend network spanned internationally. Not to mention, they were the best travel friends anyone could want, because they traveled as they lived - in elegance and style.

Loretta was fiddling with the settings on her camera, frowning gently. She was tall and thin, leaning against the balcony railing and garnering attention from a couple tables of guys. She was dressed casually and comfortably, completely ignoring Emilié who was chattering on about the skyline. There was a really beautiful view from the restaurant. I can only hope we get a balcony table. 

"Bonjour mademoiselle!" I caught them off-guard, but they whirled on the spot and broke into smiles as soon as they saw me. 

"Blythe!"  Emilié sprang forward and wrapped her arms around me, kissing the air near my cheek as she giggled. "Oh, how lovely it is to see you! Loretta has been ignoring me. Can you believe it? Oh, it is just so beautiful here!" She draped an arm around my waist and steered me inside, picking up her own purse as we went. 

Vaguely, in the background, Loretta was protesting, but Emilié was so used to it she moved on without a thought. The inside of the restaurant was lit for lunch, the candles tall and the lights brighter than they were the last time I was there. The host at the front waited politely with menus, showing no signs at all of the stress he was probably under from the head of staff. 

"Hello, how may I help you? Do you have a reservation?" He made no remark at all on the closeness of Emilié, but moved to check his tablet. As if you could get a table here without a name or a reservation. You have to know someone - and I do. 

"Yes, table for three under Hadaway, Blythe." Loretta joined inside, shedding her coat immediately. She placed her bag up on the counter and opened it, bringing out a mirror to fluff her hair and check her lipstick. Look-over complete, she turned again and nudged Emilié away gently, leaning forward for a hug. 

"C'il vous plait, ignore her," she muttered, leaving a small kiss on my cheek. "Sometimes Emilié does not stop. But it is so nice to see you!" 

Emilié rolled her eyes and made after the host, lips pursed expertly as she surveyed the restaurant. It was a lovely interior, 1920s style, with rustic mirrors covering the walls and an old tile floor. The owner had been sitting in high circles for a while - he was on the poker round - and so the restaurant had gone from pricey dates for the well off to a retreat for the top percent. I had been introduced when his wife came by asking to buy a dress off the runway, and we had spent the entire afternoon chatting away. It was a new place for me, but one that was most excellent in using to make connections. 

I waved across at Mr. Ricksan and steered Loretta towards our table, a lovely white table cloth covered one right in the corner with a glorious window view. From where we sat we could see the skyline and the river; Loretta set her camera up before turning back to me with a smile. Emilié was sifting through the drink menu. 

I set my phone on silent and placed my purse next to me, flashing a smile back at Loretta. "You must tell me what else you have planned for the trip. How was your flight over?"

"Oh, fine, fine," muttered Emilié, turning the page. Her tongue poked out the side of her mouth. "First class is the same, though I would have liked to take the private jet over..."

"Oh, Emilié!" Loretta scolded, shaking her head. A piece of dark hair floated down, and she twisted it back in to her bun with one finger and ease. "First class was fine. It was an easy flight. But we have to show you pictures of Bali!"

It was a long lunch. We drank and ate and talked about everything that had happened since we had last seen each other - only a month ago, really. Then they were off to a show and dinner with      another couple, and I was back at the office to finish off the workday.