My name is Ana Santos, and my current reality is a solid 2/10. I'm living in New York City, which sounds iconic on TikTok, but the reality? I'm sleeping on a thin-as-paper futon in my sister's living room. My "closet" is a suitcase, and my brother-in-law, Ronnie, treats my presence like a recurring monthly subscription he forgot to cancel. Tbh, I don't blame him, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to make it in the art world.
I'm currently an intern at Erwin's, which is basically the Olympus of art auction houses. My boss is Claire. If you've seen those movies where the boss wears luxury brands and breathes pure ice, that's Claire. She doesn't have "off" days. She only has "perfection" days and "you're fired" days.
I was standing in the gallery, staring at a catalog, when I saw it. A typo. On a piece worth more than my entire family's net worth.
"Um, Claire?" I said, my voice doing that annoying shaky thing. "There's a mistake on page fourteen. The provenance is listed incorrectly."
The entire room went silent. You could literally hear a pin drop on the marble floor. Claire turned, her eyes scanning me like a laser. For a second, I thought I was about to be escorted out by security. But then, she just nodded.
"Fix it," she snapped.
That one moment of not being totally useless earned me a spot on the "London Team." I was going to London, fr! I thought I was finally getting my big transformation. I was wrong.
The Airport Incident
Fast forward to JFK. I'm lugging three oversized suitcases that aren't even mine. They belong to Suzette and Renee Claire's actual assistants who treat me like a sentient coffee run.
"Oh, Ana," Suzette said, looking at her gold watch while popping a piece of gum. "There's been a 'slight' scheduling glitch. Your ticket... well, it's for the 10:00 PM flight. In Economy. Near the bathrooms."
Renee smirked. "But don't worry, we'll make sure the hotel knows you're coming. Eventually."
They walked away, their heels clicking against the floor like they were winning at life. I stood there, clutching my worn out tote bag, feeling like the ultimate NPC. I was exhausted, I smelled like subway air, and now I was stuck waiting eight hours for a middle seat next to a screaming toddler.
I walked up to the check-in counter, probably looking like I was about to have a mental breakdown. The gate agent, a woman who looked like she'd seen it all, stared at my crumpled ticket and then at the two mean girls disappearing into the First Class lounge.
"They really did you dirty, didn't they, honey?" she asked.
"Is it that obvious?" I sighed.
"Look," she leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The flight is overbooked, and I've got one seat left in the front. Those girls were rude, and you... you look like you need a win. I'm moving you to 2A. First Class. On the house."
I froze. "Wait, for real?"
"For real. Consider it an upgrade for your soul."
30,000 Feet of Delusion
Walking into the First Class cabin felt like entering a different dimension. The air literally smelled better. The seats were bigger than my sister's entire living room. I sat down in 2A, ran my hand over the buttery leather, and for a second, I forgot I had four dollars in my bank account.
I was trying to figure out how to work the seat massager when I accidentally knocked my drink right onto the lap of the guy sitting next to me.
"Oh my god! I am so, so sorry!" I scrambled for napkins, my face heating up to a literal 100°C.
"It's fine, really," a voice said. A British voice.
I looked up, and no cap, he looked like he was sculpted by the gods. Sharp jawline, messy brown hair, and eyes that were way too observant. This was William. He was wearing a suit that probably cost more than my college tuition.
"I'm such a klutz," I babbled, scrubbing at his sleeve. "I'm usually much more professional than this. I swear."
He laughed, and it was a low, warm sound. "Professional, eh? And what is it you do that requires such high-level coordination?"
This was it. The moment of truth. I could tell him I was an unpaid intern who slept on a futon and spent her mornings fetching soy lattes for people who didn't know my name. Or... I could be the person 2A deserved to be.
"I'm the Director of the New York office for Erwin's," I said. The lie tasted like champagne. "I'm heading to London to oversee a major auction."
He raised an eyebrow, looking impressed. "Impressive. I'm Will. And since I'm now wearing your drink, I think you owe me a conversation."
We spent the next six hours talking. Not just small talk, but real talk. We talked about art, the chaos of London, and everything in between. For the first time in forever, I wasn't the girl being stepped on. I was Ana Santos, the Art Director.
Like I feel "I was living the dream. I was the main character."
But as the pilot announced our descent into Heathrow, a cold pit formed in my stomach. The "Upgrade" was ending. In thirty minutes, I'd have to find Suzette and Renee, take my place as the "coffee girl," and pray that Will never saw me holding Claire's dry cleaning.
I looked at Will, who was smiling at me as he tucked a business card into my hand.
See you in London, Director," he said.
I smiled back, but inside, I was screaming. I had built a castle in the air, and I was about to hit the ground hard. This wasn't just an upgrade—it was a total disaster waiting to happen.