Only In Your Dreams Read Online Free Page A

flip-flops, a Cynthia Vincent pink-and-black paisley print jersey dress, her trusty Seven jeans, a second pair of flip-flops, just in case, and a white embroidered Viktor & Rolf top. Only the essentials.
    She stared out the window at the grand steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the lush trees of Central Park, the grand apartment buildings on Seventy-second Street, the panoramic vista of Park Avenue, and then at the unfamiliar, ugly modern towers on Third Avenue. Ew.
    “We’re here, miss,” the cabdriver announced, grinning at her in the rearview mirror with a mouthful of gold-capped teeth. One tooth even had the initial Z stenciled into it. Maybe for Zorro or Zeus? Serena wondered.
    “Oh.” She pulled out her burgundy Bottega Veneta wallet and thumbed through the cash. Then she climbed out of the taxi, balancing her packed-to-the-gills tote bags, and scanned the putty-colored town houses for the right number.
    There was number 171, and there was number 167, but there were some unmarked buildings in between the two, and she couldn’t figure out which was hers. She lugged her bags to the nearest stoop and sat down. Judging from some of the boxy, low buildings on the street, the place she was moving into wouldn’t be quite on par with what she was accustomed to. She dug out a cigarette and lit it, stepping aside as a stream of foul-smelling gray smoke billowed out of a grate in the gutter.
    Wake up, Dorothy: you’re not on the Golden Mile anymore.
    It was funny how everything could change so quickly— she’d gone from being Serena van der Woodsen, senior at Constance Billard and sometimes-model, to being Serena the working actress. It didn’t seem so long ago that her biggest worries had been remembering where the Catherine Malandrino sample sale would be this month, or bickering with Blair in the VIP room at Marquee, or hooking up with Nate wherever he wanted—which, for a short while, had been everywhere and all the time.
    It’s a hard-knock life.
    “You lost?”
    Serena looked up . . . and up, and up. Standing above her was a gorgeously tall guy with broad shoulders, preppily cut dark brown hair, a cleft in his wide chin, and pretty blue eyes. He was wearing a plain gray suit and stiff navy tie, but his smile was so charming she was willing to overlook his dorky office ensemble.
    But would she be willing to overlook the dorky plaid box-ers he was probably wearing underneath?
    “I’m just looking for this address,” Serena sighed, handing the stranger her keys with the number 169 painted on them in red.
    Some girls really know how to work the damsel-in-distress thing.
    “Well”—he grinned, “I think I know exactly where this building is. Because I actually kind of live there.” He extended a hand to help Serena to her feet. “Hey, I’m Jason Bridges.”
    “Serena van der Woodsen,” she replied, smoothing her Kelly green Lily Pulitzer skirt, smiling the sort of sly, wide-eyed-ingenue smile that Audrey Hepburn was famous for.
    No wonder she got the part.
    Just like Holly Golightly, Serena was a master of the she-can’t-possibly-be-that-beautiful-and-that-innocent-allure that made guys flock to her.
    “Well, Serena.” Jason bent down to pick up her two over-stuffed totes. “Let’s head on home.”
    He unlocked the door to number 169, a white town house with black trim and ivy climbing up the side of it. He shoved the heavy old black door open to allow Serena to step inside first.
    A true gentleman!
    “So,” he began as the door slammed behind him. “You visiting Therese?”
    “No.” Serena frowned as she inspected the vestibule’s creaky wooden staircase, lit only by a pretty but dim wrought-iron chandelier. The whole place smacked of dead old lady, as though it hadn’t been touched since its original owner died thirty years ago. Yet it was still charming and semi-grand, in its own way. “I’m moving in, I guess.”
    “You guess?” Jason laughed as he started to climb the wooden