Hello all! My second CSI: NY story has now arrived. I've dove into unchartered waters for me by writing this story in the first person. It's a FlackOC story and this chapter is more of an introduction of my OC, Elina McCree with events unfolding. Let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with CSI: NY.

Chapter 1

For the last three weeks my attention was drawn to him every morning when he came in, ordered a coffee, and left without so much as a glance in my general direction. He was tall with short black hair, a strong masculine face, and on most days he was dressed in a neat suit; but what first made me notice him were his eyes. Three weeks ago I was heading to a meeting with the gallery owner that displayed my artwork instead of sitting and enjoying my coffee and muffin like I did every day. I had grabbed my order and was rushing towards the door when I ran smack into his chest. Thankfully I hadn't spilt my coffee on him, but when I looked up at the face of the man I nearly scalded, I almost dropped my coffee on the floor as a pair of pale blue eyes met my green.

After I stumbled through a 'sorry' he smiled and flashed a pair of dimples which only undid me more. His reply was a quick 'no harm done' before we parted without any more pleasantries exchanged. Ever since then I couldn't get his eyes, or his face, out of my head and it didn't help that I saw him nearly every day. My sketch pad was filled with rough sketches of my mystery man and unknowingly he'd become my newest muse. My usually eclectic work took on a whole new style. My paintings became more streamline, more modern, and bluer I noted.

I had submitted four new paintings to the gallery owner, Mitchell Hastings, and he had sold three of them already. Normally four of my paintings would last him a month or two, but it seemed my new work was well accepted in his Upper East Side gallery. I owed that success to my unnamed muse. Of course, I could sell far more paintings if I didn't show and sell my paintings under another name and actually made a few appearances at my showings. Most people in New York knew of my family. I, Elina McCree, had the honor of being the daughter of Sean McCree, owner and CEO of McCree Industries, the largest pharmaceutical and medical care development company along the entire east coast. Out of my father's four children, I was the youngest and the black sheep of the family.

I chose to study art and music in place of business and finance like my older brothers and sister. If it wasn't for my mother, I'm pretty sure that the day I told him I was going to art school he would have disowned me and drained my trust and college funds. My mother seemed to be the most sensible out of my parents and talked my father into allowing me to keep the money and 'do as I saw fit.'

However, it had been years since I spoke to either of them and since I turned twenty-one seven years ago I came into all of my trust, nearly three million dollars, primarily thanks to the money my maternal grandfather left me when he died seeing as I was his favorite grandchild he split his fortune between my mother and myself. I had barely even touched any of it over the last seven years. There wasn't reason to when I was able to live comfortably on the money I made from my artwork, but there were times when I did have to tap into my accounts. It was never for more than a month's rent or for paint supplies or groceries.

As usual, I found myself settled at my table slowly nibbling on the banana muffin I purchased that Friday morning and sipping at my mocha. My sketch pad and the current sketch of the mysterious man had my full attention, but every time I heard the bell chime above the door I looked up to see if he had arrived yet. It was silly of me, I know, because he could have very well been married, engaged, or even in a committed relationship and I was basically silently lusting after him. I never made a move to talk to him simply because I was far too shy for my own good, and he'd never look twice at a girl like me. Finally, at quarter past eight the bell chimed and I looked up only to see him walk in dressed in a black suit, dark blue shirt, and dark red tie. He looked tired, much more tired than normal and I wondered what it was that was bothering him.

As the clerk handed him his cup of coffee he gave her a forced smile before he turned and brought the hot liquid to his lips. It was the first time he had ever paused long enough inside the café, and much to my pleasure he was facing in my direction. The next thing I knew he was looking at me as he lowered the cup from his mouth and the blue eyes that entrapped me three weeks ago met mine once more. I gave him a small smile and he smiled at me and gave me a small nod before he left the café. However, as he opened the door he looked back at me, smiling warmly, I felt heat fill my cheeks but I smiled back as he turned from me and made his way out of the café. My heart had never pounded so hard before; I thought it was going to explode.

Quickly, I returned to my sketch with a smile on my face. I knew I was probably acting more like an eleven year old with her first crush, but I couldn't explain why I felt so compelled to draw him. It was its own force and I was powerless against it. Quietly laughing at myself I shook my head and as the hour passed I started to wonder if I really had gone insane. My cell phone started ringing; bringing me back to reality from the place my mind went when I drew.

"Hello?" I said, not bothering to look at the screen.

"Hey, Linnie," came my older sister, Elise's voice and I smiled at the nickname she gave me when I was three and she was ten. We may have been polar opposites, but we were relatively close; and out of my immediate family she was the only one I talked to on a regular basis.

"Hi Elise," I said softly as I glanced at my watch to see it was nearly ten. "How are you this morning?"

"Wait until I tell you what I did last night," Elise said happily and if you knew my sister as well as I did that pep in her voice could only mean one thing.

"What's his name?" I asked and she laughed while I grinned and packed my things up into my oversized bag. Elise enjoyed the party life New York had to offer even at thirty-five. If life was like 'Sex in the City,' Elise would have made the perfect Samantha. She'd played the socialite role since she was sixteen and hadn't looked back enjoying every minute of the life the last name McCree provided. In her younger days, she would have made Paris Hilton look tame.

"Marco," Elise said with a chuckle. "I really can't remember his last name but, oh, you would have melted in your shoes if you would have seen him. Tall, tan, dark, and simply delicious; he's taking me out again tonight."

"You agreed to a second date?" I asked sounding surprised as I stood and slid my bag onto my shoulder.

"Well, last night really wasn't a date," Elise said still laughing quietly as cleaned up my mess, threw away my trash, and left the café, shivering slightly as the early May air was still slightly chilly. "It was more of a meet and greet if you know what I mean. We're going to his club tonight, and I plan to take advantage of all the VIP perks he promised."

"You are unbelievable, Elise," I said as I walked down the street towards my loft apartment that also served as my studio.

"Just because you are queen of the prudes, Linnie, doesn't the mean the rest of have to be," Elise teased and I rolled my eyes as I stopped at the crosswalk.

"I'm not a prude I just don't sleep with every man I meet," I said softly as the light changed and I crossed the street.

"When was the last time you got any? I know you ended that thing you had with that scruffy sculptor like five years ago." She paused seeming to think a minute and I let her. "Please don't tell me it's been that long," she said and I felt my face heat once again that morning.

"It has," I said and I heard her sharp intake of breath. "I'm not like you, Elise, and unfortunately for me most of the men I meet are."

"I don't know how you do it, Linnie," Elise said, obviously ignoring my last comment. "Oh, I've got to go. My masseuse is here and I've got a spa day planned to get myself all loose for my date tonight. I'll give you a ring tomorrow."

"Have fun and don't do anything I wouldn't do," I said and she laughed.

"You know I will do just about everything you wouldn't, Linnie," she said before the line went dead and I hung up the phone as I shook my head. I tucked my phone into my bag and returned my attention ahead. Soon, I was in my apartment and after kicking off my boots I padded over to the sofa and sank down on the dark soft microfiber pulling my sketch pad out of my bag and resting it on my lap.

I paged through the drawings of the city, images of various scenes I came across in Central Park, but I stopped when I came to the first drawing of the man with the blue eyes. Seven images of his face followed and for the first time in my entire life I wished I had some of Elise's spunk or looks for that matter. I took after our father's side of the family with my red hair and green eyes while my sister and my oldest brother, Ely, got our mother's raven locks and brown eyes. My second oldest brother, Elliot, however, was like me with the red hair and green eyes.

Elise was also practically perfect. Legs for days and a body most twenty year old women envied. Time (and her plastic surgeon) had been good to her. Thankfully, I was at least close to her in height. I stood a little over five feet nine inches barefooted but I was fuller figured than my size four sister wearing a size ten. Also, my fashion sense wasn't Fifth Avenue. I favored jeans, t-shirts, and sweats more than dresses and suits; but I did own a little black dress or two.

Sighing, I rested the back of my head against the sofa. I had to be crazy to be so obsessed with a man I didn't even know. If I would have told Elise, she would do everything within her power to try and help me get his attention. However, I wouldn't even dream of ever telling her. No, I was bound to admire from afar and never even know the man's name. That was my fate and I had come to accept it.

The next morning, I was settled at my table yet again. It was Saturday and I rarely saw the blue eyed stranger on the weekends. I figured he stopped in for coffee before he went into work like nearly every single New Yorker did on their way in. I was nibbling on yet another banana muffin and working on a new drawing, a template for my next painting. I tended to sketch out my ideas before putting them on canvas; I found it easier to tackle a new piece by having an idea laid out on paper.

It was a landscape, taken from a memory when I was younger and we had gone to England on a family vacation to my mother's family estate. It had been forever since I'd been, but I still remembered the lush scenery. Growing thirsty, with my left hand I reached out for my coffee only to have a throat clear and make me jump. My hand knocked into my coffee sending the half filled cup tipping. The top popped off and the coffee splashed across the table and onto a pair of dark blue jeans.

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry," I said quickly, as I sat my sketchpad down on the clean side of the table and grabbed napkins from the holder on the center of the table. I stood and looked up at whose pants I just ruined only to look up into the eyes of my latest muse. "Sorry," I said again as I blushed and handed him the napkins and quickly looked away to wipe up the table and the floor. I heard him laugh quietly, but kept my eyes on my task.

"The first time we meet you nearly spill your coffee on me, but this time you succeed," he teased, his deep voice heavy with a New York accent and I was both mortified and surprised that he remembered me.

"Again, I am so sorry," I said as I finished wiping up the mess and fully stood my hands filled with coffee stained napkins. I looked up at him, my face probably as red as the dark sweater I was wearing.

"I should be the one that's sorry this time," he said smiling as he looked at me. I noted that he wasn't much taller than me, maybe five inches or so, but he still tall seeing as I was rather tall for a woman. "I startled you." I smiled softly and shook my head as he took the napkins from my hands, brushing his calloused fingers against my palms. "How about I throw these away, go in the bathroom and wash off my pants, and buy you another coffee."

"Well . . .," I trailed off as he looked at me expectantly, his dark eyebrows raised. I found myself smiling once more before I gave a small nod. "Sure." He smiled, flashing his dimples and glanced at the table. He put the napkins in my empty cup and looked at me over his shoulder.

"So, what's your poison?" he asked.

"Dark Chocolate Mocha, with an extra shot," I said and he nodded.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said and I nodded as I fidgeted with my sticky hands, thankfully I had few wet naps in my bag. He turned to leave, but stopped and turned to look at me again. "I'm Don, by the way," he said and I smiled.

"Elina," I said with my heart pounding as he grinned and walked away. I laughed softly as I sat down in my seat. I had no idea what just happened, but I was suddenly looking forward to the rest of my morning.