God, she hated commercial flights. Angela Staton sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time. She tried focusing on the magazine in her hand but then the disgustingly rude child behind her kicked the back of her chair again and she saw red. Her hands dropped into her lap and she groaned in frustration. This. This is what she hated about commercial flights. The closeness of the people around her, the drone of the noise in the air, the annoying passengers. And now this goddamn child kicking the back of her chair.

She tried taking a deep breath and signaled to the flight attendant.

"Yes, miss?" the woman asked upon her approach.

"Yes, there is an annoying little pest behind me that seems to take some odd joy out of pissing me off, could you remove it please?"

The woman glanced behind Angela uncomfortably. "I – I don't think I can do that, miss."

"Why the hell not? Aren't I paying passenger?"

"So is he, miss."

"I'm sure that little devil of a child is not the one paying for his flight, now is he?"

"I – I'll speak to the mother."

"You go do that." Angela picked back up her magazine. She could feel the prickle of the mother's heated glare on the back of her neck but she ignored it. The flight attendant's murmuring behind her went ignored too. Angela just casually flipped through her magazine.

"Miss?" came the flight attendant again.

Angela didn't even look up. "Yes."

"Everything has been resolved."

"There shouldn't have been a problem in the first place. The one time I'm forced to ride commercial and this is what happens. You're happy I don't care enough about you to learn your name or I would have gone straight to your boss."

The flight attendant didn't know what to say to that, so she muttered a frightened thank you and scurried off. Angela didn't watch her leave. She was beyond pissed. Not only was she being forced to come back to New York where she had escaped from a year ago after the kidnapping happened, but that generous father of hers had to forget to buy her tickets on time and hadn't felt like flexing some muscle to squeeze her into a 'sold out' first class. So here she was sitting in a cramped space with an annoying child and his mother behind her and incompetent, flighty flight attendant hovering nearby waiting for Angela to snap her fingers at her. Luckily, she had managed to buy out the seat to her left so there was no one sitting next to her. Thank heavens for her quick thinking.

She did not want to go back home. One year ago, Angela was kidnapped by a ruthless organization, simply because she was connected to the ones they really wanted: her best friend Jessime Beaumont and Annabelle Ferguson, his girlfriend and who she later found out was his guard and an agent of that terrible organization. The entire ordeal broke Angela into tiny, shocked, disbelieving pieces and, after it all finished, Annabelle was in the hospital and Angela needed to get away.

Jamaica had been her escape. Lounging on beaches, soaking up the tropical sun, meeting and even befriending some of the locals. This past year had been one of the best years of her life. Stress free and full of laughs. She left the trauma of her life behind for the gorgeous island life and Angela had no plans of leaving.

That was, until her father called her saying he had some important news that was so great it couldn't be said over the phone; it had to be said in person. And so, two days later here she was on a flight that could not wait. Whatever it was he had to say, it better be good.

Finally, the pilot announced their near descent. Angela closed her magazine, which had been boring her for the better part of the flight but she still read because she had nothing else to do. She tucked it away between her chair and the one beside her and waited impatiently for the plane to land safely, then chuckled when all the Jamaicans on the flight applauded the safe landing.

Ten minutes stretched into twenty when Angela finally walked out of the airport. Standing a few feet away from her was a man she recognized all too well, holding a large sign with her name written on it. She approached him.

"Is that really necessary?" she asked, coming to a stop.

Helman, the family butler, gave his signature twitch which served as a smile. "I saw it in the movies, little madam. I was only trying something new."

"You should stop watching all those chick flicks, Helman." She lifted her shades and glinted into the sun as Helman moved to take her luggage.

"I don't watch chick flicks, little madam."

"Yeah, and I don't burp before I eat."

Helma paused and looked at her. "You've gotten quite the humour, little miss."

"Are you saying I'm funny? I've always been funny, Helman. Where have you been?" She flipped her hair over her shoulder, positioning her shades back unto her nose. "My sense of humour has always been in tiptop shape."

"I'm sure, little miss."

"Do you ever plan to stop calling me that?"

"I quite like it, little miss."

"I don't. I'm not little anymore. I'm nineteen years old and ready to start my life again. Oh," she said suddenly. "Speaking of starting lives again, you know what this big announcement dad has?"

"It isn't my place to tell, little madam."

"Oh, come on. That means you know something. Is it something I'm going to like?"

"I cannot be certain of that, little miss." A midday breeze rustled his white hair. He pulled Angela's luggage up to a gleaming blue convertible with the top pulled over and placed them in the back. When he straightened, Angela stood directly behind, arms crossed.

"Tell me what it is, Helman."

"I'm sorry, but I cannot do that, little miss. This is your father's big announcement. Not mine."

"Ugh, really, Helman? I thought we were friends."

Helman's mouth twitched again. He fished the keys out of his pocket as he said, "We are, little miss. We are the best of friends. But your father signs my paycheck."

"Well, since you love my dad so much," she grabbed the keys out of his hand before he could blink. "You can take the bus to go see him."

"Madam! Your father told me to escort you home."

"Sorry, Helman." Angela laughed as she made her way to the driver's side. She wasn't sorry at all. "Tell him something came up and I just had to go sort it out."

"He'll never believe that."

"Yeah, I know. But it's better than nothing, isn't it? Stop worrying, Helman. I'll be back before dark."

Angela hopped into the car. She immediately started it up and put the top down. Helman approached the car with disapproval written all over his face and she couldn't help but laugh. "I don't approve of this, little miss," he said.

"Oh, I know you don't, Helman. That's exactly why I'm doing it." She turned on the radio and just as loud pop music blasted from the speakers, she smiled innocently. "Tell daddy I'll see him later."

"Miss Angela?"

"Yes, Helman."

"I missed you. It's good to have you back."

"Yeah, well, I'm not glad to be back. Don't get all mushy on me now, Helman."

"Yes, Miss Angela."

"Oh, and I missed you too. Or whatever." She waved her hands dismissively. "See you later."

Angela floored it. Pedestrians old and young jumped out of the way to avoid being hit down, or at the very least having one of their toes flattened, by the gorgeous blue convertible. The wind picked up her hair and blond ringlets danced in the breeze. Her shades shielded her blue eyes from the sun, reflecting the rays of the sun and accentuating her straight nose and rosy lips. The roads were blissfully clear at this time, so she could speed as much as she wanted. It took her a moment to remember how to drive in the country, since driving in Jamaica had been much different, but soon, she got accustomed. Pop music and the freeness of the wind in her hair. She missed this.

It almost, almost, masked the sinking feeling in her gut. Every time she thought of her father's announcement however, that sinking feeling came crawling back with a vengeance. She couldn't help but feel she wasn't going to like it. Maybe he was getting married again? If that was it, would he really wait this long to tell her? He would if it was someone special, or important. Or someone she definitely wouldn't like.

Oh God, what if he was getting married to that bitch Marcelle? Ever since her father hired her to be the maid in charge of the east wing, he's been showing her special attention that Angela definitely didn't like. And Marcelle had been soaking it up too. Angela has seen her fair share of gold digging maids making passes at her handsome father for a chance at the throne and she was sick of it. She saw right through Marcelle, but clearly her father didn't.

She swore to God if Marcelle was her new stepmother she was going to through the biggest hissy fit known to man that her father would have no other choice but to fire Marcelle instantly. Angela was known for her hissy fits and she had much more in store. She just never got a good enough reason to bring out the big guns. Marcelle really had that effect on her.

Don't think about it yet, Angela, she told herself, taking a deep breath. She didn't have to worry about that until she reached home. Right now, she had a full tank and endless possibilities ahead of her, although she had no clue where she was going right now. Perhaps she should just go cruising. Angela rolled up to a red light, weighing her options.

Suddenly, her body was lurched forward. She slammed her forehead on the wheel and pain instantly shot up her neck.

"What the hell?" Looking up, she saw that the red light was still there and her car was still braked. She glanced behind her and saw a sleek black car right at her bumper.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Angela was out of the car in less than a second. The pain in her neck worsened, but she ignored it, whipping her glasses off her face and throwing it into the car. Angela stormed up to the car in her stiletto heels.

"Are you freaking kidding me?!" she screeched, banging her hand against the window. "Get out!"

The door opened. Sliding out the car and bringing a refreshing smell of air conditioning and expensive cologne was a man with dark hair and dark eyes. He buttoned his jacket, tucked his hands into his pocket and leaned casually against the door. "Well," he said, a smirk creeping over his lips. "Would you look at who it is?"

"Y-you!" Angela pointed a surprised finger at the smirking man.

"You remember me?"

It was him. Roger Dumas. She remembered him as clearly as if she had first met him just yesterday. The day Annabelle had saved her from her kidnappers, he had been one of Annabelle's friends that had begun to carry them to safety but ended up taking them straight back to Annabelle. She remembered that amused smirk and the flirtatious tone in his voice. Not to mention the fact that every time she saw him, he was impeccably dressed and smelled wonderful. Now was no different.

"I seem to have a knack for leaving you speechless, babe."

Angela blinked, then the anger returned. "You crashed into my car! My neck is killing me!"

Roger looked over at her convertible. The back was slightly dented and the paint had chipped off. His car was more or less the same. "I see that, babe. It's my bad."

"Damn right, it's your fault! You need to pay for that."

"I know how this goes, babe." His smile smirked. "Are you this red because of the sun, or you're just angry?"

Angela narrowed her eyes at him. "Stop trying to change the subject, you cheapskate."

"It's me, huh?" He chuckled. The name brand watch on his wrist glinted as he reached into his car. "Aliyah, was it?"

"I'm surprised you remembered," Angela murmured sarcastically.

"I have a knack for names, babe. I heard you left the country."

"Checking up on me?"

"I'm always interested by a pretty face."

"Yeah, well this pretty face and what she does is none of your damn business." She held out her hand and he placed the paper with his info on it. After reading it, Angela flipped her way and made her way to her car. Roger followed behind her.

"After you skipped out on our date that night, I think an explanation is my business."

She paused and threw a look over her shoulder. "We never had a date. What are you talking about?"

"We didn't? Of course, we did. I couldn't have a beautiful girl like you come into my life and not ask her out. That doesn't sound like me."

Angela rolled her eyes. She almost forgot how much of a smooth talker he was. She quickly scribbled her information on a piece of paper and handed it to him. "Even if you did ask me out, I doubt I said yes. I would never go out with someone like you."

"That's what they all say at first." He looked at the paper. "Is this your phone number?"

"One of," she said haughtily. "Call or text me or anything other than this tiny crash then, I'm blocking you."

"Ooh, feisty. I always knew you were a little fireball."

"We're done here."

Angela hopped into her car. Roger stood by the door, in all this good looking, nice smelling glory. She put back on her shades and looked up at him. "Any reason why you're still standing by the car?"

"You skipped out before I could ask you how you were holding up last time."

"That was a year ago. I'm over it."

"Great. That's good. See you, babe." And without another word, he raised his hand in farewell and walked away. Angela didn't allow herself to watch him walk away. She floored it.

�W