Jeanette, a recently heartbroken entrepreneur meets famous English billionaire Daniel Hearst. Together, they ignite a fiery love affair built in power, ambition and passion.
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In the heels of a dead-end relationship, Jeanette meets Daniel - a pow...
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My feet are exhausted. Dribbling on the rough pavement for the last few minutes had to be the perpetrator. My lungs burned as though sparked by the friction between my shoes and the hard ground. By the time I had reached the station, tapped my card and ran down the stagnant escalator, my ankles were numbed-sand down even. But I can't stop. I can hear the train's rumble echoing through the underground. The ground beneath me, vibrating as to warn me of the time I'm wasting looking for the platform. I could be blinded by my tireless left-to-rights but even so, I knew at that moment there was no way I would make it.
An ungodly noise shot out of me as I saw the golden "7" beyond the small archway that I almost passed. To my dismay, just as I stepped foot into the dirty tiles to the platform, the last car was already a quarter out of sight. It's empty back seats, calling to me like a lost opportunity I can't ever get back.
"No," I breathed out, my hands on my head as I fell on one metal chair-lonely as I'll be for the next five hours. The deathly silence filled my ears until I'm deafened by it, the ringing I'd always known replaced the loud and exasperated beats I've been listening to.
Perhaps this day isn't exactly what I expected it to be. When I woke up today, I really thought that it wouldn't be any different from my coffee shop to work type of routine. Yet here I am, one break up and no tears later-sitting crestfallen while I mourn the loss of the last trip and smelling like room dried clothes because of the horrid weather. Lord knows I've done my bidding to not be so unfortunate.
Though, as luck would have it, unfortunate is my middle name.
Hurried steps arose and I turned. Clutching my bag tightly into my body, expecting a lunatic or a mugger or anything that could harm a lone woman in the underground-which in any case is anything.
But, to my luck or accumulated desperation for it, I find a well-dressed man in a blue button-up shirt and black jeans. For a moment he stopped on the platform, eyes all wild and expecting-that was until he looked over to the schedule board where the red letters had slept for the night.
Seeing as he was on the other side of the line, I couldn't imagine his dismay. Yet we suffer the same loss.
It must have been the late-night air or the fumes from the underground, but something within my socially anxious mind told me that I needed to say something. Maybe I just felt bad. So I sat there, contemplating as he looked down on his phone, illuminating his obscured face from where I sat. He shook his head in dismay, and he mustn't have known I was there as he freely swore.
"It left just a minute ago," I said, loud enough that my mild voice reverberated around.
He looked up but wasn't fazed. I can almost distinguish a look of despair.
"How long until the next one?" He answers back, just as loudly, laced with such a proper accent. Far beyond the ranks of my plain American. His tone, however, was like the wistful embers on a crackling fire; warm.
