Chapter 1
Ashlee's POV
We were fourteen.
I hated anything sports related... especially skating. The ice was wet, cold, and hard anytime my face or rear end made contact with it. And believe me, there was plenty of those times. After I hit with a loud thump once again, it was no different than any of the previous times I had.
"Stupid frozen, piece of crap," I mumble under my breath while wiping the ice chunks my skates had caused off of my jeans. I might have just created yet another bruise, but there was no way I was going to ruin these jeans in the same graceless moment. I'm about to string out a list of profanities much worse than I had to the ice when he skates over toward me, breath taking smile on his face as he picks me up with ease, dusting me off and carrying me over to the bench, just like he always does.
I take my goofy looking helmet off, the one he laughs at me for wearing, but theres no way I'm going to hit my head yet again on that stupid slick surface. With the helmet gone now, a lose strand of hair that has managed to escape from the two braids that is holding the mass amount of it back dangles in front of my face. I stare at it, not believing that it's testing me right now, but he quickly takes his gloves off and tucks it behind my ear with yet another chuckle before I reached up and yanked it out.
Yes, this is how my afternoon was going, and he was getting a kick out of it.
"I keep telling myself that you will get the hang of skating sooner or later," he says while leaning down and starting to untie my skates.
"Don't hold your breath," I mutter while turning my chin up a little bit, processing the damage as he just stares up at me with that boyish grin of his. He rolls his eyes at me when I make my typical pouty face before he leans up at presses his lips to the tender part of my face, reminding me exactly why I tolerate smelly locker rooms, chatty teammates and countless games that all equally bore me.
Sitting on the ice now, I was not surrounded by a empty hockey arena, but about 30 strangers, all starring down at me as they continue their passing on the side walk.
"Don't mind me, my ass broke my fall," I mutter under my breath as I stand up shakily, holding my arms out to keep my balance much like a surfer would while they were catching a wave. I take a look down at my new prada boots, making sure they didn't receive any abuse before looking around for the cup holder full of coffees I was carrying. Much to my dismay, I find it flung across the sidewalk, up against a brick wall, spilled everywhere. I hope that got on someone I think to myself as I recall nobody put out an effort to help me up.
As I'm turning the corner to head back to the coffee shop, I see a tall, muscular built guy walking my direction with a hurley hat pulled down low, covering his face. My eyes go wide with fear before I burst into the coffee shop in an attempt to not be seen by him. I watch as he goes by through the window, and then laugh to myself when I had jumped to conclusions, and it wasn't who I though it was going to be after all.
I had begged, pleaded, and even tried to bribe my bosses not to send me here. Of all places, not here. They sugar coated it with a promotion, a minor one might I add, but I still knew that Toronto wasnot the town for me. And sure, I hadn't ran into him yet..but it's been a year now, and I'm not that lucky for things to keep turning out in my benefit for too much longer..
LA had been much more my type of town. Glamor, fame, and the main catch; the weather. As I step out into the brisk winter wind that always seems to be blowing in this freaking town, I become more aware of how much I missed the California heat. I glance up at the sky, the looming clouds telling me that it's probably going to start snowing any second now, so I hurry my pace, but paying special attention to the patch of ice I hit last time, crossing over to the other side of the street just to be on the safe side.
As I approach my office building, I take one last glance at the gloomy sky above me, knowing that as much as I hate it, he's probably perfectly content here. All of this in depth thinking is probably why I don't see my supervisor coming towards the door I'm standing in front of, flinging it open and knocking it straight into me, causing a chain of bad things to happen. I land on my ass for the second time in ten minutes, but this time I'm not so lucky with the coffees in my hands. They go flying in the air, landing straight on the new crisp white shirt I had bought only days before.
I sit with my hands in the air, the typical 'you've got to be kidding me..' look on my faces as my mouth hangs open. I glance down, hoping it didn't get on my coat, but of course it did.. that's the type of morning I'm having. My supervisor, Ms. McConnel, stares down at me as if she has no idea what I'm doing sprawled out on the ground, as if I had just decided to chill down here all under my own power.
"What are you doing," she says in that tone she always uses. If there is one thing I've learned since being here, it's that you never question her and you never place blame on her. She's practically untouchable.
"Oh you know me," I start while standing up, kicking the coffee cups to the side in hope she won't see. "So clumsy," I add in my nice voice before dusting my skirt off.
"Well don't be," she says while flinging her scarf around her neck before making her way to the car waiting for her. "I will be back in 1o minutes, I expect my charts and coffee on my desk when I arrive." And with that, she closes the car door, not giving me a second glance. I wait for her car to pull around the block, remaining as calm as can be. That's another thing I've learned.. never let anybody see you sweat in this business. The second her car pulls around the corner, I take off in a dead sprint toward the coffee shop, knowing that she means all business.
After successfully getting her coffee inside the office building, I take it and her charts to her desk and lay them there, checking my watch in the process. I'm just stepping away from her desk when she walks through the door. She sits down, and then glances up at me over the top of her glasses, which never means anything good.
"Did you have an accident this morning?" she asks while pointing briefly at my not so pulled together look; hair a mess, outfit looking even worse, covered in coffee stains. That's another thing about working in the fashion industry.. you have to look like you stepped off the cover of vogue 100 percent of the time.
I nod my head curtly before making my way to my cubicle and resting my head in my hands. This is my life..
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