Chapter 1

"Ugh!" She shouted in disgust and turned around to face the mirror. "I hate it when you do that. Do you realize how expensive this pink lipgloss is? Not to mention how rare the shade is." She asked as she pulled out a sparkly pink glossy tube.

Sawyer looked at her with a smirk, "Well Malibu, hi to you too."

She turned to Sawyer and sighed. "Hi baby." Sawyer wrapped her in his arms, she pushed him away, "Sawyer! This dress is made with individually sewn on rhinestones! It'll cost a fortune to replace! Dont touch me!" She yelped as she stepped away from him.

Sawyer ran a hand through his long hair and threw the dozen roses on her dressing table. "These are for you."

Shannon looked at them and sighed in frustration. "My god Sawyer, I told you that if you ever got me roses, they have to be pink to match my costume. This is my last show! I wear pink! And taking pictures with pink roses for the media would go great!" She shouted at him.

Sawyer realized what an idiot he'd been. How in hell did he ever get shackled to Shannon Rutherford? She pined after him after they met in Central Park one day. She had already known he was a successful and rich ad executive. She also knew that he was raised in a broken home in Alabama while she was raised in the high-style rich world of LA. They were as different as gas oil and flour. She didn't really care for his background however. In their one year relationship, she'd never asked him about growing up. Was always just interested in how he became to damn successful. He was demanded by every product, every label to come up with an idea for their campaigns. And with his ideas, each company made millions. He prided himself in coming up with ''No, you're not dreaming, you're in New York City" for NYCs tourist attaction ads. That ad was so popular, it instantly brought millions of dollars for the company and Sawyer got a pretty piece of that change.

Shannon was a world class ballerina; dancing for New Yorks Company. She had all the leads. And decided, after five years of dancing, that she was giving it up to become a model and actress. She already had modeling gigs thanks to his connections to the advertising world. Tonight was her last performance. Pretty big show and big deal for her.

So he excused her irritating behavior for nerves. Yeah, she was superficial as hell. And he'd seen her mean streak more than a few times. But they had great sex. And maybe, just maybe, that's all they really liked about each other.

A knock was sounded at the door, "Miss Rutherford, you're on in five."

Shannon took calming breaths and Sawyer rubbed her arms, "Its okay baby. Just relax, you'll do fine."

Her blue eyes shot open. "Fine? FINE! I can fall right on my fucking ass and make a fool out of myself the last day I'm dancing! FUCK relaxing!"

Sawyer looked at her and nodded.

She smiled at him, "I'm acting like a bitch, aren't I?"

"You said it not me." He drawled, leaning against the wall.

She laughed and went to reach up and kiss him, "Don't wait up for me. After the show, I've got a million interviews and the girls want to take me out for drinks and dancing. Girls only. I'll be home late. And don't skip out on work tomorrow. So don't even bother waking me up after the night I'm going to have." She rambled. "Just...just wish me luck, kay?"

His dimples deepened, "Break a leg Sticks."

"Thank you," she sighed and kissed him on his cheek and left the room. Just like that. He looked down and shoved his hands in his pockets. In the entire year they were together, they hardly spent real quality time together. They had moved in together quickly and were each busy with their own careers. She spent her free time shopping with her anorexic friends and feasting on peas and diet water at restaurants. Their relationship made her popular, however. More people came to see the ballet shows, just to see the girlfriend of the ad guy.

He walked out of her dressing room and shut the door, a big bright yellow star and the name 'Shannon' was plastered big as day. She was big as life. And he had a simple one with her. But was this really what he wanted? A great job. An okay girlfriend. No spontaneous actions. No passion. He shrugged and left the theater. He never stayed for those ballet shows. She knew it too. He was too "manly" to watch girls and guys flying around like fairies in tights.

Every night, if he wasn't working hard, before he went home, he stopped at a small cafe on 5th avenue near Central Park, just around his place. He always had a chocolate mocha and the Times to read. He chuckled as he walked in the New York city night, look at him now. Before he hit it big he was a ranch man. Drinking. Playing poker. Getting into fights at bars and heading nowhere really. Almost got himself into a conning job cause the money was so bare. But he cleaned up real good. And instead of drinking hard vodka,he was sipping on lattes and drinking mojitos. He grinned and entered the cafe.

It was usually empty because a Starbucks stole business just around the corner. Especially this night. A Thursday night. Right before Friday night where everyone was really out clubbing or catching a good broadway show. He liked the quiet of it. He liked the break from his job...and Shannon. He even liked the usual waitress that greeted him. A nice lady named Rose. She always joked with him and they talked all the time. When he walked in this night, however, Rose wasn't there. She usually smiled when he walked in. He supposed she was busy doing something or other and walked to his usual table in the corner, back against the wall.

He saw a dessert menu on the table and looked it over as he heard an unfamiliar voice, but smelled something fruity...like strawberries.

"What can I get ya?"

He looked up and froze. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen was standing in front of him, her eyes looking down at her note pad ready to write. Her hair was mass of brown curls, pinned up by a pencil. She wore the uniform, a short black skirt and a white collared shirt. He saw a black bra through the opening and shuddered in pleasure. He snapped out of it when his eyes rose to her face. She was staring at him now. Probably saw him check her out.

"If you came for a show, Broadway is further south of town." She said, the hand with the pencil now on her hip.

He cleared his throat and smiled, "Sorry. I was just curious not to see Rose tonight," There ya go. Cleared that one up good.

She smiled, god she had an amazing smile. And as she looked at him, he saw her eyes. They were the most striking shade of green he'd ever seen.

"Oh, well, Rose is gone for two weeks. She had a family emergency. I was hired yesterday and started today. I'll be replacing her meanwhile." She explained in her pretty voice.

"Well I hope she's okay," he said.

She looked into his eyes and smiled, "I'm sure she is. So. What will it be?" She held the pencil up to the pad again.

"Oh, a white chocolate mocha will be it."

She smiled.

He saw a dimple.

And he smiled.

"You don't look like the mocha type." She placed the pencil behind her ear.

"I don't look like a lot of things." He said.

She snorted and smiled, then said, "White chocolate mocha coming right up," She eyed him and turned around towards the counter. Sawyer stared at her ass. She had a smokin' ass.

A few minutes later, she brought him his drink, "Sure that's everything?" She asked him.

"Well Shortcake-" he stopped himself. He'd just called her shortcake. Reminding him of the strawberries she smelled like. Her eyebrow rose.

"My names Kate," she pointed to her tag.

"Right." How to cover it up? "I was just saying...shortcake is what I'll have," he cleared his throat, "A slice of strawberry shortcake." He said, obviously not really wanting it.

She looked at him dubiously, "That's not really a cake that people eat with chocolate mochas...but...it's not my job to butt in," she said with a smirk and turned to get him a slice.

Damn Sawyer, what in fuck? You're turning into a blubbering ass. He thought to himself. It was this woman. Making him crazy, he excused. This...Kate...

Kate. That was a nice name. Simple. And mysterious.

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