She raced along the crowded, early morning New York City streets trying to dodge people and objects in her way. The cool early autumn air felt foreign on her face, as she had grown accustomed to the warm summer breezes that had lasted longer than expected.

She finally reached the subway station she needed and flew down the dirty stairs. After swiping her metro card and absentmindedly getting to her platform she was able to stop and take a deep breath, inhaling the scents of her favorite city in the world.

She was soon interrupted by the urge to have to go to the bathroom. She had gotten up later than usual that Saturday morning, and realizing she was going to be late for a meeting with her boss, didn't really have time to do anything except get dressed.

Thinking of the long ride she would have to endure while really having to go, she turned around and ran to the small public bathroom not far from where she was standing.

However, she soon found herself stuck in the stall. Jiggling the handle and trying to push it with no use, she sighed. Suddenly the roar of the subway entered the small space and quickened her pulse.

Oh no no no, she though as she pushed and pulled on the handle again, over and over with no luck. Starting to panic, she crouched to the ground and slowly but surely, crawled under the stall door and sprinted out of the bathroom.

A smile crossed her face as she was almost about to fly through the closing subway doors, only to be pushed out of the way as someone else took her spot.

Stumbling back and trying to keep her balance, her eyes locked with the person who had sent her flying. The doors shut tightly, immediately sending her blood up and temperature to boiling. She stepped to her right to get a good look at the jerk. She wanted to be able to recognize him if she ever saw him again, that wasn't likely though. That thought made her even more raged. But that didn't last long, as she was captivated by soft green eyes.

It seemed the other person, her age, she guessed, was captivated by her too, as he stepped closer to the window as the subway started to move.

Their eyes stayed locked until she looked away in embarrassment, remembering how she was going to be majorly late now.

And he had on a Yankee's hat. She hated the Yankees.

But there was one good thing-

She didn't have to go to the bathroom anymore.


She tried to keep her breathing steady as she waited for the elevator in her office building to reach her floor. Her boss was going to kill her she was so late. It took another 8 ½ minutes for the next subway to roll into the station after she missed the first one, and adding that to the 12 minute ride and 5 minute walk, she was 15 minutes late for an important weekly staff meeting.

The elevator dinged and she burst through the doors as they opened way too slowly. She dumped her stuff on her clustered desk and grabbed her notebook while she straightened her blouse. This was supposed to be her chance to get the promotion to assistant to the editor, a position she had dreamed of since her first day of work after college in the high-rise, enormously famous New York City weekly magazine of people and happenings of the city and beyond. She had recently been put as the international correspondent for the magazine, and she loved it. Traveling for free to cities like Paris, Rome, Prague and Berlin is what she wanted to do when she was little and dreaming of her future job, but if she got the position of Editor's assistant she would still be able to travel but she would get a pay raise. She hoped that jerk who had pushed her out of the way of the subway car didn't screw up her chances, but for some reason, she couldn't get his beautiful sea-green eyes out of her head.

Pausing at the closed door of the conference room, she took a second deep breath of the morning. She could feel her heart rate rise with each small turn of the brass doorknob, as she slowly opened the door, hoping not to disturb what was going on inside.

"Ms. Morgan," she heard her boss's monotone voice remark as she kept her head down. "You're late."

"I'm sorry sir," she responded immediately, knowing that an excuse would have made him more mad at her. He always said there were never excuses.

She took the first available chair and opened her notebook as Mr. Edward Townsend started speaking again.

"Ms. McHenry, I need you to cover the Fifth Avenue Fashion Show, this Tuesday," he said to the perky brunette across from her at the table. It was her best friend Macey.

"Sure sir," she responded.

He took a small sip of the coffee mug that sat beside his perfectly organized article topics binder. "Ms. Morgan, I am going to need you to cover the Yankee's game against the Red Sox on Friday once you get back from Paris."

She hesitated. She loved her job, she really did, but she wasn't a sports writer, and she always had the next day off when she got back from a cross-continental trip.

"Mr. Townsend," she started, "that is the day after I get back and Jonas is the sports writer, shouldn't he take that article? I know as a fact that he will be back from his honeymoon by then."

"Mr. Anderson was stung by a rare jellyfish in Mexico this morning, therefore his homecoming will be delayed a few days, putting you in charge of the article, and I know you can handle one night of watching a baseball game," Townsend ordered.

"Yes sir," she nodded, silently sighing to herself. She definitely was not a sports writer; and really hated the Yankees.


"Oh my god!" Macey whisper-screamed to her best friend as she scurried to her desk 10 minutes after the meeting. "You're never late, what happened?"

"Some jerk made me miss the train," she answered, gathering all the papers she would need in Paris.

Macey laughed. "You are such a nerd."

"Like I've never heard that before," Cammie glared. "I can't believe Townsend gave me a sports article. He must be really mad at me."

"Oh don't worry about that,"Macey reassured her.

Cammie gave her a look of pa-lease.

"Really though, he is testing your range to see if you can handle Editor's Assistant stuff," Macey sat herself on top of Cammie's half-clean desk.

"I hope you're right," Cammie sighed.

"Anyway," Macey said and pulled a nail file out of her bra, trying to fix her already perfect nails, "you want to go out tonight? Preston, Bex, Grant and his friend are going to be there."

"You know I can't Macey, my flight leaves at 11 tonight," she answered, not wanting to go anyway.

Macey rolled her eyes jokingly. "Whatever. I'm Cammie and I've been to Paris five times already this year!"

Cammie smiled. "Oh shut up."

"I'll forgive you this time Morgan," Macey pointed her French manicured finger in Cammie's face, "but when I pick you up from the airport Thursday we are going out and you will have fun."

"Challenge accepted," Cammie chuckled. "Now if you excuse me, je decolle por Paris."

"Text me when you land darling!" Macey waved after her better half. She needs a boyfriend, she muttered to herself as she turned and started filing her nails again.


The plane seat felt unusually comfortable as she sat down and adjusted her carry-on under the seat in front of her. Her head had started to ache as she passed through the long security line and she was running late, yet again, and didn't have a chance to grab something to eat from one of the giant airport's many food options. She would have to settle for airplane food.

For some reason, although it was absolutely freezing, a baby was crying a few rows behind her and the TV monitor in the front said seven hours to go, she didn't mind.

Something was making her content, and she couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe it was that Townsend wasn't completely outraged with her, or Macey saying he was absolutely considering her for the Editor's assistant position, or just the fact that she was traveling (her favorite thing in the world to do).

As she felt the plane jerk onto the runway and speed into the air, her eyes drifted closed and she saw those green eyes again. She absentmindedly smiled.

The 50 something woman sitting next to her figured she was thinking of her husband or boyfriend and sighed, young love.