As you may already be able to tell, my family had come into some money over the years. My father was a businessman, and my mother (my real mother) had inherited a large sum of money after her father died. Georgiana, the woman I had been told would be replacing my mother after she'd died, owned a massive cosmetic company. My stepbrother Myles seemed to only be concerned with spending money, buying cars, yachts, a jet. How I loathed them all.

The following morning, it rained heavily. I strode down the street, huddling in my black Burberry trenchcoat. I loved the rain in its entire icy grey splendor, but alas, I would catch cold if I didn't wear a coat, thus ruining this entire trip, and we wouldn't want that.

It was early, about eight in the morning, and I was in need of strong caffeine. A small coffee shop ahead caught my eye. I wasn't Starbucks, but it would do.

I slipped inside, shuddering at the bells that treacherously announced my presence. The small group of teens that had been talking with a boy at the counter stopped and stared my way. Ugh. People.

I stalked to the counter. No one was around besides them, making me squirm. I approached the counter, behind which waited a tall, lanky boy who seemed about my age.

"One tall Italian roast, black, piping hot, no sugar; a Green tea with honey and lemon juice, also no sugar; then I'll need a French roast with cream, exactly one tablespoon of raw cane sugar, extra caffeine, make sure it's hot as well; and to top it off I'll also have one of those delightful smelling blueberry muffins," I ordered calmly in a voice as light as frost: I was too tired to be full on cold. "Would you like me to repeat that?"

"Uh…" the boy at the counter gaped at me as though I'd asked him to eat his own hand. Hoping to urge him into doing as I asked, I whipped out my checkbook. The other teens stared at me.

"Sometime today, if you please," I said in a sharper, more impatient voice. He nodded, glancing around obviously to see if I had any friends with me that I would be sharing these drinks with, and seeing that there were none, he stared at me a last time before getting on my order.

"What's your name?" he asked with a cup in on hand and a sharpie in the other.

I replied, "Claire," and sat at a far table, bringing out my laptop.

I went through my daily routine of checking my e-mail, my accounts, my stocks, that sort of thing. All was well. Myles hadn't destroyed anything. Yet.

Ten minutes later, I heard the boy call, "Claire! Your drinks are up!" I closed my laptop and got up. I carefully positioned the cups and muffin in my hands so I wouldn't spill them, ever aware of the others' scrutiny as I handled my drinks alone. I finally managed, and stalked back towards my seat. However, on the way, My Italian roast slipped, and tumbled towards the floor. I gasped, stepping away to keep the staining of my shoes and pants to a minimum. The boy behind the counter, whom I hadn't noticed beside me, caught the cup with incredible reflexes, and handed it to me with an expression of pure calmness and reassurance that I nearly dropped my other coffee, which would have made me very angry.

It was the first time I actually noticed him. He had a soft face, one which put mine to shame in terms of whiteness. His long strawberry blonde hair was messy, in a bedhead sort of style. The feature I found most interesting, however, was his eyes. His eyes were pure black, and he had dark circles under his lower lids, as though he hadn't slept well. I stared up at him, my own eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Thank you," I forced myself to say, snatching up the coffee and sitting down again. The boy sat down across from me, smiling in a friendly manner.



At first I ignored him, returning to my accounts and such, but I at last had to address him in my most wonderfully cold voice.

"Do you need, something?" I never took my eyes from the screen.

He shook his head. "I was hoping to talk to you. Those other guys are boring me."

"I'm afraid your hopes were ill-placed, and that you will only be bored further."

He chuckled. "Well aren't you modest…" He stopped when I finally treated him to my most condescending glare.

"It is not modesty that makes me say this, as that is not a trait I possess," my tone was even, but warning, "but truthfulness. I have no desire to talk, so I would be most grateful if you were to leave me."

"Ouch," he said, though he was grinning. "Alright, I'll leave you alone." He got up to return to his job. "By the way, my name's Anthony. Anthony Rose."

I didn't ask for your name, you… I growled maliciously in my mind. I found my gaze slipping back to his dead-looking black eyes, making him smirk in a knowing manner. I remained silent, returning to my computer.

When I had finished my coffee, tea, and muffin, I left briskly to explore some of the town.