You’re travelling to NYC from Venice and your seat is in the business class section next to a filthy rich, cold, not interested in women, and an arrogant man named Dylan.

You are awesome struck by his physique, rolled up sleeves revealing his tattoos, and rings on his fingers as he reads a magazine, not acknowledging your presence.

Oh my god. Its like I’m looking at the sun. You’re blinding me.

He sighs in frustration. Great. Not only do I get a seat next to a woman- but a mad woman.