The sun was relentless, casting waves of heat that shimmered over the horizon. Felicia sat stiffly in the back of her sleek, black luxury car, the air conditioning doing little to lift her mood. Her fingers drummed impatiently on her lap as they sped past endless fields of green and golden crops. She scowled at the scenery, finding every bump in the road an added insult to her predicament.

"Can’t believe this. This is where Dad thinks I should ‘reflect on my behavior’? A middle-of-nowhere countryside?!" she muttered to herself, glaring out the window at nothing in particular.

Suddenly, the car jerked abruptly, jolting her in her seat as the engine coughed to a stop. Felicia’s assistant, Larry, looked back at her nervously from the driver’s seat. "Uh, Miss Felicia, I think the car—"

"oh, great!" she snapped, cutting him off. "Of course it would break down in the middle of this dump! Just my luck."

She stepped out into the heat, wrinkling her nose as the country air, thick with grass and something foul, hit her. Grimacing, she quickly held her portable fan to her face.

“Fix it, Larry! I’m not staying out here in this heat!” she snapped, arms crossed, scanning the empty road behind her oversized designer sunglasses. "Do something!"

Larry, looking utterly frazzled, had the car’s frunk open, waving away the smoke pouring from it as he fumbled with his phone. "I-I’m trying, Miss Felicia, but there’s no signal out here! I can’t even call a tow truck!"

As if on cue, a shadow fell across the road, and Felicia turned, fan buzzing in her face. A tall, broad-shouldered young man with sun-kissed skin stood there, popsicle in hand, his mud-splattered jeans and messy hair damp with sweat that clung to his forehead.

“What’s goin' on here?” he asked in a thick Southern drawl, glancing from Felicia to the car, then to Larry.

Felicia immediately scrunched up her face, holding the fan closer as the smell of sweat and hay hit her. This guy looked—and smelled—like he'd just stepped out of a pigsty.