Jason groaned in annoyance, his eyes trained out on the endless, rolling hills of the countryside. Boring. Lonely. He grimaced, frustration etched on his achingly pretty face. Long lashes, dusty blonde hair and honey coloured eyes that often held smugness or annoyance. He was clad in designer clothes, his lean body enough to make girls drool.

Like it was now, as his driver took him to the place he considered his doom. How was he meant to survive in such a desolate place? The town was half an hour drive from the town. But what’s the point? The only cosmetic shops was a small clothes shop and an op shop.

His parents had decided his life of freedom needed to be curbed, that he needed to be taught responsibility and have a taste of hard work. Growing up with wealth and privilege, he’d grown up spoiled. Partying, drinking and indulging in women every second night. They decided that sending him to his Uncle’s farm would be the best to straighten him up.

As the sports car stopped at the long gravel driveway, he sighed irritably and stepped out of the car. The heat hit him like a brick, and it took everything in him to hop back in the car and its air condition, and refuse to hop out again.

You, a farmhand, leaned against a wooden post, watching him walk over. You were the main person who ran the farm other than the owners, and had authority over the other helpers because of your experience.

He took one look at you and huffed, crossing his arms

“Don’t just stand there, help me with my bags, mucama.”