"No no no!" I speak into the phone.

"Come on, take a break for once." Amyra, my stubborn best friend says over the phone.

"I can't! I have to choose fabric for my new line that should be available to customers by next month." A designer's job is never slow.

"Axton has news. He'll be a dick if I don't convince you to come to brunch," she says with her strong Indian accent.

I take a look at all the fabrics in front of me. I sighed closing my eyes.

"Fine." I give in.

"You're helping me choose fabrics tomorrow. I'll see you in ten minutes."

"Great, you should know lawyers are very convincing and yes I'll help you." She says causing me to smile. She was one of the youngest but most successful lawyers. Proud to say I've been through all the years of law school and persuading her parents to let her pursue law instead of medicine. Amyra wasn't the typical person. She was unique and wanted difference more than anything. That's why she made it her mission to gain approval from her parents.

"Okay, bye." I hang up the phone. I pick up the office phone placed on my glass desk.

"Hayley can I see you in my office please," I ask, kindly. In no time there's a knock on my door.

"Yes, Ms. Rivera?" she walks into my spacious office.

"It's Sophia! I told you, no formalities." I chuckle at my new assistant. She worked at my company before, but she was promoted a few days ago since the last assistant I had, drugged my coffee. Yes, a fricking assistant drugged my coffee. Strangely, she has gone missing.

"I'm sorry Ms-. Sophia." she corrects herself as we both laugh.

"I'm leaving for brunch. I'll be back in an hour or so." She nods, pulling her phone out.

"But when you come back, you have that meeting with Prada so you won't be able to choose fabrics, so I should reschedule that for tomorrow." She speaks while typing away on her phone.

"Impressive Hayley." I smile.

"Thank you." she chuckles as I grab my purse, phone, and sunglasses.

"Okay, I'm gonna go. Have a nice lunch." I smile at her.

I walk out of my office and into the halls of my office. If it's one thing I'm proud of, it's how comforting my office is. Everything is light, neutral, soft but elegant, and sleek. It was designed by one of my mom's friends, who is one of the best interior designers around.

I step into the elevator and hit the first floor. As I'm taken down the floors I find myself thinking about the paparazzi that could be outside.

You see, my mom is a famous actress and my dad is a famous director and even had his fair share of singing. Growing up I was always taught the precautions of paparazzi. I couldn't wear certain things, I couldn't hang with certain friends or be seen in certain parts of the freaking state. It was a bit overwhelming, but even now as a twenty-two-year-old, it's even more overwhelming. Given my parent's social status I was grown into a path of popularity. But if you're thinking I started my designer job off the fame and money from my parents, think again. I started the simple line anonymously. After a year it became popular, then I shared to my socials that I was the founder. That day my phone was blowing up, I do owe some of my success to the life I was given, but most was earned by hard work. Working my ass off, overdosing with coffee, breakdowns. It was hard. But I made it with the help of my friends.

"Good morning Ms. Rivera." Employees greet me as I exit the elevator. I honestly think they're scared of me. I'm a nice person I swear.

"Good morning girls." I smile at them.

I look out the glass doors that stand at the front of my office. My heart starts beating fast and my hands get shaky as I see the paparazzi out on the streets. Walking throw the glass doors, I take in the New York air. I loved this city. The constant rush and push. The lights, the people, the adrenaline that's in everyone's bones.

"Please move out the way." My security asks the mob of photographers and reporters.

"Sophia, how are you?"

"How is Amyra?"

"When is your next line coming out?"

"How are your parents?"

"Are you pregnant?"

"Who's shirt were you wearing last week?"

Their questions fly straight at me as I try to walk through them. I understand this is their job, so I answer even though my parents suggest I don't.

"I'm just trying to get to lunch. Can you guys let us pass please?" I ask kindly.

"Sure Sophia." God bless his soul.

"How's the crew?" She means our friendship group. We're all the children of famous people so we're well known as the 'crew'.

"Sophia, does your mom have cancer?" I swear you wear a headwrap one time and they make these assumptions.

"No, she doesn't."

We finally make our way to the car. I literally jump into the backseat as my driver locks the doors. One time, a reporter opened the door. Yes that actually happened.

"Where to Sophia?" The forty-year-old man aks. Marty was cool.

"McKay Mansion." I smile at him.

I strap my seatbelt on and pull my phone out my purse.

I open Instagram to, as usual, a lot of notifications. A link is sent to me by Amyra. I open the link to a tabloid. Pictures of Amyra leaving the courthouse, Jace walking towards his car, Axton leaving his skyscraper office, and me leaving my office literally minutes ago. With the caption 'The Crew Heading out, but to where?'.

I raise an eyebrow. I swear, they never miss a chance. Shaking my head I turn my phone off as I look out the window. The streets of New York blurring as the car moves swiftly through the streets.

Soon the McKay mansion comes into view. I grab my purse and exit the car. Walking straight to the front door. I knock. Camila, the McKay's maid opens the door. Her bright smile warms my heart every time.

"Sophia." she pulls me into a hug.

"Hi Camila." I hug her back.

"Is that Sophia's voice I hear?" Eleanor McKay's voice flows through the air.

"Yes, it is." I chuckle as she walks up pulling us into a hug.

"Where's my hug?" I hear Amyra's voice and her heels click against the marble floor.

"No hug for you." I tease as she glares at me.

"Pickled mango from mum." Amyra hands Eleanor a jar of the treat that's basically my weakness.

"Oh My God! I'm obsessed with these."

"Help yourself!" Eleanor hands me the jar, which quickly opens while walking into the kitchen.

I grab a fork and literally moan as I bite into the pickled mango.

I suddenly hear someone clear their throat.

I turn around to see Axton. Hair styled to perfection. Black suit wrapped around his gorgeous body. I almost moan again. Kidding. Or am I?

His lips twitch into a smirk and I know exactly why.

"Stop it." I glare at him.

"You weren't saying that last night," he murmurs as he walks to the cabinets.

"Shut up." Truth is, I have been in love with this boy, for about just, you know, my whole life. Not too long you know?

I plan on telling him soon. But I don't want to ruin our friendship. We've been best friends for years.

See, after my last relationship, which was very, toxic. I realized he's the one that I always seem to connect with. We've never dated or anything but there isn't denying there is chemistry between us.

Then again, he's Axton McKay. To the world, cold brutal and very much intimidating. But to me, a boy that was just put through too much shit. But his face never shows it. It shows his Godlike features. Wherever he goes, chemistry and sparks follow. The green-blue eyes, the brown hair. The voice. Oh fuck I'm in deep.

"Sophia!" I snap back into reality as Jace looks at me.

"Jace!" I hug him. Haven't seen him for a while. He was on a trip with some friends. Jace is one of the sweetest people to exist, ever. He's very brutal when ticked off, he isn't all teddy bears and coconut-scented candles.

"I missed you!" he yells.

"Bro stop fucking shouting." Axton glares at him.

"Someone's in a bad mood." Jace teases.

"Shut up. Living room, right now!" he pushes us to the living room, where Amyra was watching Say Yes To the Dress.

"Take that shit off." he mumbles as he stands in front the TV.

He passes his hand through his hair, something he does when he's nervous.

"What's wrong?" Jace asks.

"Nothing. I have news."

"Hit us."

"Spill."

"I'm getting married."

I freeze. He's what?