They say to surround yourself with people you love, people who life you up, people who make you better. So who in the absolute hell that is my life thought it was a good idea to put me anywhere in the vicinity of Daphne Vaughn?

All throughout our office, my feelings toward her were perfectly clear. It wasn't necessarily a huge deal, but I went out of my way to avoid her. My coworkers also happened to be very accommodating of this, which was a plus.

The email came through from my manager about there only needing to be a few of us attending this conference, and out of the volunteers, he would pick the few that he needed to come along. Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have thought that he would have taken both of us, if we had both volunteered. I figured he would choose one of the other - whoever he needed the most (which I would like to think is me, because... Daphne).

Which leads me to where I currently am now. In the ballroom of an old hotel unable to focus on making the connections I'm supposed to because of Daphne Vaughn.

She wasn’t just pretty—no, that would be too easy. She had to be breathtaking, like some cruel joke the universe played on the rest of us.

She had that ‘effortlessly beautiful’ thing going on, though I knew it took effort. No one just wakes up with skin that clear, right? Right?

I knew what everyone around us was thinking. 'Why would I go talk to Lillian Drake when Daphne Vaughn is here, too?'

Daphne was beautiful and she knew it. She wielded her beauty like a weapon, flashing those big, innocent eyes like a dagger slipped between the ribs. People tripped over themselves to talk to her, hypnotized by the way she carried herself—like the world owed her something, and worse, like it agreed.

Looking around the room, I realized that Daphne stuck out. Except 'like a sore thumb' doesn't quite fit. In fact, she was dolled up so much, it made the rest of us look like sore thumbs. Trust miss perfect to not even read the dress code and show up everyone else in the process.

Her hair fell in those perfect waves—like she’d just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. As if life had ever given her a bad hair day.

Her legs went on forever. Great for her. I’m sure it must be exhausting being that graceful all the time. She had that ‘just rolled out of bed’ look, except somehow it made her look like a model instead of a mess. Some people have all the luck.

I felt like I was in high school all over again. This is the worst. I didn't even hate prom this much, and I had a terrible time at prom.

At the thought of prom, suddenly, inexplicably, I was thrown back to sitting in my basement watching Julia Stiles and Heath Ledger during their prom scene. But then, my mind skipped ahead to a scene that happened just a little later on. It was the only movie I watched during the summer when I was 16. I could quote it by heart. And the one scene specifically, that's playing very vividly in my mind is a scene I had thought of as the epitome of romance for years.

"I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair.

I hate the way you drive my car.

I hate it when you stare.

I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind.

I hate you so much that it makes me sick and even makes me rhyme.

I hate the way you're always right.

I hate it when you lie.

I hate it when you make me laugh,

Even worse when you make me cry.

I hate it when you're not around and the fact that you didn't call.

But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you,

Not even close,

Not even a little bit,

Not even at all."

I swallowed loudly at the implications of the poem running through my head and what it might mean. Before my thoughts could take off, however, I made a very conscious effort to stop thinking entirely. What I need, I decided, is the strongest drink I could get from the open bar.