Wheels Down in 30

~ prologue ~

The insistent ring of my cell phone rang through my condo. Annoyance spread onto my tan face as I blindly reached over to my beside table, clumsily answering, "Francesca Valentino," I answer, attempting to make my voice sound even the bit awake. 

I wholeheartedly hated my name, not because it wasn't pretty, it was just extremely posh and with my accent, I sounded like some Nobel. Also, for the life of me I couldn't find a nickname.

In fact, the only one people could come up with way Frani, which I hated. Instead, I had close friends and exes call me Faye, or by a shortened version of my middle name Danielle; Dani.

"Work now, we have a story!" my boss's squeaky voice sounds through the phone. He was the definition of a power hungry idiot. He was a balcony person, always wanting the attention on him or in other words, his company.

I hang up, not even acknowledging him. There were very limited people in this world that pissed me off, but Maxwell Garwood was very close to the top of the pitiful list.

Rolling out of bed quite dramatically, I lazily make my way to the bathroom. I came from a family who struggled with money. Not in the way of we didn't have it, just more of my parents didn't know how to spend it. People called it ghetto rich, meaning when they got money they just spent it right away since they didn't always have it. That meant that every time I walked into my pristine white granite bathroom I was still shocked.

My parents, if you could call them that, weren't the most involved and even borderline abusive. That led to a multitude of problems ultimately ending in me moving away at the ripe age of 17. I had moved to America via two scholarships, one to Columbia, the other to Harvard. I received two BA's in Communications and one in Social Sciences.

I worked for ABC News as the head reporter and travelled all around the US to get stories. I do send my parents money but we don't talk. I think we've all come to this mutual understanding that we don't get along, and after 9 years of not talking, I am pretty sure that wasn't about to change.

I mean the last conversation we had before I left was about them selling me off for marriage to make money so...

Brushing my teeth, I avoided looking at myself in the mirror. I knew that if I did all the memories of Mason and Michael would swarm my mind. I had come to the conclusion after Michael left that I brought out the worst in people.

With my parents, with Mason, with Maxwell, and with myself.

Walking out of the chilly bathroom, I pull open my wardrobe. I despised the dress code I was given but I wasn't about to add to my ever brewing shit pot with more shit. Realizing that today was Wednesday, I groan quietly, before reaching down and feeling my legs.

I had a wax Monday and was hoping that I wouldn't have to shave this morning. Luckily my tan legs were still smooth. I slip on a white and black skirt which laid barely above my knees, and a black, long-sleeved, tight shirt.

I hated Wednesday's, mostly because it was mandatory of me to wear a dress or skirt. Contrary to popular belief, reporters go to murder scenes and waste disasters, the last thing we need to be wearing is a dress.

I guess the only good thing that comes out of this was the fact that I got to choose my hair for the day.

I pulled my honey brown hair into a French braid, before lying it across my left shoulder. Slipping on a pair of black wedges, I let out a sigh.

It was going to be a long day.

*

Scoffing to myself, turn my blinker off, "You want me to go to a family home to interview them on the recent death of their mother?" I ask, disbelief lining my every word.

"Yes." Maxwell states simply.

I lick my lower lip, biting on it slightly, "No. I'm a reporter ya, but I have boundaries even I won't cross, that's one of them. Find someone else." I demand, now driving around aimlessly.

I hear him let out a sigh of annoyance, "Francesca, get your ass over to that house and get me some coverage if you want to keep your job," he threatens.

I laugh a bit, "I find it amusing that you think you can threaten me, do you know how many news organization will pick me up, hell I got a offer to be a host on Good Morning America two days ago, don't make me take it," I simply say. Sometimes he really pissed me off.

"I wonder how Michael would feel about that," he spoke, the threat clear in his words.

Clenching my jaw, I let out a humorless laugh, "He left, we're over, he has no control over me." I state, my words lacking there usual confidence.

I hear Maxwell chuckle, "Oh sweetie, it's cute you think he has no control over you. House now." without saying another word, he hangs up.

Swallowing thickly, I make a U-turn.

15 minutes later I arrived at my destination, noting that my camera crew was already situated. Slowly getting out of the car, I slam my door shut behind me, every muscle in my body yelling at me to not walk forward.

Making my way to the front door, I knock, letting myself slip into reporter mode. Samuel, my camera man sends me an apologetic look, discretely moving his camera and mic away from me.

The painted red door swings open, a man standing there with blotchy red eyes, "What!" he snaps, causing me to tense.

Sending him a small smile, I force myself not to flinch, "I'm a reporter with WWOR-TV, please just listen for a second," I mumble when he goes to shut his door. Sighing he nods slightly, "I don't want to do this, but when those other reporters get here, they aren't going to care. My job is to get into your personal business and invade every sense of privacy you have, and I'm sorry for that. All I can say now is stay away from your windows, keep your kids inside, and do not open this door no matter what." I nod, "If family comes, have them use a back door, just, don't answer anything, we have a really good way of twisting it, I am sorry in advance for what I have to say on camera," I inform, before turning away, not giving him a chance to respond.

Walking up to Samuel, he helps me arrange myself in the frame, before counting down slowly, "Good morning New York City..."