Neither of my parents understand this, even though they should. They both came from nothing and they both grew Tate Media into what it is today. My mother was not the type to stay at home. She is Tate's Chief Financial Officer and that’s just scratching the surface of what she does there.

My parents are Tate Media. They have built it from scratch, buying up one distressed radio station at a time. They know the ins and outs of the whole business and, despite all of that, they have never made me feel welcome there.

I have spent one long and miserable summer there during my sophomore year with both of them looking over my shoulder and micro-managing my every move. After that, I said no more and promised myself that I would never work there again.

The guy glances at me. I sit back in the lounger and point my toes. I take a sip of my margarita, pursing my lips just so. I adjust my Chanel sunglasses and oversized floppy hat to both hide my gaze and to get a better look at him.

He’s cute enough and probably witty, to a degree, but I wish that people weren’t so predictable. I know exactly what he’s going to say before he says it. I know exactly what he’s going to compliment me on and what he’s going to pay attention to. There is no surprise and without that, he will be just like a hundred others I’ve met who did not hold my interest.

He walks up to me slowly. I brace myself for a boring pick-up line. He looks deep into my eyes, so deeply in fact that I can't look away. I pull my sunglasses to the bridge of my nose and wait for him to open his mouth. His lips curl at the corners, but only slightly.

“Have you ever read Flannery O’Connor?"

I sit back in my seat, taken aback. Hmm…this is interesting.

“Of course,” I say, raising one eyebrow.

"She's one of my favorite writers,” he says, spreading his shoulders out widely. He holds a mop in one hand and with the other runs his fingers through his hair.

The confidence he exudes is overwhelming, and a little off-putting. “Why are you asking about her?”

“Well, I was just reading one of her stories this morning before work, Good Country People. You know it?”

I nod.

“Really?” he asks as if he doesn’t believe me.

He is challenging me, which is not something that usually happens. No, let me amend that. That’s not something that has ever happened.