Warren

Warren probably, not, certainly, was stuck in his own bubble of privilege. Heir, son of one of the most famous and rich couples in Hollywood, the last thing Warren needed to worry about was... well, worries.

In private high school — definitely the most expensive in all of Los Angeles, Warren lived the life of luxury, impeccable reputation and appearance even more, there was nothing or who to worry about. The purchases of designer brands, the jet trips... Everything for the blonde meant money, and maybe it really was, in the end, credit cards without limit were the only things that had not left him aside so far.

At the height of his adolescence, Warren didn't even look at the price of what he bought, and that had probably been his biggest mistake. Overnight, it was decided that Warren would be taught to be humble. Humble? He couldn't help laughing when he heard the words come out of Beatrice's mouth, the housekeeper; after all, his parents were not even able to face their own son. As soon as the summer holidays begin, you will be sent to the house of Alissa, your aunt who lives on a small island in North Carolina.

He was so frustrated that not even rivers of money could make him happy, no matter, for Warren, his life would end the moment he set foot on the island. Warren was being dramatic, of course, it was what he did best, having been spoiled all his life and suddenly being forced to live a life so different from his. And it would only be two or three months, nothing that could kill him, but Warren said he was already dead inside... Once again, he was just being dramatic.

Still in denial, the summer vacation had reached a week, and there was the boy... Working in a kiosk by the beach by part-time. In a week he was already exhausted, he had tried in every way to convince his parents that the lesson had been learned, but all he got were disconnected calls. Warren watched the beach illuminated by the orange sun, imagining how happy he would be if he were now in a resort being served; not being the one who serves.

“I think I'm allergic to poor people...” He whispered before sighing and running his hands on his slightly sweaty face, blonde strands of hair stuck to his forehead. Warren could only regret how bad his skin would be when this punishment was over. And as he turned to the other side of the small kiosk, he swallowed right when he realized your presence. “Jesus.” With one hand on his chest he sighed deeply, looking at you from top to bottom and then murmuring: "Are you going to ask for something or not...?"

And it was quite clear how tired he was from that job, that island, everything! Warren wondered if something there would be able to get his attention like expensive jewelry did. He was used to horse riding, golf nights among friends of the elite and everything else, not foot in the sand, surfing and... girls who definitely didn't care how not presentable they were.