A Perfect Fit

Chapter 1

Chapter One

ISABELLE

There are many things in life that can be frustrating—slow internet, waiting for a video to buffer, battling through heavy rain with an umbrella that keeps flipping inside out, someone purposely spoiling the ending of a book or movie, making a dash for the subway or elevator, only to see the doors close right in front of you, and so on and so forth.

Then there’s the realization that your seat neighbor on an eight-hour flight back home is none other than your high school rival and nemesis, whom you haven’t seen in eight years.

It’s the perfect way—sarcasm intended—to end my solo vacation to London, my first international trip in years.

This could’ve been the start of my real-life rom-com story.

I could’ve been seated next to a cute stranger.

We’d make small talk and maybe rant a little about our respective lives.

Then there’d be turbulence on the plane, and I’d end up reaching for his hand.

At some point, I might have accidentally fallen asleep on his shoulder.

When the flight was over, we’d part ways but somehow still end up bumping into each other again.

But of course, the universe has other plans.

Right now, I’m sliding into my seat, my gaze flicking to the man in the adjacent seat, who’s engrossed in the book he’s reading. Unfortunately, just a glimpse of his profile alone is quite jaw-dropping.

Honey-brown eyes, dark-brown hair, and a chiseled jaw that could cut glass. A face that’s handsome with a capital H, a face that will leave you gawking, and a face that could easily grace the cover of any fashion magazine.

But don’t you dare let Jackson Carter’s looks deceive you.

You’d think that karma would do its magic, but, nope, there he is, in all his glory, wearing a navy-blue suit that fits impeccably against his broad chest and shoulders—a stark contrast to the five layers of clothing I messily threw on.

Of course, he’s one of those people who would wear a suit on an eight-hour flight.

Why am I wearing five layers, you may ask?

Well, when I checked in at London Heathrow Airport, it turned out my luggage was overweight, and I refused to pay the extra fee or throw anything out.

It’s not my chicest look, but as a fashion designer, I’m a firm believer that fashion is a form of self-expression, and right now, my outfit is a representation of the mess I’ve found myself in.

Jackson puts down his book, his gaze meeting mine and recognition flaring on his face. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged me since I arrived on our flight. He gives my five-layered outfit a scan, his lips pressing into a thin line of disapproval then morphing into a smirk.

Forget about hi, hello, or how are you; we’re picking up right from when we last saw each other eight years ago. I already know some taunting thought about me is running through his small-minded head.

All those years, and that condescending attitude of his has not changed one bit.

My teeth grind, and I blame my pride for deciding to start a conversation with him next. “What?”

“Nothing.” Jackson leans back in his seat, picking up his book again. His voice is deeper than I recall—another reminder that he’s no longer the annoying teenage boy I knew from high school. “Just not surprised it was you who was holding the entire plane up, Isabella.”

More annoying memories of Jackson Carter come flooding back, like an old box buried away at the back of my head being reopened.

Exhibit A: him deliberately calling me Isabella instead of Isabelle.

“It’s Isabelle, not Isabella,” I corrected him more times than I could count.

“All right then, Isabella,” he replied each time.

Jackass.

That’s not all.

I didn’t think I was a competitive person until I met Jackson during freshman year of high school at Summerhurst High. I didn’t think I’d ever wanted to win anything that badly until I met the Devil reincarnated himself. But he always seemed to bring out the worst in me.

Ever since the paint incident, Jackson would come at me, making everything a competition, whether it was speech and debate, math, English or even gym class.

And he beat me nearly every single damn time.

School was already stressful enough with pressure from my strict mother and overachieving older sister—I didn’t need to also worry about competing against Jackson.

Anyway, unfortunately for me, due to thinking I’d lost my passport and underestimating my travel time to the airport, I was last to board the plane. After that, I did the walk of shame as I waddled through the plane aisle in embarrassment, feeling several sets of judgmental eyes on me.

Fortunately though, I recall Jackson despised being called Jacky, and I fully intend to capitalize on that.

“Very charming, Jacky,” I say. “I’ve got to say, though, I’m surprised the one and only Jackson Carter is flying economy class. What happened? Got fired from your job?”

“Your concern for my welfare’s flattering,” he deadpans. “But to satisfy your evident curiosity about my life, no.”

I wonder if the fire extinguisher on the plane is enough to put out his blazing ego. Probably not. Even ten fire extinguishers wouldn’t suffice.

“You know, you’d think that being exiled to London would humble you, but I guess there’s a higher chance of unicorns and elves appearing on this flight.”

Jackson’s deceiving eyes stare into mine. “And you’d think that growing up would teach you something about time management, but I suppose you’re still late to everything, as always.”

My jaw clenches as a strange yet familiar rush of energy bursts through me. Suddenly, it feels like it was only yesterday when Jackson and I were still teenagers at school, throwing insults at each other.

Determined to have the last word, I eye the cover of his book. “So, what are you reading? How to Be an Arrogant Prick 101?”

Jackson flashes a taunting smile. “Actually, it’s How to Deal with Annoying People 202. Quite convenient timing, if you ask me.”

In the background, several flight attendants are busy closing overhead compartments and checking everyone has their seat belts on. One attendant, whose name badge reads Sarah, stops by my and Jackson’s row.

“Ma’am, Mr. Carter, is everything okay?” she chirps.

“Everything’s great,” Jackson replies.

I shoot my seat neighbor a this is anything but great stare. He gives me another smile in return. A faker-than-a-toothpaste-advertisement smile.

“Wonderful. I’ll leave you to it then.” Sarah nods before saying to Jackson, “I hope the move back to New York goes well, Mr. Carter.”

My heart drops to my stomach. He’s moving back to New York?

Jackson tenses in his seat, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s not happy that Sarah just exposed his news.

Awkward bubbles of silence fill the air before Jackson finally speaks. “Thanks, Sarah.”

The pilot’s voice rings out as he begins his welcome aboard announcement, and I’m grateful for the interlude. Sarah struts off, presumably to prepare for the flight-safety demonstration, although not before offering Jackson a flirtatious smile.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, after all these years, he’s still a ladies’ magnet.

Jackson, however, doesn’t return Sarah’s sentiment. Interesting.

Twenty minutes later, we’re in the air, the plane passing through fluffy white clouds.

“So, what have you been up to these days?” I ask Jackson, who’s now pulled out his laptop and is typing away. “Managed to win the Nobel Prize yet?”

“Sure.” His eyes don’t leave his screen. “Won the Nobel Prize and discovered two new planets along the way.”

“Only two? That’s disappointing.”

Jackson shifts in his seat, his biceps flexing beneath his suit jacket. I tell myself to stop staring at his muscles or the way his long legs—

“How about you? Found any new hobbies other than spilling and dropping things?”

I suck in a breath. Think positive, relaxing thoughts. Imagine a flower or a dandelion. Or butterflies and daisy meadows. I’m cool, calm, and collected.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Boxing. I have a punching bag with a photo of your face on it. It’s great stress relief.”

A pompous smirk crosses Jackson’s lips, and I want to do nothing more than wipe it off his pretty—I mean, er … petty face.

“You have photos of me saved, Isabella?”

That’s what he took from what I said?

“A photo,” I correct. “For punching purposes, like I said.”

There’s a sudden wave of turbulence as the plane rocks sideways, and I jerk forward in my seat. In the row next to ours, a baby starts crying. Meanwhile, Jackson remains unfazed.

“You okay there?” Sarcasm drips from his tone. “Need me to press the emergency button?”

“Nope. All good.” I lean back, huffing a breath.

It’s only one flight. After the eight hours are over, I’ll hop off the plane and never see Jackson again. So what if he’s moving back? New York is a big city after all. I’ll just happily stay in my little bubble.

Satisfied with that thought, I turn on the in-flight entertainment screen and scroll through the list of movies and TV shows. When How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days shows up, I let out a tiny squeal. Have I watched this movie about a thousand times already? Yes. Will I watch something different? No.

“Do you mind toning down the excitement? I’m trying to get some work done here.”

I glare at Jackson. I wasn’t that loud. Plus, there are headphones in front of him he can use, but just like back in high school, Jackson would rather act like a jackass toward me. I suppose some things never change.

“I’m amazed your tiny, pathetic heart is even capable of comprehending excitement,” I say.

Jackson lets out a defeated sigh and gets back to working on his laptop. “Seriously? Are you ever going to stop being a pain in the neck?”

“Maybe you should go see a physiotherapist then,” I sneer.

This time, there’s a calculating gleam in his eyes. “In that case, maybe I should bill the fees under your name.”

A grumble falls from my lips. Frankly, I have a hundred better things to do than continue this conversation with him, such as getting back to my movie. “You know what? Do whatever you want. I’m done with this conversation.”

“I see a white flag of surrender here.”

“While you’re at it, you should see an optometrist, too.”

“And bill the fees under your name as well?”

I stretch my legs out in front of me. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I thought you said you were done talking to me.”

Not bothering to reply, I plug in my headphones and proceed to watch my movie.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jackson going back to work on his laptop.

I’m not surprised. Back in school, if he wasn’t studying, he was excelling at various extracurricular activities.

I shut down the distracting thoughts as if I were closing a tab on a web browser.

The next two hours go by fast, and when the cabin lights dim out, I slip on my eye mask to catch some sleep, hoping that when I wake up, we’ll have arrived in New York already.

While asleep, I dream of my first day as a freshman at my high school—Summerhurst High.

And for some odd reason, in my dream, I hear a voice inside my head telling me that something is about to begin again.