ASTEROID TEARS || L. PARTRIDGE [2]

ONE ⇢ ISABELLA PARTRIDGE

"Issie. What time is it?!" Claine, her make-up artist asked and pulled her quickly to the vanity next to a guy sitting on a chair, fumbling with his camera.

She put her bag down and sat on the chair, turning the small circular mirror her way. Claine took a hold of her set and grabbed a make-up brush. "You did put moisturiser on before attending, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Issie absent-mindedly answered as she turned her head to the guy with a camera. She furrowed her eyebrows noticing something dodgy about him. Claine went to another station with the objective of borrowing a few tools for her hair.

He pointed his camera to her direction and let out a sigh. He bit the insides of his cheek, showing much of his chiseled jawline. His thick eyebrows slowly knitted themselves together as a click was heard.

A flash went off, almost blinding the eldest Partridge. She shut her eyes closed and scoffed, "Bloody hell, man!" She exclaimed.

The guy looked up and met her sharp stare. They stayed like that for seconds until he decided to shrug and return his gaze towards the camera.

The contraption continued to flash three times making Issie stand up from her seat. "Excuse me, sir!"

He didn't look up.

She looked around in exasperation and crossed her arms. It was embarrassing. He should be responding to her, not ignoring her.

"Sir."

There goes another sigh. He put his camera down to the side and crossed his arms as if to imitate the girl. He looked up, ignoring the small curly lock that almost blocked his right eye.

He hummed in a questioning tune and waited for her to say something.

"Aren't you aware you're blinding me back there?" she asked.

His face was neutral. No emotions were written, and he was as good as a blank canvas, "Can't say I am," he replied.

"You're taking photos of models without their permission. It's prohibited," she stated. He shrugged his shoulders like he did before and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets.

'What an arse!' She thought to herself. "Please apologise and not do it again.

He bit his lip and let out a laugh of ironic astonishment, "Excuse me. Er, who are you?" he asked.

Her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. Her blood started boiling as she swallowed her spit, "Why do you need my name?"

His eyes travelled to the name written on the chair she sat on earlier and returned to her, "Miss Partridge, I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused, but I was simply trying to fix my camera. It's my fault for not informing you. I could delete the photos as easy as one, two, and three. It was purely unintentional."

There was something archaic with the way he spoke. It was intriguing to Issie to say the least. To point his personality in a stereotypical turn, she would describe him as an intellectual pillock.

She sucked in an awkward breath before nodding her head, "Okay . . . - thank you."

He shook his head and grabbed his camera, "To beg for someone's apology is a form of disrespect to yourself," he mumbled audibly for her to hear.

"Pardon?"

"I said good luck turning around to find your seat with much dignity as you had the moment you walked in the room." He said, examining the back of his camera.