BEWITCHED & BOTHERED

11 ✰ (Still) Afternoon, October 5th

The room was charged.

I could feel static jumping in the air around me; kissing my skin and causing my gooseflesh to rise and I knew, without even seeing him, that Magnus MacCallan was in the room.

It took me less than a second to find him, standing near the entrance in his usual grey suit. As soon as my eyes fell on him, he caught me staring, like he'd been expecting it.

Static sparkled at my cheeks.

I smiled at him but his features were unmoving, and he tore his eyes away.

I knew Magnus would be surprised to see me at the photoshoot, but he looked more hostile than surprised. Which was odd for someone who was thrilled to have his hand on my ass just two days ago.

He didn't look at me even when Hugo and I reached his side next to Simon and Stacey (who was obviously fawning all over him).

My insides fizzled out a little. Hugo glanced at me, as if thinking: aren't you two friends?

"You take such good care of your skin, Mr. Allan. You're a perfect canvas!" Stacey cooed, fluttering her heavy mink lashes at Magnus.

"Thank you," Magnus replied, that deep strange voice seeping into my toes. "I cannae remember the last time I put makeup on. Or if ever."

Stacy giggled as if it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard in her life.

"Don't you worry your pretty head over that, dear. I'll take good care of ya."

Hugo gave me a look, and mumbled "I'm sure she'd love to."

By now, it was too late for me to say hi to Magnus without looking like a complete weirdo. Despite the clear static going haywire between us, Magnus was still ignoring my presence, as if I were an insignificant insect.

I am that ladybug.

"Hi, Mr. Allan, I'm Hugo Jerrod, the photographer," Hugo said after clearing his throat awkwardly, and Magnus regarded him with an icy-grey stare. I'd never seen Hugo intimidated before, but he practically shrank an inch shorter under Magnus' scrutiny. Hugo cleared his throat again and turned to me with cement-tight cheeks. "I'm guessing you already know Lena Winters?"

Finally, Magnus' attention turned to me and heat washed over my body.

"Ms. Winters," he said curtly, extinguishing the flames.

I uttered out a painfully formal in return, "Mr. Allan."

The hell?

"What are you doing here?" Yet again, his face and tone betrayed no emotions.

"I'm the stylist, Mr. Allan."

"Do I need one?" he challenged.

I choked a laugh, letting my eyes travel along the length of his grey suit and his body stiffened at the appraisal.

"Oh, you most fucking definitely do," I said tightly.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Magnus did not look pleased at my snippiness. In fact, he didn't look pleased to see me at all.

"Fine," he said.

"Fine," I parroted.

There was a thick period of silence that ensued before Simon's impassive voice sliced through it.

"Mr. Allan, I'm Simon Novak. I'll be interviewing you today."

Magnus turned to the journalist, releasing me from his attention. My shoulders slumped in relief, but my chest felt deflated. The only thing plaguing my mind was how much I hated my outfit.