"It's my vision. Nothing is approved, declined, or fixed without me present in some form. This is my album and not yours. Got it?" A smallish woman with low slung jeans and platinum hair bites into the receiver. "I don't give a fuck. This is mine. Go check and see who's executive producing? Oh, wait.... It's me.... No Peder. What the fuck did I just say....That's what I thought. Now go fix the fucking track and don't call me until it's fucking finished. Got it? Thank you."
"Uhh, is everything okay?" You approach the singer cautiously, stumbling a bit when she whirls around with fire in her eyes.
"What?" She questions with the remnants of frustration dripping from her tone. It dissipates quickly when she realizes you're not a part of her current war path. "Oh. Yeah, I'm fine." She pauses and scans you up and down. The look is neither appraising or judging, just observant. You are a stranger after all, just a measly studio assistant who was asked to see if the people in studio 10 needed anything. "Who're you?"
"Just one of the assistants. They asked me to see if you guys needed anything but it's just you so, um, do you need anything?" It's impossible to stop yourself from fidgeting. The woman in front of you looks young, like super young, maybe a year older than you at the most. Not to mention she's incredibly attractive. The crop top and low waistband on her jeans leave a decent amount of skin, which you're totally doing a great job of not staring at, and are those freckles dotting her face?
The nameless blonde smiles at you and, for a second, an almost predatory look crosses her face but you're sure it's just a result of the dim light by the mixing board. And your hopeless imagination. "Nope," she pops the last syllable. "My assistant and everyone just went out for lunch. They're bringing me something back."
"Alright...Well, that's cool. I'm just going to get going then. Good luck..." You trail off in hopes that she'll fill in the blank.
"Ashley."
"Cool, good luck then, Ashley. I'm Y/N. Let me know if you need anything."
This time you can't mistake the predatory look she gives you, "Most definitely. Bye."
