2.
⠀⠀⠀"BEST TIMING," Louis breathed out sardonically as he winced in pain. He wriggled his wrist, hearing the clanging of his silver watch. "That hurt so much!" he complained.
Y/N sat up and removed her hands from his neck. She stood up quickly, brushing all the dirt off her attire, "Sir! I was just showing Mister Partridge the closet room with the files in order. He asked me for the most grossing movie we've made for the past two years."
The man scoffed. He was not easily fooled, "Miss Cabrera, a conversation."
She nodded and awkwardly turned to check on the wincing boy on the floor before looking back to her boss. She followed the man going west of the building.
"I think I need a little help here," Louis mumbled. "Alfie? Would you like to say hi?", he sarcastically added.
"Sure, but after you're drenched in blood." He grunted making her roll her eyes, "You make an awful lot of noise, don't you?"
"I've been told. Countless of times."
Another young woman walked in on the scene and gave both of them a look. "Alfie?"
The ginger sighed and turned to smile, "Andrea! I was just helping him up." She let out a nervous laughter, gesturing towards the boy.
Andrea arched an eyebrow and watched midst Sharapova's struggle to get Louis off the floor.
"Don't get too comfortable, Partridge. I'm only doing this for that woman. I'm not planning to spare you after," she muttered quietly to him.
"Er, Alfie?" Andrea called.
"Yeah?" Sharapova questioned.
"Are you free this evening? My brother invited me over to dinner with his wife. I don't want things to get awkward with just me. Do you want to come with?"
"Miss Prince! Thank God. Everyone's having a riot in the office. The chart due tomorrow's gone missing!" a girl shouted.
"What?!" Prince responded and quickly walked up to her. "Alfie, if it's a yes, call me!"
As Andrea's figure disappeared, the red-head looked at the open air in unexplainable surprise, completely forgetting about the boy she was helping. Her grip loosened resulting into him falling onto the floor once again with a whimper.
"Ow!"
"Zip it. I'm stressing about the fit I'm going to wear later. Should I go as casual or fancy? Fancy's intimidating. I need something that would fit her standards - Not that I care what she thinks. That would be humiliating."
"Well, you can start by telling me Cabrera's schedule."
⠀⠀⠀ISABELLA CURSED UNDER her breath and ran inside the studio with haste only to stop at the sight of more than ten people in the room, rushing station by station.
"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.
"Listen, I don't know who you think you are ㅡ "
"Issie!" Claine called.
"But I'll have you know ㅡ " She continued despite the desperate calls for her name.
"Issie!"
"I don't value argument more than my job. Your friend is calling you. Why not answer?" he pumped before standing up from his seat and heading to the other side of the room.
Issie's eyes carefully followed his steps and turned to Claine once she noticed nothing else could be said and done, "Claine, who was that?"
"Someone you shouldn't have talked to." The woman answered and pulled her back to her seat.
"Who?"
"Clint Amadeus. Falgyro's nephew."
CHAPTER DICTIONARY
Sardonically :: Adverb
a synonym i used for sarcastically
Midst :: Preposition
short term for 'in the middle of'
Pumped :: Verb
a synonym i used for 'asked'.
Archaic :: Adjective
very old or old-fashioned. synonym
of obsolete and out-of-date.
Intriguing :: Adjective
a synonym i used for 'interesting'.
Pillock :: Insult
an informal british insult referring
to a stupid / idiotic person.
CHAPTER GALLERY
Clint Amadeus
Claine Abanda
Andrea Prince
Make-up Studio
Issie's Vanity
Steven Fauldhouse
CHAPTER INFORMATIONS
WORDS - 1167
UPDATED - O2 / O5 / 2O21
EDITED - NOT YET