Sweet | h.s.

two

Beverly

He awkwardly smiled at me, and I sensed a bit of uncomfortableness of it all.

"Sorry, it just kinda hit me." I stifle a laugh.

I've heard a few things about him and his band - well, ex band, he was a solo artist now - and I had to be honest - I wasn't exactly a fan. He seemed like just another stuck up celebrity that's way overrated. Granted, he was good looking but that was probably one of the only reasons he was famous anyways.

He seemed cocky almost, from what I've heard. He was probably rude and self-centered and he was a sex symbol. I don't support men who think they can get any girl they want just because they're rich and famous, and him being here doesn't help the fact that I absolutely despise him. I'm unsure of whether or not I need to be nice to him, considering he is a celebrity, but then I realize that I shouldn't have to give him any special treatment.

"'S'alright. It's nice to meet you, sorry for knocking you down. Bit of a clumsy one, I am." He apologizes, rubbing the nape of his neck.

"Yeah, no problem. What are you doing here, anyways? Do you need help with something?" I ask, trying to get him out of here as soon as possible.

"Jus' came to look for my fedora." He tells me and my eyes travel to the brown hat that lays on the chair. His eyes follow my gaze and I walk over to retrieve it for him.

"I'm assuming it's this one, considering it's the only one here."

"Ah, yes. Left the thing on the chair, I think." He smiles, and I notice his dimples on both sides of his cheeks.

His voice is low, raspy even and very deeply accented. He's dangerously handsome; and pictures don't do him justice. His hair is messy and long, the brown chocolate curls wild and untamed.

He's tall and skinny; gangly even, but it fits him. Tattoos peek through his shirt, and I recognize some of them from pictures. He's dressed in a white dress shirt, a black blazer laying overtop, and black dress pants. On his feet are black ankle boots. He looks good. But I still don't like the guy.

He looks the same, yet different from what I see online and in the news. His skin is just a tad bit paler, and he's only a tad bit shorter than what people have said, and how I've pictured him through his photos online and in magazines. I can practically smell him from where I'm standing too, and we aren't very close together. The scent of expensive cologne and subtle mint reaches my nose and it smells good.

"I hadn't realized that you were at the fashion show." I speak, after an awkward few seconds of him staring at me, and me awkwardly trying to avoid his stare.

"Oh - yeah I enjoy that sort of stuff I guess. Came with a good friend of mine. Was quite interesting." He tells me.

"Glad you enjoyed the show."

"I don't think I saw you up there, no?" He points to the catwalk.

"Oh no. No, I don't model. If I was, do you think you'd be seeing me holding a trash bag?" I say.

"Hm." He hums, a strange look on his face that I can't quite decipher. "You work here then?"

"Yeah, I'm an assistant. I help the models get ready and help my boss send orders out and stuff like that."

"I see. Don't know why I've never seen you before."

"Probably because I work backstage where no one sees me." I raise an eyebrow.

Before he has the chance to say anything back, my phone begins to ring again.

"Sorry, one second." I mutter and hold up a finger. I walk backstage and answer the call.