n o v a (incomplete)

s e v e n

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s e v e n

*gentle reminder the pictures are not her outfits, just the aesthetic*

"Miss Blaire?" her form turns around with having heard her name, the sound deep and monotone.

Her eyes are met with a man in a black suit, standing with his hands placed over one another, stance professional. Her nod is soft, mocha eyes brushing over him, ignoring the intimidation slowly settling within her stomach.

It was odd how easily she was threatened, considering the fact that she danced almost naked on a pole often for people. But that was different. She wasn't Nova then, and now in such close proximity of someone she doesn't know, it's unnerving.

It doesn't help that nervousness has nipped at her, growing like a tsunami in her stomach, becoming less and less tameable as the seconds tick by. She had been antsy about this meeting all morning, and the closer she got to it, the more reckless her nerves were.

Currently, she'd been waiting in a public space, a good fifteen minutes away from her home.

The Adolfo's had insisted on sending someone to collect her, and there was no way she was going to let that happen from the door of her home. She'd be mortified, and it wouldn't set a good impression. So, she had asked to meet here for nine-thirty, and the car had arrived not a second before or later.

"Yes," she eventually murmurs.

Her hands clutch the large over-sized beige handbag she brought, containing her sketchbooks and her laptop, as well as a bunch of other things the secretary had emailed over, and she'd blown up and printed through a friend. It's placed on her shoulder.

The man only nods, before gesturing for her to come his way.

It's only a few minutes to the car he had parked, her intimidation growing once realising that it was pretty expensive, sleek and black. The door is opened for her, and she's encouraged to go in. A blush strokes her cheeks at such etiquette, before her attention is stolen away by the mesh of leather she sits on, like cushioned butter.

Her thoughts become clustered as they start their journey – the man doesn't say anything else. Nova looks down at her attire, no longer sure it was suitable. She didn't have much in her wardrobe that wasn't lingerie.

She had opted for a plaid pencil skirt that sat above her knees, a mix of nudes and faint pinks, with a white bodysuit, the collar propped, and her slender neck exposed, with her hair being pulled up high on her head. She only adorns one ring, complimenting the nails she had done recently. Heels were a no-go, and she boldly went for white bulky trainers.

She regrets it now.

Nova knew this wasn't going to be business-meeting formal, but she thinks that she should've overdressed than risk being underdressed.

She exhales quietly. She couldn't do anything about it now. She couldn't change her outfit, she couldn't find more material samples, she couldn't draw anything up or make any more mood boards.

This was it.

Through the next forty minutes of the journey, Nova somehow manages to swallow down her anxiety, instead becoming entranced by what was beyond the window. They had long left the small stingy town, embarking onto the highway and now through an isolated area.