Temptation [h.s.] ✔

Chapter 11.

        My feet pound against the sidewalk as I jog toward Styles Advertising Headquarters for my meeting with my agent. The wind is biting but welcome. Each breeze smacks me in the face as I run into it as if it can knock sense into me.

        I fight against the urge to take a deep breath as I round the corner and the imposing building comes into view. Since Aaron moved here to be with Dayton, the Seattle office has taken over the New York one as the lead one. It's always crazy busy with people constantly running in and out, dashing to elevators, and speaking into cellphones.

        Again, I find myself thankful for the chill outside. It means I'm not sweaty as I work my way through the busy lobby in my yoga pants and new Nikes. I take the elevator to the third floor, and the receptionist smiles at me.

        "Take a seat, Miss Warren. I'll let Sheila know you're here."

        "Thanks." That girl has an incredible memory. I swear I've never heard her call anyone by anything other than their name.

        I flick through a Vogue magazine as I wait. Unfortunately, it's last month's, so the content isn't all that interesting. I've read it every time I've been here in the last three or so weeks. I put it back on the table next to my chair just as Clara steps out.

        "Liv, Sheila will see you now." Her voice is cold and clinical, and I wonder why she's not in New York instead of Seattle. She has a little too much bitch for our smaller fashion industry. I shoot her a sickly sweet smile that reeks of falseness and pass her.

        Sheila's office is warm and comforting but staunchly professional at the same time. There are photos of her family on her desk, but the walls are lined with photos of her models on their best campaigns. There's one of me in the far corner from the swimwear shoot I did last summer.

        I have to admit, it's one of my favorites, too. The swimsuit made my boobs look really, really good.

        "Liv! Come in. Take a seat. Would you like a coffee?" Sheila looks up and sets her glasses on top of her head, carefully avoiding her bangs.

        "A bottle of water would be great, thanks. I ran here," I explain unnecessarily.

        "Of course, hon." She picks up her phone and asks Clara for a coffee and a bottled water.

        "First, we'll go over your pictures from your latest shoot. Then we'll discuss the possibility of the new one. Okay with you?"

        "Sure." I wait as she pulls out a file and lays the photos out on her desk.

        Clara comes in with our drinks and leaves without saying a word. Moody bitch.

        We flick through the pictures one by one, creating three piles. Yes. No. Maybe. Looking at them this way, I almost believe Harry when he said that he'd never be able to choose his favorites. It's hard enough for me and Sheila to do it.

        Because, damn. Harry Styles is a fucking good photographer.

        I don't like many pictures of myself, but I like these. Somehow, through the awkwardness of seeing each other again and that raging sexual tension that basically had me wet the whole shoot, we somehow managed to get some incredible pictures.

        After flicking through the 'maybe' pile, we pick four photos and add them to the 'yes' one. Satisfied, I take a long drink from my water while Sheila organizes the pictures.

        "Right, this shoot. It's for Balfour, a new swimwear company. This is their first major campaign and they're using the advertising department to make a few waves. Now, if they select you and the first shoot goes well, there's the potential to become the face of the company."