I'M NOT YOUR WOMAN. (✓)

06. defiant.

|◁ II ▷|

6lack — nonchalant.

JEÁN-PAUL BISSET, distinguished celebrity photographer stood steaming red in the upscaled, rented Kensington loft. His subject for the inaugural shoot with Armani for their honorary list of UK's Hottest Athletes was late — for the fifth year, in a row.

He erratically paced up and down the minimalistic loft with his eyes watching the tickers on the clock move slowly. Those that knew him well — knew that he lacked any semblance of patience. The list of those who had suffered at the hands of his foul temper was endless and Annie Graham was now the newest member on the long list.

"Anna!" Bisset gestured Graham to come.

Graham knew better than to correct Bisset — but felt slighted that he should at least bother to know the names of those working on his set especially when she had been an intern for him for more than a year.

"Any sign of Ebén yet?"

She timidly shook her head, "Not yet, no"

The wait had proved to be too taxing on his middle-aged body and he didn't have the energy to continue being patient. His eyes flocked to the wall clock — it was now 10:15AM and still no sign of his subject.

"No?!" he hotly repeated, causing the young intern to cower under the glare of his temper. She was looking for something — anyone, to save her; but found out at that moment that others would rather pretend not to see, rather than help her.

The fear even made it even difficult for her to gulp and answer him, without her words violently vibrating against her larynx, "His agent said to me that he would be here... soon"

"How soon is soon, Abbie?" Bisset prowled at her timid and impressionable eyes that was blind to what she had signed up for. He did not want a vague answer; but wanted an accurate ETA as he liked to deal with facts — not hypotheticals.

She answered him, with unsureness laced on her tongue, "He said... ten minutes?"

"I hope for your sake, it is ten minutes, Abbie... and not longer otherwise I'll have to — "

Ebén's lax entry before Bisset had even finished drumming his threat to Annie had saved her, her job — and her dignity. He strode in like he could sense that eyes were pining after him; not caring that he had affecting the schedules of other people.

Annie, whose job description did not involve attending on Ebén's hand and foot, whisked him straight into his set-chair and gleamed her clover green eyes at him with the coyest of smiles.

She was plumped in all the wrong places — as her rolls of skin sagged against her hips and Ebén couldn't understand where her boldness came from. Her eyes veered south; and Ebén knew why she had paused and looked at it intently; like she wanted to be apart of the long list of women whose cores had been filled with his essence.

Ebén knew that he loved sex — but he didn't love it that much to forgo his number one rule.

Never bruck fat women.

Ebén did not feel like he was being discriminatory to those with fleshier bodies — but opted for what he liked, even if it was bound to cause offence.

Her stubby fingers had gripped the metal tweezers and started plucking at his bristle-chest. Her bushy eyebrows rose up as she focused on pulling hairs but he didn't like that she was so close but understood that she had a job to do.