Beautiful Things | Wolfstar

Eight

Remus wipes the sweat off his palms when he walks up to Black Inc. The two doormen, Benjamin and Keith, open the doors as he approaches. Remus turns to thank them, opting not to use their names due to the fact he had no idea who was who. The marble floor is just as impeccably clean as it was the day before, if not cleaner. The receptionist sits behind her desk offering a friendly smile to him.

"Hello," Remus greets with a slight wave. He leans over the ledge desk, noticing the tiny plate of chocolates wrapped in gold for guests. "I'm Remus Lupin."

"I know who you are," Eliza replies, her dark brown eyes hidden behind large rectangular glasses. "I'm the main receptionist, Eliza. Feel free to call down if you need anything."

Remus nods before making his way to the elevator. He's joined by seven women, all standing as tall as himself. They're dressed casually with bare faces showing their natural beauty. Together, they step onto the elevator. Remus blushes when he makes eye contact with one of the women, shyly pushing the round button for the 12th floor.

"I love your shirt," one says amidst the silence. Remus glances around, unsure who had spoken, and his lip quivers with the thanks he is unable to vocalize. The girl farthest left, leaning against the reflective walls, speaks again. "Never been in an elevator full of models before?"

"Can't say I ever have," Remus answers. He takes notice of her curly hair, pushed back with the help of a colorful headband.

The doors slide open on the 8th floor, and the models shuffle out one by one. The last turning to Remus with plush pink lips. "You have the face of a model, you should give it a try."

Remus' reflection faces him when the doors shut. His hand faintly runs over the faded scar crossing over his forehead down the side of his cheek. A face of a model? He dismisses the thought when he steps out onto the 12th floor. The office is a labyrinth filled with well dressed people going to and from places with stacks of papers, cameras, and racks of clothing. Phones ringing echo in one ear and bits of conversation find their way in the other. James' office door is shut with no sign of the flamboyant man. Remus dodges their paths to avoid a collision, and finds his way to Sirius Black's office.

Remus strides down the lengthy hallway, straightening his posture to appear put together. The glossy onyx door is propped open with an air of invitation. The click of his heel drowns out any sound as he approaches the room, sweat beginning to bead at his forehead.

Sirius is behind the desk with a pen in hand. His dark hair falls like waves of silk, tucked behind his ears. Today, he wears a midnight blue button down that hugs the muscles of his arms; it's sheer enough to see the jet black inking across his chest, but just the right amount opaque that they are unable to make out. The same few necklaces dangle freely from his neck and dance against his exposed chest when he moves.

"Good...day," Remus greets with a dip in his voice.

Sirius peers up through his thick, dark lashes and slowly looks Remus over. His attire is bright and colorful, a direct contrast to his own appearance. "Did you find a place to live?" he asks, his voice deep and raspy.

"I did."

"Where?"

Remus pulls out the crinkled piece of notebook paper and sets it on the desk. "Three-ten Elio Street."

Sirius' eyes merely flicker over to the paper before he pushes aside the workload before him. His ring-clad hand opens a drawer to his right and pulls out a box. "Your new phone," he states, sliding it across the expansive desk. Remus takes a cautionary step forward and picks up the box when Sirius gets to his feet. His height towers around six feet, though he's just an inch or two shy of Remus. "Bring a notebook and follow me."

Remus hastily unzips his backpack and pulls out his small book and a pen. By the time he looks up, Sirius is already halfway down the hall. He lightly jogs to catch up, slowing to a fast paced walk when he graces Sirius' side.

"Where are we going?" Remus asks.

"Photoshoot," Sirius answers.

The office seems to suck in a breath when Sirius appears, and within a single heartbeat, it resumes back to normal. "Your office." His arm lazily points to a door they pass by and Remus' gaze lingers on the empty space. Much larger than his old desk at the Harper Post.

Remus remains tight lipped when they step into the elevator. He keeps his eyes fixated on his shoes, then over at Sirius'. He's dressed far more casually than yesterday, despite the luxuriousness of the fabrics. Everything about him has a regal essence. He's not rich - he's wealthy. His taste isn't flashy with name brands slapped for everybody to see, but refined with quality. Remus almost laughs at the thought of Sirius wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt.

The 8th floor is a like a movie set; every wall is a different scene set for the models. Music protrudes from speakers hanging from the ceiling, keeping the environment lively and energetic. Large curtains of white drape from the walls along with blinding white lights and multiple cameras set up with marked spots on the floor. Remus trails along, allowing himself to be enthralled by the room.

"Remus," Sirius calls. Remus quickens his step and joins his boss across the room. "Write things down, will you?"

"Sure." Remus clicks his pen and presses is against the paper, prepared to write whatever Sirius needs. His eye catches the model from the elevator. She wears a long black coat, glistening with a silver thread woven between the material like starlight in the night sky. She winks at him before turning toward the camera with angular cheekbones and cat eyes.

Sirius inserts himself in and out of different photoshoots with ease. Remus scribbles down the things Sirius' says every now and then, trying to keep up with the fast pace.

Remus observes Sirius interacting with the photographers, making a mental note of his word choices. Perhaps we should. How about we. Maybe if we. His tone is always that of authority, but also respect. We, being the key word. Every suggestion is a collaboration. Even his body language speaks volumes. His entire body faces toward the photographer, and he leans in closer giving his full attention to whomever he speaks with.

"What do you think, Remus?"

Remus fumbles with his pen, drawn into the conversation. Sirius and the photographer both turn to face him, causing his cheeks to blossom red. "About what?" he questions.

"This dress," Sirius explains. "What do you suppose the model should be doing while wearing it?"

Remus examines the lone dress on the the plastic model. Its gossamer and tulle are in the lightest shade of blue, floating just above the floor as if defying gravity. The dress is airy, playful, free flowing like water. "Sitting in a bathtub," Remus answers hesitantly.

"A bathtub?" the photographer muses.

"The dress reminds me of a bubble bath, overspilling with the model inside of it." When the words come out of his mouth, he bites his lip with immediate regret washing over him.

His heart stops when Sirius ever so slowly nods his head.

"That could..." Sirius murmurs. A finger presses against his lip in thought as he evaluates the dress. His mind turns like clockwork, inspiration striking. "The line will be whimsical. An inverted house..." He kisses the photographer's cheek. "Lovely working with you as always Naomi." The photographer's lips curve into a gracious smile when Sirius strides away with his hands in his pocket. "Remus."

Remus barely registers what just happened when he's suddenly on Sirius' tail again. Sirius pushes the button leading up to the 12th floor and remains silent all the way up. Remus drums his fingers along his notebook idly, unsure if he should speak or not.

"We have a meeting at four," Sirius finally says when the doors open. Remus nods solemnly as affirmation. "I left my schedule on your desk for you to go over and a list of contacts to add in your phone." They pause in front of Remus' new office. "I hope you're ready, Remus. We've got lots of work to do." Sirius gives him one last, long stare. No more words are spoken, but the slightest dip of his head indicates his approval.