Our eyes connected the moment I looked up. Damn. "Nari?!", my manager barked. Forcing me to focus back on the task at hand, this photoshoot. But even as I moved my body in the "fantasy fairy" position (personally named by my manager), my eyes couldn't help but not make eye contact with the camera, further pissing my manager off. Still, she could suck it for all I care. He was beautiful, and after being surrounded by a warehouse full of perfume worn by the she's, he's, and they's in the building, his cologne nearly chloroformed me with masculinity, so smelling his cologne as he walked past my station was easy. Be cool Nazarian. Quickly doing "the face" a couple more times, my manager and photographer finally agreed on "The shot", and my eyes began desperately scanning for his retreating form, only to be met with that familiar feeling I always hated. Damn.