𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 // 𝐇.𝐒.

02.

Chapter 2

It's a new day, I tell myself.

Toothpaste begins to foam in my mouth as I try to pluck and shape my eyebrows at the same time. I groan from the pinch. I set the tweezers down to finally take my toothbrush out to spit.

I'm not sure when August arrived home last night, but I do know she's in her room oversleeping again. When I looked out my window this morning from four floors up, I spotted her white Prius parked by the curb. At least she found parking.

Not that I care. I don't feel like seeing her right now, which is why I'm multitasking to get out of the apartment quicker. What she pulled at the tattoo shop was not cool. I couldn't stop going over the embarrassment all night.

I part my dark hair in the middle, watching my movements in the bathroom mirror. I look past August's toothpaste stains—those aren't mine—and I begin to add product onto my hair for a quick blowout.

I have to look presentable as it's my first day as an unpaid intern for one of the hottest fashion designers in LA right now. I don't know what to expect during the next four months until I graduate. The plan is to do amazingly well and impress the hell out of the designer herself. Enough to maybe secure a job after graduation. I already beat several other students for the unpaid position. If I dedicate myself to the job, I'm sure I can get to where I want to be.

Maybe I can also prove to my parents a major in fashion wasn't a waste.

I give myself a thumbs up in the mirror when my blowout lets my bangs and layers frame my face. Now, outfit.

I leave the apartment with forty minutes until nine in the morning. I step out of my quiet apartment building and make my way to the bus stop across the street. Keeping my tote on my shoulder, I get to the stop and patiently wait for the metro in high waisted jeans with a flare and a cropped sweater vest over a white t-shirt.

The bus pulls in front of me just in time. I get in, walking to the middle of the bus after paying my fare. The ride took almost the entire hour because of the constant stops. With only eight minutes to spare, I get off and thank the driver before doing so.

LA sounds hectic as it looks. The roads are filled with bumper to bumper cars waiting for the traffic lights to turn green. There are constant honking and loud engines all around me, but I continue to walk through the warm January breeze. Then I see the Fine Line Designs headquarter building. It's wide and three stories high. The white painted brick walls make it look like any other old building, but inside is like a dream. I've only seen a bit of it when I had my interview.

I follow the signs the moment I step into the building. Interns, in bold letters, are printed on paper with an arrow directing me where to go. I pass the cubicles that surround a lounge of furniture with three separate seating areas. I could already imagine myself on one of the couches getting my online course work done. I'm sure I'll get a break sometime during my eight-hour shift.

I end up in a conference room and I see about three other students already there. I quietly take a seat, laying my tote bag on the table surface in front of me after politely saying hello.

"Aria, Helen, Ivan, and Joelle."

I sit up the moment a blond man steps in with a manila folder in hand. He's well-dressed with a turtle neck and purple suit on. He has a thick Irish accent and I know exactly who he is from all the research I've done. "My name's Niall Horan," he introduces himself with a straight teeth smile. "If you don't already know, my mother is the designer of Fine Line Designs. She's a busy woman, which is why I'm here."