Only Angel 2 [h.s] AU

Beneath the skyline

Beau's POV
New York.

The applause was still ringing in my ears when I stepped back into my office, bouquet in one hand, iced coffee in the other, cheeks warm from all the attention.

A year. One full year at Vogue. That profile on Harry hadn't just gotten me noticed — it had gotten me in. It turned me from another assistant with well-pressed slacks into a name that got cc'd on the good emails. I still remembered the first time someone in the bullpen said "you know, from the Styles piece?" and actually meant me.

Darien burst in behind me, eyes sparkling. "One year in and you've got a corner office, glowing reviews, and a boss who name-drops you in meetings. Not bad for a girl who used to cry over 500-word rewrites."

I groaned, dropping into my chair. "You promised never to bring that up."

"I lied," she said, smug, then softened. "But seriously — this is big. You survived. You thrived. We have to celebrate."

"I just want to go home and sleep for twelve hours."

"Nope. Not happening. You forget your birthday is next week."

I stared at her. "Are you really going to double down on making this a thing?"

"Beau, you have not had a real celebration since moving here. No parties. No girls' nights. No 'I'm hot and unbothered' montages. And now you're telling me you want to ignore a milestone?"

She wasn't going to let this go. I knew that look.

Before I could protest again, she added, "So here's the plan. Small dinner. Just friends. Maybe a rooftop, candles, vibes. And as your present—" She paused dramatically. "I booked a photoshoot for you."

I blinked. "A what?"

"With Jonathan."

My eyes narrowed. "Darien..."

She held her hands up innocently. "I'm not trying to set you two up again. But hey—he's hot, you're hot, maybe you'll fall in love under studio lighting. Who knows?"

I rolled my eyes. "We went on two dates."

"And they were decent."

"Until he ghosted."

"He was moving offices! It was a soft ghost. More of a polite fade."

I tried not to laugh, but failed. "This is unhinged."

"It's called friendship." She perched on the edge of my desk. "Plus, it's also kind of a rebranding thing, right? New you. Vogue version of you. A photoshoot is empowering. It's a gift to yourself."

I sighed, considering. "And you already told him, didn't you?"

"He's blocked off the studio for Saturday," she said, smiling wide. "Bring outfits."

__

The weekend arrived in a flurry of sunshine and promise. Darien dragged me out of my apartment before noon — no chance to say no. She declared we needed to find outfits worthy of a Vogue photoshoot, and I couldn't argue.

The city buzzed with weekend energy — brunch lines spilled out onto sidewalks, taxis honked at cyclists who couldn't care less, and rooftop bars were already prepping for golden hour. We moved through boutiques and vintage shops like women on a mission. Darien was a whirlwind of enthusiasm, rifling through racks, pulling out everything from sleek tailored blazers to delicate silk blouses.

"I want the shoot to be you," she said, waving a sequined top that would never make it past my comfort zone. "But also, the version of you who's owning every room."