You are a young aspiring designer, your father is one of the heads of Dior. You moved to Paris from Manchester for his job. You have everything you could ever wish for, and more but deep down you wanna work for something that is only yours and in th...
A serene Monday morning, I woke up, got ready just on time and managed to get out of the house for an early breakfast at the corner cafe. Before I walked to the Dior headquarters, I watched the city get busier and busier.
I made it there 30 minutes before my shift started to get a look at where I would be working.
"Bonjour et qui êtes-vous? (Good morning, and who are you?)" A woman by the reception asked.
She was of a certain age, probably her early 40's, tall and skinny with brown hair pulled back in a ballerina bun; she walked towards me with grace yet commanded the room with each step. Honestly, she looked mean and scary.
"Y/n, Je commence mon stage aujourd'hui, (Y/n, I'm starting my internship today,)" I clarified with my not so great French accent and handed her my letter of acceptance with some details.
"Ah," she expressed, "you are early."
"Yes, I hope you don't mind, Madam..."
"Chloe Blanchet," she completed with her thick French accent, "I will be supervising you and the other intern. While we wait, you can take a seat."
I did as she told and took a seat by the waiting area. While I waited, I watched as the employees entered one by one. Each dressed to impress, holding their coffees and on their phones. It truly reflected how this was a place of business.
"Bonjour, (Good morning,)" this blonde boy said to me.
I stood up to greet him and shook his hand. He had light blue eyes and a model like figure, with relaxed formal attire. I thought he was a model.
Then Madam Blanchet came to us and said, "This is Charles, the other intern you both will be working together. Now let's go, let me show you the office.
The rest of the morning was spent with us getting acquainted with the office as well as with each other. It turns out Charles was from Italy and had been living in Paris for some time now. He came here for school and worked with a tailor for years. This was his shot too, so I'm glad to be working with someone as determined.
"This will be where you will work for today," Madam Blanchet said as we walked into the photography studio.
She gave us a list of tasks to do, and we quickly started. Making sure the crew put the correct backdrop, telling the makeup artists and hairstylists where to set up, making sure the wardrobe was there and finally giving the photographer the notes we were given on what they wanted the shoot to look like.
By the time we finished, everyone had arrived except for the model.
"Hey, do you know who the model is?" I asked Charles.
"I was about to ask you," he said, confused.
"I have no idea, but they are late," I said.
After a few minutes, we hear the studio door swing right open to reveal Kylian.
He went straight to the photographer, greeter him and said, "Je suis désolé d'être en retard. La pratique a pris plus de temps que prévu. (I'm sorry I'm late. Practice took longer then expected.)
"Pas de problème, vas-y préparer, (No problem, just go get ready,) he replied and so he did.
It was also our job to bring the refreshments for everyone; we had taken everyone's over except for Kylian's.
"Can you go ask him what he wants while I go get some of these orders?" I asked Charles.
"Sure, no problem," he said, "I'll try my best not to freak out."
I went to the kitchen and prepared an array of different coffees. I also prepared some snacks for everyone to indulge in. When I was done, Charles brought back Kylian's order.
"He just wants bottled water," he said.
"Alright," I said, "help me carry all these trays."
When we got back to set, Kylian changed in the back, and I gave everyone what they asked for.
"You know, if you were a stalker," a voice from behind me started to say, "I'd be pretty freaked out."
I turned around, and there he stood, shirtless with that smirk of his. His six-pack was stacked perfectly; his arms looked strong as he rested his hands on his waist. He was too muscular but safe to say; he is hot. I know that athletes were pretty fit, but I was not expecting all that.
"Hello?" He said, which snapped me right out of my thoughts.
"Hey!" I said, startled, trying to remember his previous statement, "then I guess you should be grateful I'm not your stalker."
He giggled, put on the shirt he was given and asked, "Then what are you doing here?"
"This is my internship," I clarified.
"That's cool," he said, "how's it going?"
"Well, it's been good, but our model was late," I said with a smile.
"Yeah, practice," he said, "but anyways, let me take some pictures."
"Good luck," I said as he walked to the set.
"You don't need luck when you have this face," he said, and I laughed.
We started the shoot, and he was doing a great job. He took directions well and looked good in the clothes he was given. We finished up the pictures, and they looked great.
"Y/n," Kylian called, "can you take a picture of me?"
"Sure," I said and took his phone to take it.
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"Looking good," I mentioned as I took the pictures.
Then a notification came on with a text from a person named Maïa.
I handed the phone and said, "you got a text."
"Thanks," he said as he received the phone. I turned back and started to work on clearing out the set.
He changed clothes, but before leaving, he came to me with a bit of a worried face compared to before and said, "thanks for everything; it was good seeing you."
"Nice seeing you too," I replied, and I couldn't help but ask, "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," he reassured me, "is just my girlfriend calling me."
