UNRAVELING AMAYA.

2

As I sat on my couch with a glass of Cali Red, the digital glow of my laptop screen showcased Ryan Pierre's world, a realm of glamour and success. His photos told me what I needed to know about him. He had confidence and style. Accompanying accolades painted him as an influential force in the industry. "Whew." I whispered. As my cursor slid through the digital tapestry of his achievements, an undeniable allure emanated. I don't know if it was the fact that he was an obviously successful, black man or his perfectly chiseled face but goddamn. Swiftly, I refocused, tethering my thoughts to the task ahead—planning this damn photoshoot so it could meet Rhonda's exacting standards.

I couldn't help but look up his Instagram. Yeah, that man was beautiful—one of God's best pieces. I couldn't hide my smirk as I scrolled through his posts. A little harmless stalking never hurt anybody.

Emails flew back and forth with Ryan's assistant, Courtney, aligning every detail. The day of the photoshoot unfolded with Rhonda's chauffeur-driven car idling outside of my apartment. I stepped into the lap of luxury, wrestling with my cocktail of anticipation and nervous energy—meeting someone of Ryan's caliber was no ordinary affair. I really wanted to build my resume and being seen as someone's dusty assistant wasn't a good look.

As I stepped into the chic studio, I couldn't help but feel a mix of nerves and excitement, especially considering the carefully chosen outfit I wore—a dance between sexy and business casual. My hope lingered, a secret desire that Ryan Pierre might find me as attractive as I found him.

My figure embraced the tailored black blazer, a subtle lace detail peeking beneath for a touch of allure. The knee-length pencil skirt, adorned with a tasteful slit, added a flirtatious vibe. Red bottoms and gold accessories completed the ensemble, balancing professionalism and sensuality.

Black layered curls, styled into loose waves, framed my face with playful elegance. As I glanced in a nearby mirror, secretly hoping for Ryan's appreciation, Rhonda's raised eyebrow prompted a discreet throat-clearing. "Amaya, I hope we're here for a fashion shoot, not a runway for...other talents," she remarked. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at her outdated comment.

The studio buzzed with creative energy as Rhonda and I stepped in. Ryan Pierre, the orchestrator behind all of this, greeted us with a charming smile. "Good morning, ladies." He approached us, beaming. "Ms.Rhonda, you are as stunning as your photos." And so are you, I thought. He grabbed her hand and planted a chaste kiss onto her skin. She blushed and fanned her free hand at the flirtatious gesture. Oh, he's a kiss ass. "I appreciate you working with me." His eyes then set on me. He took in my appearance and licked his plump lips.

"You're the assistant...Amaya, right?" Ryan extended a hand. Instead of kissing mine, he gave it a gentle shake that was followed by a warm smile.

"Yeah, that's me," I replied, maintaining a professional demeanor. He better stop looking at me like that.

"Great to finally meet you. I've heard Courtney say good things about you," he chuckled. "She enjoyed planning things with you."

I chuckled, "Well, I appreciate that."

Rhonda interjected. "Let's keep the pleasantries to a minimum. We're here to work, not exchange compliments."

During the shoot, Rhonda followed Ryan's directions while blissfully unaware of the behind-the-scenes ballet. My role in all of this was to make sure everything Rhonda wanted happened smoothly. It wasn't just fetching things or adjusting lights; it was about predicting every need and making the shoot unfold perfectly. It was a lot. Sometimes too much.

While working, I couldn't help stealing glances at Ryan. He used the camera like it was second nature, emitting a magnetic energy—it was something so attractive about how passionate he was about his craft.