When You Became My World (#1)

The Neighbour

Author's note: Kind of what he looked like in the video call.

Jace's POV:

I chuckled humorlessly and raised a brow at the girl, a crazy-stalker paparazzi, I assumed who was apologizing profusely.

Like I would ever believe her fake apologies.

I've had enough of the paparazzi drama these past few days. It's bad enough that she appeared before I could light up my cigar. Why isn't she leaving?

"Like I will believe it. You guys will do anything just to take a picture of me. Haven't you taken enough already or should I check myself?"

Her brown orbs for eyes widened and her eyebrows furrowed.

Trying to act clueless?

I expected her to cower in fear, walk away with shame or worse, start crying. But she did none.

To my surprise, she walked closer to where I stood till we were at the same eye level. I stuck my hands into my pant pockets and looked down on her. She didn't look that scary.

I wanted to have any intimidating impressions I could have at this girl.
Yet, when I looked right into those brown eyes, I felt lost. I forgot what I was about to say back at her.

Something that had never happened before. I was the one supposed to make people speechless.

I couldn't stop  anticipating what she was about to do.

What the hell is she thinking?

"I didn't speed all this way just to take a pic of you. I've made myself clear that being here was a mistake. And I hope that I never meet you again,you prick!" her voice started off calmly but trailed confidently.

I raised a brow at the girl's words in disbelief. I was...shocked, to say the least. I wouldn't expect a paparazzi (and her) to talk to me that way.

Hell, nobody talked to me that way.
Unless you have a death wish. Of all people, that chick had the nerves to call me a PRICK?!

Unbelievable!

Before I could say anything, she stormed off. My eyes never left her as she walked to her car. Her perfume, something of vanilla and lilies wafted in the air, bidding me a bittersweet  farewell.

Who was she? A socialite? A model? Some actor?

That couldn't be. What socialite dressed like a tomboy and drove a Honda? Was she just a normal girl that spoke to me like that?

Why didn't I say anything back? Will I ever see her again? What the f*** is wrong with me?

We better not meet again. Because if we do, I'm gonna do something I'll regret.  She can't get away with this.

Nah, I won't regret.  I will enjoy every second of making her life miserable. 

                           *****

My phone chinked from a text from Owen Hayes, my manager.

Owen: Is the jet lag over? The graphic designer's name is Victor Nicholson.

The graphic designer was supposed to edit the music video I shot back in Saint- Tropez. Somehow, his name felt oddly familiar so I thought we could meet up.

Me: Can we meet in person?

Victor: I don't mind. Where you at?

Me: ...