Lay in the Atmosphere (Brendon Urie) Wattys 2017

TEN

"Are you sure that's alright?" Brendon's asks for the thousandth time.

"AGH!" Janelle slams her binder to her keyboard and rolls her eyes, letting out a loud groan.

"Yes! She ready said yes!" Janelle stood up and walked toward the cafe.

"Is she-"

"She's annoyed with you, Brendon, yes. Also, possibly PMSing." I laugh lightly as he hands me his personal card, his cell phone number and email listed.

"Alright. Estabon and I will be at your apartment around 7."

"Sounds good." I mutter, going back to typing.

Brendon just leaned against the desk and looked around for a moment and I couldn't help but let him know,

"You can leave now."

"Right." Brendon nods, giving me a small bow before exiting the front doors, a few paparazzi snapping photographs.

I learned a lot about Brendon from Janelle. She was sort of obsessed, which made her initial freak out two minutes ago totally out of character.

I learned that Brendon Urie is America's youngest fashion designer ever. Like, in the history of ever. It made him a target for a lot of people. Women, businesses, celebrities, lawyers, you name it. They all wanted a piece of what he was dishing. Whether it be a contract, someone to defend him court, someone to design a dress for or, of course, to fuck. Brendon Urie was also self taught, he didn't go to college for fashion, he was just naturally good. Seeing his mom tailor my dress last night also made it all make more sense. If she taught him a thing or two, that's all he really needed. I also found out his age, he is currently 29, which made him 8 years older than me, to my surprise, I thought he had 10 years on my age.

Back to the previous conversation, the on where Brendon persistently asked me whether or not it was actually okay for him and I to drive to the damn fundraiser together. Normally I would've said no, but after last night, meeting his mom and calling off the pay, I changed my mind.

I still made it very clear that I was nothing more than arm candy and Brendon seemed okay with it. But, having his number may or may not be a bad thing, so I avoided sending him a text or giving him a call because I also didn't want him to have my number.

Janelle sat down with her salad, stabbing the crap out of it.

"Whats your deal?" I asked her, watching her go cave man on her lettuce.

"Nigel wants to promote you. Thanks to whatever Brendon's doing for you. Tell me something, did you guys fuck?" She looks up at me almost defeated and... I felt bad.

She had been here longer than I have, but to think I'd do something that low kind of hurt.

"No, Janelle. I wouldn't ever sleep with him."

Not my thought process a five days ago.

"Then what the hell did he say to Nigel?! How do you get to become the next casting director?!"

Holy shit... casting director? Meaning, I choose the models that represent the company.

"Janelle, I-"

"It's fine. I'll just be at this desk for the next six years waiting for some fashion designer to have a huge crush on me so that I can get a promotion."

Alright, that was about all I could take. I picked up my purse and handed her my binder.

"I didn't ask for it. I didn't wait for it. I didn't want it. But it doesn't give you any right to be such a... well, so rude to me." I growl, storming out the door.