That's Me In The Spotlight {The Jesus Fic}.

Chapter 2

“Bonjour, Mr Tomlinson!” tinkled a redhead, opening the door at the Dolce & Gabanna showrooms in New York. God, French in an American accent was the worst. “Ça me fait plaisir vous de revoir!” she butchered.
“De vous,” Louis corrected gently. “It's good to see you too. This is Harry.” The redhead cast her eyes down at Harry's grubby department store sneakers.
“As you can see, he needs your help.” Louis handed over his half-page wardrobe guideline. This is why people liked working with him: he knew exactly what he wanted and didn't waste any time. Of course, Jeremy had given Louis a guideline of his own; words like modest and appropriate leapt off the page before Louis had scrunched it up and tossed it into a bin.
“I'll be back in two hours.” Louis looked at the girl, agreement unspoken: This kid is your problem for now.
“You're going?” Harry asked, alarmed. “But-”
“The girls here will take care of you. I'm meeting a friend, I won't be long.” And Louis left before Harry could speak again, looking forward to catching up with Joni face-to-face.

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“You look so fucking HOT!” the salesgirl had squealed at Harry as he exited the dressing room for the millionth time. He blushed furiously, wishing she wouldn't swear. When was Louis going to get back?

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“Can we get something to eat?” Harry asked Louis as they stepped out onto the street, Harry looking much nicer in a new outfit.
Louis had taken great delight in instructing one of the D&G girls to throw Harry's awful white polo out with the trash.

“I'm so hungry, Louis.”
Merde. Louis had enjoyed lunch with Joni, forgetting that the boy needed to eat too. “Sure, where do you want to go?”
“Times Square?!”
Louis looked at Harry's face, which was lit up just as bright as Times Square would be that night. Louis sighed, Tourists!, and hailed a cab to take them to the Hard Rock Cafe. May as well be as cliché as possible, get it out of the boy's system.
Harry's jaw dropped open mid-chew, a chunk of masticated burger dropping back out. “Louis! You're on TV.” He pointed to the screen across the restaurant.

Louis heard the commentary before he turned, seeing grainy paparazzi shots of his lunch that day scrolling past on E! News. “Indie filmmaker Joni Swan was spotted in New York City earlier today, in talks with fashion heavyweight Louis Tomlinson. Sources tell us that a Devil Wears Prada-style film is in the works."
“That's so cool!” Harry crowed at the same time Louis muttered, “C'est pas bon.” Harry looked at him, confused, and Louis clarified. “Not good, Harry. Not cool. Your show hasn't been publicised yet, and now the media know I'm here in America.”
Harry still got out his phone to snap a photo of the TV screen. “Are you like, proper famous in France?” he asked, tucking back into his meal.
“No,” Louis laughed. “My friend who I met up with today, she is a bit famous. It must be a slow news day, either way.”

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Louis might have been lying about his level of fame though, because a few men with cameras were waiting outside the Hard Rock Cafe. Harry watched Louis pull away from him, apparently on autopilot: eyes down and walking with purpose. Harry tried to follow but he couldn't push through this octopus of arms waving cameras about, bright flashes leaving spots in his vision.

“Louis, wait!” he cried out desperately, barely audible over the photographers yelling.
“What's the new movie about, Louis?” “Hey kid, did Joni Swan cast you? Are you playing the
role of Louis Tomlinson?” “What's your name, kid?”
Harry remembered his manners and tried to smile. “I'm Har-” he started, but one of the men stepped right in front of him while he was speaking and his ankles got tangled, making him fall flat on his face mid-sentence.
Almost immediately, strong hands were on his arm, pulling him up. The welcome sound of Louis' French accent hit his ears. “Don't say anything to them, okay. Keep your 'ead down.”