Brooklyn’s POV
The driver pulls up at the venue of the Victoria’s Secret show. Someone opens the door and I’m immediately greeted by flashing lights but then stop once they realise I’m no one special.
“Just make your way down the carpet, ma’am. No need to stop for photos,” the man said.
I nod and walk as fast as I could down the carpet, looking down at all times. It was so hard to see because of the flashing lights, even when it wasn’t flashing for me. It made me feel famous in a sense, and I didn’t like it.
I finally each the entrance of the place.
“Name?” A lady asks.
“Brooklyn Wood,” I reply.
She looks through the bunch of paper she’s holding.
“Ah yes, Miss Wood, please come in,” she smiles. “Lovely dress by the way.
Ariel, show Miss Wood her seats please. And kindly offer her some beverages or snacks,” she whispers to the young lady behind her. Ariel nods and signals me to follow her.
“Would you like some beverages or snacks, Miss Wood?” She smiles politely.
“Brooke, please. And no, thank you,” I pass.
She nods slightly and shows me to where I’m meant to be seated.
She ends up dropping me off at the very front of the catwalk. Front. Row.
I’m amazed by all the decorations around the place. It wasn’t my scene but no one would be blinded enough to not even consider all the hard work put into this.
I sit there awkwardly on my phone. Everyone seems to know each other here. I scroll through Instagram and Facebook, waiting for the show to start and for someone to sit next to me.
-
It’s now 8:15pm and I’m still here, awkwardly on my phone, munching on some snack someone came around with.
“R-right here, Mr Styles,” I hear someone say. I still keep my eyes glued on my phone, praying it isn’t what I actually heard. He doesn’t say anything in return and sits down next to me.
I breathe deeply. This cannot be happening right now.
I slowly turn my head to the direction of the person sitting next to me.
He’s already looking at me with and intense glare.
We make eye contact and I groan, digging my head onto my hands. He chuckles slightly at my action.
Once I finally sit back into a normal position, I feel him leaning into me, like he has going to kiss me. I turn my head to face him. He’s so close to me now.
“Hi,” he whispers, just a few centimetres away from my lips
“Er, hi,” I say awkwardly.
He gives me a questioned look.
“What are you doing here?” he asks in his beautiful British accent. Yes. British. Not the boring American accents most guys have, in America.
“My sister is a part of the show,” I tell him. He nods slowly and bites his lower lips, thinking
“Emily Wood?” He asks surprised, like he couldn’t believe it. Trust me, I wouldn’t believe it either.
I nod and look down, playing with my fingers.
“Hey, hey. I didn’t mean it like that, babe,” he says. For a second there, I thought he actually cared about other people’s feelings apart from himself.
But with that, he smirks. “Don’t worry babe, you’re definitely the better sister,” he winks.
It’s always a good thing to receive a compliment like that, but not from him. What an asshole.
“Right,” I reply sarcastically.
I shuffle slightly away from him. I’m not comfortable sitting down right next to him, especially from what happened at the interview. It’s as if I can’t get away from his presence.
“So, how’s life?” He questioned. As if he cared.
“Fine,” I grumbled.
“Why are you acting…” he starts. “Acting what?” I interrupt. “Acting unlike you,” he continues.
I scoff.
“Yeah, because you know how I normally am!?” I say a bit louder than I should.
“Well I sure hope it’s not like this,” he bites back. Damn.
“You know what, Fuck you! You think you’re so much better than everyone. Well reality check Mr Styles, you’re not.” I stand up and scream, causing a few people’s attention.
He stands up next to me, grabs my hand and pulls me close enough to whisper into my ear, “shut up. You’re causing a scene. Don’t fucking say stuff like that, ever.”
I gasp and pull my hand out of his.
“Don’t tell me to shut up,” I whisper back. I slap him across the face and feel flashes of light. Oh shit, what did I just do?
I quickly turn to walk away and not bother turning back to see how Mr Styles is. As I walk down the aisle to the exit, one of the male workers stops me.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to go back to your seat, the show is starting in a minute.”
I sigh. “Fine, but is there any way I can move seats?” I plead. The guy shakes his head. “Sorry, there are no available seats left. Please sit back down,” he says and then stalks off.
I awkwardly walk back to my seat with my arms cross and a blank expression on my face. I don’t even look at ‘Mr Sex-Bomb’ as I sit down. The video introduction of the show starts playing on the screen as I stare at it, but too busy in my own thought of how I was going to ignore him for the rest of my night.
“Brooklyn,” He whispers in my ear.
I don’t say anything for a while, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t
“Mr Styles,” I whisper back.
“Please, call me Harry,” he says in a less up-tight voice. I turn my head to him, “please, call me Miss Wood. I don’t like the idea of acquaintances calling me by my first name,” I smiled.
He was just about to speak up when the first model comes out. Saved by the bell.
He seems a bit pissed, but I wouldn’t blame him. Actually, he shouldn’t be pissed in the first place. He deserved it.
The models come out one by one, each in completely different outfits. Some of them were ridicules, and some of them were just stunning. And the wings. Oh my, the wings.
Emily was definitely the star of the show, coming out with the most breathtaking wings. She walked down the runway like she owned the place. Her hair was so beautifully curled, it looked like a photoshop edit.
As the girls walk down the runway, I could just feel Mr Sex-Bomb eying them off. I can literally hear his breath as they walk pass. He’s probably got a boner just by looking at them.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Brooklyn stop. I say in my head. Fuck this.
I turn and look down to Mr Sex-Bomb’s… ‘Private’ parts. I couldn’t exactly see if he did have a boner because his arms were neatly folded on his lap. When I realise what I just did, I feel myself blush and look up at him.
He was already staring at me.
Well fuck.
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