Liana

Planning and preparing for a fashion show is always stressful, no matter how many times I may have done it. It involves hiring models, numerous fittings, rehearsals, makeup and hair trials, choosing a venue, choosing the stage design and lighting, seating charts, advertisements and visuals, music, food, invitations—literally blood, sweat, and tears.

Of course, some things have already been done months before, but what's stressful is making sure nothing goes wrong last minute. To make matters worse, I'm a perfectionist. I remember being such a wreck during my first fashion show that I actually had an anxiety attack right before it. Thankfully, Sophie was there to calm me down.

I really haven't had much time to relax. It's one thing after another. I've practically been on the phone since I got to my office this morning. In a few minutes, I've got a meeting with the creative director, Zoha, to finalize pictures of Zayn that will be released for the campaign. Then after that, I've got to head to the venue to overlook the final fashion show rehearsal.

It's two in the afternoon and I'm on my third cup of coffee if that helps paint a picture of the little sleep I've gotten. It doesn't help that my anxiety has been keeping me up at night. I've been popping pain killers because of my constant headaches and have swapped my contacts out for my eyeglasses. The dark circles and puffiness of my eyes are at their worst, if it wasn't for concealer I would probably look half dead. But at least my glasses will draw some of the attention away.

There's a knock on my door, which I expect is Zoha.

"Come in!"

The door opens, revealing Zoha who is smiling. "Hellooo," She says in a melodic voice. Zoha is always cheery which is why I love her. She can instantly brighten up your mood.

"Hiiii," I greet her back in an equally melodic voice. I leave my desk and walk over to the coffee table to the right of my office. Sitting on the couch, I pat the spot next to me, inviting her to join me.

"How are you this morning?" I ask her once she's sitting.

"I'm good! This weather is not my best friend though." She grimaces and I can actually relate to her since I'm also not a fan of this gloomy and cold weather. "You already know my immune system is shit so I'm just trying not to get sick."

I am very well aware of how bad her immune system is due to how many precautions she takes, it's actually crazy.

"But enough about me, how's the prep going for the show?"

"Other than me not having slept properly for the past week, I think the prep is going well. I"m actually gonna head over to the final rehearsal after this."

"Oh! Well, let me not take too much of your time then since I know your schedule is hectic right now." She sets the file that she has in her hands down on the table and opens it up, taking out a collection of Zayn's pictures from the shoot.

I feel myself leaning forward to get a closer look at the pictures as she lays them all out individually.  "Wael sent these in this morning."

The pictures have been edited and narrowed down to a few choices for each outfit. You would think I wasn't at the photoshoot, and that this is my first time seeing the pictures, with the way I'm examining them. It's as if I can't even help it. That's just Zayn's effect, whether he's physically present or not, even a picture of him is enough to transfix you. After being in his physical presence, his effect has only gotten stronger rather than weaker.

Zoha's voice brings me back to the present. "So, as you already know, we need to choose the pictures we're uploading online to the website and Instagram as well as the pictures we're sending in for Times Square and Vogue."

Almost an hour later, the pictures have been decided on, Zoha and I have said our goodbyes, and I'm on my way to rehearsal with Olivia.

The models are in the process of getting dressed when I arrive backstage. Today is the full dress rehearsal. Thus far, they've only been rehearsing in their normal clothing and the girls have been walking in the heels they'll be wearing the day of. They've already had their fittings and as far as I know, everything fits perfectly. But you never know what could happen last minute. You've always got to be prepared for a mishap. This is why I'm on edge despite how many times Sophie has told me to think positively. With these kinds of things, you've got to think realistically. Clothing can be very delicate, like a child; which is why you've got to handle it with the utmost care. I've got seamstresses and tailors on hand for that purpose.

I'm putting my bag down and taking off my coat when I hear someone call me. "Liana, dear?"

I skim over the area that is filled with models conversing and getting dressed, and finally my eyes fall on one of my long-time seamstresses, Parisa. She is a small middle-aged woman who always used to insist on calling me Ms. Ali. I finally got her to call me just Liana but she always adds an endearment along with it.

"Yes, Parisa?" I ask while walking over. That's when I notice who she's standing with, it's Zayn.

It's been weeks since I had told Zayn that he had to work for my number. Has he gotten my number? No, he has not. Because I'm too fucking stubborn. I don't want to do something I've never done before without knowing if it's worth it. That "something" being getting involved with a client. He does have other ways of talking to me which usually involves calling my work number and going through Olivia first. We've been talking here and there during rehearsals which honestly isn't a lot because of how much work I usually have and obviously, he's busy with dressing and rehearsing. All we've been doing these past weeks is just staring at each other from afar. He hasn't had much of a chance to actually try to get my number. At this point, I feel like he may give up. Most guys usually do because I'm too much work.

Once I approach both of them, I notice the needle and thread in Parisa's hand. "This young man was trying on one of his outfits when one of the buttons came off. I can't quite get the placement right, could you take a look?"

I narrow my eyes in suspicion. Parisa never has a problem with placement, she's one of my best seamstresses. I look over at Zayn for a sign that this is some sort of plan of his, but he gives nothing away. I decide to play along because this is the only opportunity to get some time with him and not just the few seconds I've been getting during these hectic past few weeks.

That's why I just smile and say, "Of course."

Taking the button from her, I turn to Zayn. The button belongs on the kurta he's wearing right now. It's white with gold embroidery and boy... does he look like some kind of prince. He carries cultural clothing so well and looks even more handsome in them.

"How'd you manage to get a button to fall off?" I ask while getting closer to him and grabbing his kurta to see where the button belongs. "These are usually on pretty well, did you get in a fight with your kurta?"

"Maybe... I took it off myself as an excuse to actually spend some time with you."

I look up, meeting his eyes while being caught off guard by his straightforwardness. Our faces are really close now, I can practically feel him breathing and his proximity makes my stomach sink.

I remember where we are and that we're not alone, and I pull back a bit. "Now, you didn't have to hurt my poor clothes just to spend time with me, did you?"

"Actually, I did. Because you're a busy gal. How else was I supposed to get you all to myself?"

I'm a bit stunned. All to himself? He's so honest, so blunt. I've never met anyone like him.

"All to yourself, huh? In case you've forgotten, we're not alone."

"Not yet, we aren't." He smiles smugly.

I almost choke on my own saliva but I mask my reaction with a playful eye roll.

"Getting a bit ahead of ourselves aren't we?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He shrugs.

With a scoff, I return to the task at hand. I've positioned the button on the kurta and begin sewing it back in place. Once that's done, I look up to see Zayn watching me intently. And as always, I feel frozen in place.

That is, until the needle I'm holding pricks my finger.

"Agh," Grabbing ahold of my pointer finger, I stare down at where the needle had pricked me. A small drop of blood makes its way to the surface and as I'm about to bring my finger to mouth, a hand grabs it. Before I can even process what's happening, Zayn brings my finger to his own mouth and sucks on it.

Holy fuck.

The sensation of his tongue on my finger almost makes my toes curl. A sharp pain is felt in my core. Heat coursing through my veins. I almost forget we're not alone.

He pulls his mouth away and drops my finger. Then with that smug smile of his, he turns away and leaves me there to gather myself.

***

A/N:

Hi everyone! It's been a while, I know. Don't even know if anyone is reading at this point point lol

Kind of a short chapter. But next chapter is the fashion show! Super excited about that. Hopefully won't take me as long to update.

Please check out the liana moodboard I've attached at the beginning of the chapter! And leave me some feedback below because I would really appreciate it. xx

-E