Viola's POV
I freeze, my mouth snapping shut.
"What?" I manage to croak from my suddenly dry throat.
"You heard me." He retirates in a no nonsense tone.
My heart skips. No. It ricochets around my chest like a pinball.
"You have eye-catching features," he continues, his voice taking on an efficient, businesslike edge that wouldn't be displaced if he uses it when he's talking to his clients. "Long legs, symmetrical face, bright blue eyes, and hair like spun gold. It's a marketable look. And I don't make suggestions I don't mean."
I gape into the void.
I must look like a confused baby owl.
"I, well, thank you, but that doesn't mean I can do it." I say weakly.
"Confidence can be learned. Presence can be trained. Looks, however, are a gift. And yours are exceptional."
He might as well have said I'm the crown jewel of the modeling world the way my cheeks burn.
"I'm not trying to flatter you," he adds smoothly. "I'm giving you facts. Now, do you want the audition or not?"
I squeak. "I- I guess I do."
"Excellent. I'll have them email you the details. The audition's in three days. It's for a year-long contract with an option to extend." He finishes.
A year?
He says it so casually.
"Thank you," I mumble, still reeling.
"You're welcome." His voice softens. "Why don't we meet up tonight? Pretend we're going on a normal date. You'll need to get used to being seen with me in public."
My brain short-circuits.
"A… date?"
"Relax, dear. Just dinner. Italian. I'll text you the address."
I nod furiously before realizing he can't see me. "Okay."
"Good. Dress nicely."
Then he hangs up.
Just like that.
No room for doubt. No second guesses.
I stare at the phone in my hand, cheeks still burning, heart still hammering, wondering what the hell just happened.
But somewhere in the chaos of my thoughts, a slow smile spreads across my face.
For the first time in days, I feel like something's happening.
Maybe this won't be so boring after all.
---
The restaurant Garrett picks is one of those places you only see in movies: small, elegant, dimly lit with warm gold lights, and filled with the gentle hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of silverware. It's quaint.
I stand outside for a second, smoothing the skirt of my dress and praying I don't look like I'm trying too hard.
I'm going for casual, but I may have slightly crossed into 'trying to impress a very handsome significant other' territory.
I can't help it.
Fuck.
I take a breath and step inside.
The hostess greets me, and when I mention Garrett's name, her smile turns knowingly polite as she leads me toward the back corner of the restaurant.
Then there he is: Garrett.
Sitting like a magazine model brought to life.
His black hair is styled effortlessly, as if he hasn't even tried, and those icy blue eyes of his are glued to his phone.
Even in a hand-tailored suit that probably costs more than a car, he looks relaxed.
My heart does this ridiculous little skip. I tell it to knock it off.
Then he looks up.
His eyes widen just a fraction, and then his face settles back into that cool, unreadable expression.
But I see it: that little spark of surprise. I don't know what that does to me, but suddenly my legs feel like wet spaghetti.
"Viola," he says, standing smoothly.
"Hi. Hope you didn't wait long," I manage, inwardly cringing at how breathy my voice sounds.
"Not at all." He gestures for me to sit, and I slide into the chair across from him. He sits again, folding his hands on the table. "You look nice."
Nice? My insides do an awkward tumble. How do I tell him I spent an entire hour deciding on this dress, trying on three different ones before settling on something that hugs my curves but doesn't scream 'desperate'?
"You look very professional," I say before I can stop myself.
He quirks a brow, clearly bemused.
"Professional?"
"Like someone who's about to close a million-dollar deal," I add lamely. Then I bury my face in the menu. "Oh my God. Ignore me. Please."
Garrett chuckles, low and smooth. "I'll take that as a compliment."
The waiter comes and takes our drink orders, red wine for him, sparkling water for me, and then leaves us alone again.
The silence isn't awkward per se, but I feel like I'm vibrating in my seat.
"I got the email," I blurt out. "About the modeling audition. Everything's all set."
Garrett nods slowly. "Good."
I fidget with the edge of my napkin. "Still think it's a terrible idea though."
"Why?"
I stare at him. "Because I'm not model material, Garrett. I trip over invisible things, I drop everything, and I once hit myself in the face with my own phone. I'm not exactly runway ready."
His eyes narrow slightly. "You know what I see when I look at you?"
"Um… someone with a shocking talent for disaster?"
"Potential," he declares.
I stare.
He leans forward just a little, his voice lower now. "You don't realize how rare that is, Viola. You walk into a room, and people look. That's the most important part of modeling—not just looks, but presence. You have that naturally."
My cheeks flame. "You… you really think that?"
"I wouldn't have set up the audition if I didn't."
I try to form a sentence, but words fail me.
Garrett leans back in his chair again, sipping his wine as if he hasn't just completely fried my brain.
"You're blunt," I say finally.
He raises an eyebrow. "Would you rather I lie?"
"No. Just… I'm not used to hearing compliments that sound like job evaluations."
"They're both in this case." He smirks. "And I don't waste time. If I say you have potential, it's because I mean it. Not because I'm trying to sweet-talk you."
"You're really good at sweet-talking though."
"I'm good at getting results. If sweet-talking is a tool in the toolbox, then sure."
God, this man. I feel like I'm sitting across from a perfectly constructed storm.
Dangerous, beautiful, and likely to knock down everything in its path, including my sense of reality.
"Well, thank you. I think," I say, and I mean it.
"You're welcome. Now eat something. I want you looking alive for the audition."
I snort despite mys
elf, bringing up a hand to my hair and toying with one of my stray curls.
"Are you sure you won't regret this?"
Garrett smiles coolly. "No. I trust my instincts."