Every day at work felt about the same -- meetings, reports, industry analysis, scrambling to touch base with designers for the next fashion weeks, dissecting new faces and making sure all the department heads were on track with my vision of the company…

The only difference today was Leonel. He’d been in yesterday for HR to have their turn with him, but he hadn’t sucked Shay’s dick for the privilege of being hired, like a lot of new hires would.

He’d walked into the office looking for all the world like he owned the place, his head high as he met the other assistants.

That didn’t bode well for Leonel. He was going to need their help to integrate. This was going to be a shit show, but it would be pretty funny to watch. Maybe he’d smarten up and learn to be gracious to those who’d already made it. Maybe not. If not, at least he provided eye candy.

I leaned back in my office chair, my feet up on the desk as I clicked through the photos Eugene Kelly’s team had sent of their winter collection. In between photos, I glanced up, watching Leonel set up his desk with stationery.

Shit, this collection was ugly. Even models as hot as ours couldn’t make it look elegant.

We had to go the other direction, then.

I opened up an email, then hummed and glanced up at the doorway. I was supposed to be training Leonel. I should probably do that.

“Leo.”

He pushed himself to his feet and swayed over toward me, resting one bony hip against the frame. “Mhmm?”

He was dressed casually in a good print t-shirt -- the kind I liked, not the hideous art prints or slogans that tried to whack casual onlookers over the head with their hints of the wearer’s personality. Over that, he’d layered a draping grey shawl sweater, and he wore dark grey jeans.

His lips were pinker than yesterday. Was he wearing gloss? It was a good shade.

“Come here. You’ve been set up to access my email account, right?”

He had that tone nailed -- the disinterested, yet knowledgeable one. Like he couldn’t be bothered to care, but he knew what he was doing. “I think so.”

“Good. Come show me what you’d do with this email.”

I watched his lips purse, and then he walked toward me. I rolled just out of the way, but not too far away, as he squeezed beside me and leaned down to read the screen.

I snuck a glance at that gorgeous ass, then watched his face instead.

Leonel’s lips were pursed again, his brows drawing together as he paged through the photos, then read the email.

“I’d place it gently in 1999, where denim jackets belong, and light it on fire.”

I was caught off-guard by the short, sharp laugh that bubbled from my chest. His opinion was refreshingly honest. “And then?”

He sighed, as if pressed, then cast his eyes around in thought. I could see the gears in his brain turning, though. Then, he decided, “Contact the appropriate model department and see what comp cards they have to send out. Maybe the new faces, too. Do we have an unusual faces department?”

I smirked, folding my arms as I leaned back in my seat and peered up at him. “Why?”

“Classic beauties won’t save this one. A weird face, maybe an androgynous look… make it artsy. Anything can be art. Thank God for them.”

“And if I told you this was a friend of mine?” I said, my tone just slightly chastising.

Leonel seemed unmoved. “Then your friends have a keen eye on possible vintage trends, but I expected your friends to be a little more… contemporary.”

“Mmm. Type up an email for me, then.”

He worked his jaw back and forth for a moment, then bent over to type a few quick lines.

No horrific typos, at least. His grammar was proper, and he was a quick typist. I could live with that.

So far, this was the most useful thing he’d done in two days, and only when pressed directly, though.

Just before I finished suggesting additions to the email -- like emailing the right person, not the payroll manager with the same first name -- the phone rang.

Leonel picked up for me with a casual, “Hello?”

I waited.

He straightened up, cutting his gaze sideways to me. Now he looked worried, his brow pinching. “You’d better.” He hung up and pushed away from the computer.

Before I could ask, Raymond was striding into the office. The new faces manager handled a lot of shit, but even he looked pissed beyond belief right now.

This had to be good. I raised my eyebrows and stood up. “Hey, Ray. What happened?”

“This fucking… Jesus.” He pushed the office door shut behind him, glaring at it when it softly clicked instead of slamming. Then, he looked at me and seemed to notice Leonel.

He took a breath and let it out.

“The test shoot with the guy from San Diego went south.”

“Did he walk out?” It wasn’t unusual, but it was the ultimate diva move. Incredibly ballsy for a new face, especially one I hadn’t been sold on the decision to test out anyway.

“Yep.”

“Waste of a good photographer. Who’s it today?”

“Clive.”

I whistled lowly. Clive shot primarily black and white images. He had a stellar eye for them. Some models just didn’t look good in full color -- he could save them.

And some guys who looked great in color looked just as stunning in black and white. It was a rare face that couldn’t benefit from a touch of classic aesthetic.

“He still here?”

“Yeah, and Paul is pissed now. He wants someone else in our ex-new face’s place.”

New York City, Paris, Milan, London… all of the big cities had their own fashion weeks, and it was about to be harvest day for modeling agencies. Every designer needed bodies to put their clothes onto, and pretty faces that could pout at a camera.

It took time to train the new hires, though, and it always took a few shots before they knew whether a guy would be great on a runway or better suited to advertising or some other department.

I cut a sideways glance at Leonel, who was closely watching us. His face betrayed an interest that he quickly hid behind that same detached expression when he noticed me looking at him.

I didn’t have time for this shit. I had a meeting in ten minutes with Eugene’s team, and fuck knows what I was going to tell them. Probably something like Leonel had told me, actually.

“Give this guy a try.” I jerked a thumb carelessly at him. “He’s not doing anything I can’t.”

Leonel shifted from one foot to the other, looking at me, then Raymond.

Raymond studied him closely, his eyes raking up and down Leonel’s body before he looked at his face again.

I knew Raymond was fine with what he saw, or he would have turned him down on the spot. He just didn’t want the guy to get cocky.

Too late for that.

Leonel’s chin raised, his thumb hooked into his pocket.

A long-suffering expression passed over Raymond’s face, but then he raised his shoulders in a sharp shrug. “Fine. Follow me.”

Leonel didn’t look back at me, following Raymond in quick, purposeful strides. He never lost the lazy, graceful strut to his step, though.

He would fit right in on the runway.

I pushed my lip around as I watched the two walk off, then picked up the phone to ask the new faces department for some suggestions before Eugene arrived. He was always fifteen minutes late anyway. I had time to plan my pitch.