Sophie

Unedited.

This chapter is awful, like, seriously... so bad. I struggled to write it. I started by writing a Daniel POV chapter, got about halfway through and thought, 'No, this isn't working.' So I started again with a Sophie POV chapter, which is what this is.

You have been warned.

OH, this is for @mehmehanoush! Comment when you see it!

Sarah, xx

"Out of interest," Jasmine says, her eyes trailing up and down my body, scrutinizing my outfit. "Why are you dresses like a futuristic computer hacker? Like the coat, though."

Before i have a chance to defend my choice of clothes, Jasmine shoves a bonder in my hands and ushers me into my office, closing the door after me. Alone in my room, I stand there dazed for a moment before realising that it's Jasmine and this is just what she does.

Going to my desk, I make a start reading all the e-mails that I've been ignoring. For some reason, my schedule today looks a little bare, the only real entry being the meeting with Nigel and some choice editors later this afternoon. Until then, it was up to me to edit some articles that had been submitted and to put some sort of order to works already polished.

Powering up my computer, I go directly to my iTunes account, pulling up a playlist that would get me in the mood to work. Choosing Macklemore's Downtown as the first song, I sit at my desk and try to ignore the way that Jasmine will sometimes hover at my door, peeking into my office through the glass wall. The first few times she did it was plain weird and would make me stop my work so I could look up and see what she was really doing. After the tenth or eleventh time, I pretended that she wasn't doing it at all.

Reading an e-mail from my French Counterpart, Isabelle St-Germain, I quickly typed out a reply, cursing my computer for not being programmed to be able to write in French. Instead, I spent a good five minutes turning off autocorrect and finding symbols or working out shortcuts. On a Post-it, I make a note to remind me to call the tech team and ask them to fix it.

Having already decided not to get out of my contract earlier- it came down to a flip of a coin- I couldn't spend the next four months, give or take, without my computer programmed to support French. Of all the overseas Vogue publications, I probably spent most of my time communicating with the French one, and being fluent in the language, I made sure to reply as often as I could in their language.

Clicking the 'SEND' button, I move onto the next set of e-mails in my inbox. It took the better part of an hour to respond to each one and to deal with the newer e-mails that arrived today, but soon enough, I was through with my first task of the day.

Sending all the articles to the printer, I asked Jasmine to stop watching me through the glass windows and make herself useful. After pulling some sort of face at my request, she dutifully went about doing her job. While she was gone, I slipped out of my office and went to see Nigel, asking him about our afternoon meeting. I was with him for just under five minutes before I was dismissed, heading back to my office. Jasmine was outside, pacing frantically, speaking into the phone in a rushed tone, her hands brushing through her hair.

"I don't know where she is!" Jasmine practically yelled. "She was here when I went to the copier and when I came back, she was gone!"

With an amused smile on my face, I crept up behind her. "Who are you talking about?" I asked, making Jasmine scream and drop her phone. While she was getting over her mini panic attack, I couldn't help but laugh at the look on her face. She looked downright furious with me. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. So, who are you talking about?"

"Oh, go to Hell, Sophie," Jasmine snaps at me, dropping to pick up her phone before she shoves a stack of papers into my hand and walking away in a huff. She got five paces before she stopped, dropped her shoulders and spun, coming back to me. "Sophie, go to your office."

Quirking an eyebrow at her, I scoff. "Are you joking? You're not my mother and you're not my boss," I tell her, folding my arms over my chest challengingly. "Are you really in a position to tell me what to do?"

She pauses.

"Yes, I am," Jasmine finally says with a seriousness in he voice that I haven't heard before. "Now, go to your office and don't come out until I tell you that you can. Go!"

I roll my eyes at her demands and slip by her to enter my office. I wasn't going in there because she'd told me to, but because I had to. Now that I had the printed articles, it was time to sit and edit. Call me old-fashioned but I much preferred pen and paper over computers, so I always made sure to edit when I could see the words in font of me, black and white. Getting comfortable on the couch in the corner, I read seven articles in total, making changes to them all.

Running out of tasks to do considering my day was very boring, I decided to pay a quick visit to the photography studio one floor down. There was a modest shoot going on and I was interested to see how it was going. Grabbing my jacket so that my outfit was complete, I grabbed my cell and asked Jasmine if she was coming with me. Usually, she would shake her head and scoff at the idea of going all the way downstairs just for a photo shoot, but today she insisted on coming with me. Like a little stalker, she was three steps behind me at all times.

"Is there any particular reason you've decided to attach yourself to my hip, Jasmine?" I queried.

"Nope," she plainly answers.

No matter how many times I walk onto a photo shoot, I still get that kick in my chest as the adrenaline starts to course through me. Although very few people would think it, a shoot like the one going on today is always going on at full speed. There's the photographer that's perpetually shouting, the wardrobe team that's throwing clothes around left, right and centre, make up artists that are on stand-by for touch ups and finally, the model, who can never please everyone with what they're doing.

Today's model is Anoushka. Tall, with dark hair, dark eyes and a figure to die for, she's a model on the rise. To her credit, she's managing to placate the photographer, Nasim, who is snapping frame after frame after frame, like his life depended on it. The atmosphere was hectic but I thrived on it, getting stuck in with giving some direction.

"Ok, Ash," I speak to the leggy model who is currently clad head-to-toe in Chanel. She angles her head at me, indicating that she's listening, but as I speak, she's still posing up a storm. Gotta love this girl. "You need to make your neck look longer and don't angle your upper body so far forward. Your waist is already tiny, you don't need to make it look even smaller. You're amazonian, Ash. You have legs that go on and on for days, so use that to your advantage. Own your height."

Jasmine indulged my need to be involved in the photo shoot for a little while longer before she pulled me from the room, insisting that we go for lunch. There was a staff refectory a few floors down, where the only thing on the menu was salad, so I made the executive decision to head to La Mirabelle. Owned by my family, La Mirabelle was a quaint little place a few blocks away from the office.

Throughout lunch, however, Jasmine was on edge, constantly checking her phone and giving me short answers to the questions that I asked her. With Jasmine acting the way she was, I finally understood how she felt whenever I spent out lunch breaks and she couldn't tear my phone from my hand.

My suspicions were raised when Jasmine's phone rang and she excused herself from the table, heading outside. Watching her as she paced the sidewalk outside, the feeling that she was hiding something from me started to grate on me. I hated being kept in the dark about stuff, and this was the perfect example of me being left out in the cold. There was something going on, but I couldn't for the life of me work out what it was.

"What's going on?" I questioned Jasmine as I went outside to meet her. I'd paid the bill and we were free to go back to work, but before we did, I had to get some sort of answers out of Jasmine. Before she attempted to shrug it off and make out that everything was fine, I pulled her towards me and narrowed my eyes on her. I was attempting to be threatening, but I'm not sure how well I pulled it off. I think I look like I'm squinting, instead. "Tell me what all the secrecy is about or I'll make your life a living hell."

"Oh, really?" Jasmine quickly sees through my plan. "And how will you do that exactly? I'm usually the one making other people's lives hell on your behalf, so this should be interesting."

She has a point. I don't have an evil streak in me, not really. But, I know someone that is quite adept at thinking up pranks. "Jasmine Esmerelda Gough," I can't help but slip in her middle name. From the look on her face, she knows just how serious I'm being now. "Have I ever introduced you to my good friend, Samuel Whitaker? I'm not sure how well you know him, but he's ruthless and seeing as I'm his eventual sister-in-law, I'm pretty sure he'll take my side over yours."

"Sophie," comes the response, Jasmine's voice full of pity. "Sweetheart, you're going to have to do better than that if you want to get anything out of me. Now, let's go. We've got work to do."

There really wasn't much work to do, at least not until it was three thirty and it was finally time for me to go into the meeting with Nigel. His team was already sat around the conference table when I arrived and it didn't escape my notice how some of the others turned their noses up at me. Ever since I came to New York, people have felt threatened by role within the magazine. If anyone thought that my move to New York would ever turn permanent, they were thoroughly mistaken. I could barely stand to be here for six months, let alone the next six decades!

Nigel, thankfully, took charge of the meeting, briefing us on an upcoming shoot that would be taking place in the Nevada desert and asked for volunteers to go with the team. One of Nigel's team was quick to jump at the chance, but Nigel still gave me the first refusal. To the other woman's delight, I told them that I wouldn't be able to go, seeing as my sister's wedding was this weekend and that it would clash.

"Ah, yes," Nigel nodded, leaning back in his chair to look at me. "Isn't le boyfriend in town, too?"

"Not until Thursday," I answer.

Nigel nods but quickly moves onto the finer details about the Nevada trip. While he spoke, I became distracted by the swivel chair that I was sat on. I started spinning myself, ninety degrees to the left and then spinning to the right, while chewing one the lid of a Biro. Every now and then, something happening in the office outside would grab my attention, but that was very rare.

Or it was, until I spun to the left and caught glimpse of a man, dressed casually in jeans, a blue hoodie and coordinating jacket, leaning against a desk outside the conference room, arms crossed over his broad chest and a weekend bag at his feet. I couldn't help but rake my eyes over the man, starting at his feet, lingering up passed his muscular thighs, over his taut stomach and up to one of the most beautiful faces I've ever seen.

Bright smile, chiselled cheekbones, defined jawline, piercing green eyes and...

Wait. Green eyes?

"Holy shit!" I exclaim, shooting out of my chair and rushing, as fast as I can in my heels, out of the conference room. Not caring about who was watching, I threw myself into his arms, savouring how good it felt to finally be held by Daniel again. I banked to memory how his body felt against mine, how my body fit with his and just how amazing Daniel smelt.  "You smell so good."

He laughs. "I'm in love with you, too, Sophie."

"Oh," I say, pulling away from him as happy tears fall down my cheek. "Yeah, about that... I'm in love with you too."