Thursday rolled around quickly. My return to the company had hit the ground running and I'd been busy all week settling into my new role and making appointments and bookings for work. It was far different to the life I'd known for so long but I welcomed the change.

Grimaldi was a high-end restaurant in Century City. My last appointment for the day ended just before noon so I had plenty of time to swing home and change before heading out to meet up with this Kendall Rose.

Claire had messaged me earlier in the morning to make sure I was actually going to the meeting. Dismissing the idea of a date, I'd simply informed my director that missing lunch with a colleague not only would be unprofessional but also unjustified. Cancelling a meeting simply because the person was, as Claire put it, attractive and available, was not in my moral code.

The restaurant had a valet service. Early afternoon traffic in Los Angeles, as well as my tendency to arrive fifteen minutes early to any appointment, meant I'd made it with a few minutes to spare and was promptly seated at the bar.

For a Thursday afternoon business clientele, the restaurant's patrons were dressed in varying suits and tight dresses with sensible heels. My jeans, white tee and black bomber jacket felt very out of place, but I'd learnt long ago that having an endless amount of wardrobe changes in one day was too exhausting to accomodate for every pit stop.

Due to the fact that it was only lunchtime on a work day, I managed to slip into the restaurant undetected by any crazed journalists awaiting their next story at the hands of a vicious Google Alert or Celebrity Spotter. Shades and a cap only went so far as a disguise.

Declining the bartender's drink offer, I checked my watch patiently. At exactly one o'clock the doors to the restaurant opened and a man appeared in the doorway.

Chatter died down and heads seemed to turn as the man made his way through the room. With a measure of calm composure and a stride that spoke volumes of charmed nonchalance, it became clear very quickly that the new arrival did not notice the attention he was receiving. Even as he came to a stop in front of me and ran one heavily-ringed hand through a tangle of brown feathers.

"Troye Evans?" he asked, a French accent peaking through beneath the sharp hint of mahogany and cinnamon.

I managed to nod. "That's me."

His smile reminded me of a radiant sunbeam as he gently lowered his sunglasses to reveal a pair of chilling blue eyes. They focused solely on me as the man extended his hand in a gesture of greeting. "Kendall Rose. It's a pleasure, Mr. Evans."

I shook his hand, noting the way his slender, pale fingers contrasted with my deep tan. From beneath his sleeve, a rose tattoo peaked out on his wrist. He was dressed coolly in a black turtleneck tucked into slim-fitting jeans on legs that went for days, ending in a pair of shining designer boots. The wine red blazer he wore was sharp and pristine, complimenting his black attire with an air of formality. His grin was anything but.

"Mr. Evans." I laughed. This man was only one year my junior. "Please, call me Troye. And the pleasure is all mine."

Kendall gestured to the seat beside me. "May I?"

"Please."

He sat. One leg came up to balance horizontally over the other knee. A hand rested gently atop the bar, silver rings sounding a quiet chink chink chink as one finger tapped along to a staccato rhythm no one else could hear. His gaze never faltered from me. It was like being watched by a statue, striking and unthreatening.

My mouth curled upward slightly in warm greeting. "My director asked me to be here to meet you. Claire Atwood?"

Kendall nodded once. There was a hint of playfulness glinting in his eyes. "Yes, I'm more than familiar with your director. She's been scouting me for two years." He let out a soft laugh.

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you know why she arranged this meeting then?"

"She wants to sign me to the company." Kendall smiled. "She even dropped your name in the proposition. I'm flattered, truly, but I told her it would take more than a guaranteed fall shoot with top designers to get me to sign on."

Surprise overcame me immediately. It wasn't often I met someone with such confidence, particularly in a person so young. It wasn't the slightest bit egotistical. In fact, it was more refreshing than anything else to hear that a model believed in themselves.

"What did you have in mind?"

He didn't have to think before answering. "I've bounced back and forth between places for work for the past two years. It was a great opportunity - the fashion community in Italy is like nothing I'd ever seen and the camaraderie in Australia is unbelievable - but I'm looking to settle into one place for a bit. Get myself grounded."

"A packed schedule and growing portfolio is great," he continued, "but I want to try and aim for something real this time, you know? Shoot work glamourises my life enough. Right now I'm just looking for natural. Organic. You know?"

I nodded. I knew.

"So, you're hoping to humble yourself a little?" I said, not unkindly.

His smile was radiant. "Exactly. I'm ready for something new."

"Well, judging from your file, you don't need any training. Your portfolio is more than impressive now and I'm sure it will only grow with time."

"Troye," Kendall smiled charmingly. "You've already got me out with you. There's no need for the flattery. Though a little harmless flirting is never shamed upon."

He was joking, tone warm and lighthearted, but i visibly tensed at the mention of flirting. Kendall noticed my rigid posture and frowned. "Pardon me, I've said something wrong, haven't I?"

I swallowed thickly and waved him off. "It's fine. Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

Kendall wasn't convinced, that much was clear, but he let it slide. He leaned back on the stool, fingers tracing the ring of his tumbler on the bar as his composure recollected. That charming smile returned a moment later. "There's not much to tell really. My mother's French and my father is American. I was born and raised in Chicago, but we spent the summers travelling to Orléans to visit my mother's family. My grandmother is a seamstress and cultivated my interest in fashion."

"She must be proud of how far you've come."

"She passed when I was sixteen." Kendall said fondly, as if reminiscent of her beloved memory. "But I'd like to think she would approve of my achievements considering she taught me everything I know."

"And your parents?"

"Mother is a jewellery designer. Father is a data analyst. He spent a few months in Paris helping to globalise his firm where he met my mother. She followed him back to the States where they married and had me."

I nodded to show I was keeping up with the conversation. "And how did you get into modelling?"

"Aside from my grandmother's influence, I was always drawn to the fashion magazines my mother kept beneath the coffee table. Vogue, Vanity Fair, Harper's Bazaar, you name it. I've always thought clothes were beautiful; that someone could make something so colourful and passionate that brought people and different cultures together. The men didn't hurt either." He winked.

I schooled my surprised expression with a casual, "Oh, you're gay?"

There was challenge in his voice as his brows furrowed slightly. His accent peaked as he questioned, "Yes. Is that a problem?"

He looked surprised when I laughed softly. "It would be hypocritical of me if it was."

"You're gay?"

Not that I encouraged egotism in the slightest, but I was slightly startled. The press had a field day with my name across a global scale. If Kendall knew who I was, shouldn't he know I was gay?

I didn't tell him that, nodding instead. "I came out when I was fifteen."

"Congratulations. I can't imagine it would be easy at such an age."

I shrugged. "Claiming your identity should never be hard in the first place."

"This is true."

"What about-" I broke off, wondering perhaps if my question would be considered intrusive.

Kendall put two and two together without missing a beat. He smiled as he said, "Me? There were many telltale signs beyond my mother's magazines, but I didn't speak the words out loud until I was seventeen."

I smiled to show I understood. "It can take time to come to terms with who you are. I know that was the case for me, even if my friends and family were very accepting."

Kendall went quiet for a moment and I worried I'd overstepped, triggering a bad memory rooted deep within his own coming out experience. I was relieved when he smiled a moment later. "Acceptance is something this world needs more of. I am glad your chosen companions are on the progressive side of history."

"And yours?"

"Progressive also." Kendall replied thoughtfully. "I am enchanted with beautiful men and beautiful clothing. This is who I am. I wouldn't change for my parents and they don't expect me to."

I nodded quickly. "That's g-good. I'm glad."

"And what about you?"

"I told you. My family is-"

"Not your family. You. Are you happy with who you are?"

It was such a deep, existential question to be propositioned with on an early Thursday afternoon, but I didn't hesitate long in answering. "I am."

"I thought so." Kendall grinned and brought his arm up to lay across the back of his chair. "You have this confidence about you that becomes your quintessence. I wasn't sure the papers did your character justice."

"Oh, um," I stumbled. "Thankyou?"

Kendall nodded. "It is a compliment. I've heard many things about you, Troye Evans."

"Good things I hope?"

"Fragments of intrigue. I wondered if you would live up to such appraisal."

"And do I?"

"I see kindness and generosity. No word of a skilled journalist should be undercut when it comes to you."

I blushed at his kind words. "That's nice of you to say."

"I speak truths, Troye." Kendall answered. "I see no advantage in lying about one's admirable qualities."

Receiving compliments was something I was used to in my line of work but reception of them was still a working progress. Even if they were born of glowing praise. I directed the conversation back to him. "What can I offer you that will make you stay?"

Kendall thought about that for a moment. "Something real. Life is too short to always be driving in the fast lane. If you can give me something original, something undoubtedly whole, I will stay and sign on with your company this season."

I considered his words. My own life was painted in glamour and luxury. It was one of the reasons I'd loved being in London. I knew more than anyone how it felt to need to breathe a different air for a while. The city was enchanting and the people whimsical, but it was easier to build a home starting from nothing.

So, in the end I simply smiled at him. "I think I can make that happen."

Kendall nodded once. "Then I trust your judgement."

I held out my hand to him, beaming. "Mr. Rose, then it is my pleasure to offer you my sincerest welcome to Atwood & Ford Model Management."

Kendall took my hand and shook it, fingers curling softly around mine as though he was made of China and paper. "Mr. Evans, the pleasure is mine."