"So, skip class?" Ed asks again, his brows raised mischievously.

This time, I just nod.

"So... what did he mean? He wants you to model?" He studies my face.

I nod again.

"Okay, your communication skills are normally fucking fantastic, but I need you to speak just to confirm you haven't had a stroke," he says as we head to his car.

"Yeah... he said he'll come by the club tonight and talk to me during my break about working for Burberry." Saying it out loud makes it feel even more insane.

Ed starts the car, and we drive in silence for a few moments before he says, "Ella, I hate to break this to you, but did it occur to you that maybe this Ferguson guy is only offering you the gig because..."

"...of Harry," I finish for him.

"Of course I thought about that, Ed, and you're probably right," I admit, staring out the window. "I'm not stupid or gullible—despite what you might think—but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least intrigued. I mean, I need to hear him out, see what he has to say. And God knows I could use the money."

My mind is already running a marathon, trying to make sense of everything. We enter the café and we talk about it some more.

"I guess I'll listen to him and tell you guys all about it, yeah?"

Ed's expression betrays his concern. "Don't do anything or sign anything before you talk to Jimmy and me," he warns.

"Will you tell Harry?" Niall asks, having just joined us with his usual bright smile.

"Not until there's something to tell, Ni. Besides, he's in the middle of meetings and negotiations. I don't want to burden him if there's nothing to stress about, right?" Niall nods, and we agree to have a full gang meeting at the café tomorrow.

Then, turning back to Ed, I smirk. "Why are you so surprised, though? You don't think I have model potential?" I tease.

"Of course you do," he replies immediately. "I've always been in favour of promoting the plain. So what if you have cellulite, fat thighs, and pimples, right? So what if you tack your tits into your socks—representation matters, Ella," he says, grinning like the asshole that he is.

"I forbid you from being friends with Jimmy ever again," I say, pretending to be offended. "His influence is all over you."

Ed just laughs, clearly pleased with himself.

That night, Chrys helps me put my outfit together.

"Dress to impress, Cameron," she instructs, holding up options like she's curating a red carpet event.

She wouldn't let me go until she was certain I looked my absolute best.

She styles my hair effortlessly and persuades me that a black mini dress is always a win. Judging by the appreciative looks I get from half the male clients at the club, I'd say she was right.

"Looking good, Cameron," Jimmy comments as he gets a chance between pouring drinks.

"Well, thank you, Jimmy," I reply, flipping my hair dramatically and batting my eyelashes for extra effect.

"So, this Ferguson guy—when's he coming?" he inquires, raising his voice over the music.

"Your Siamese brother already filled you in, I see," I say, nodding toward Ed, who is smirking knowingly from across the bar.

"Ella, I know everything, babe. Everything. I know when you eat, when you sleep, when you fart. I actually know you want to fart before the thought even crosses your brain. Mi casa es tu casa," he winks.

"Oh my God, Jimmy, that was both disgusting and disturbing. And the Spanish thing? Let's just say... wildly out of place." I roll my eyes before nodding toward the blonde at the far end of the bar. "By the way, blonde, nine o'clock, checking you out."

He glances briefly, then scoffs. "Been there, done her. And it's eight o'clock. God, you suck as a wingman."

Before I can argue back, a deep, polished voice cuts through the music.

"Ella? Ella Cameron?"

I turn toward the sound and see a man in a sharp, tailored suit.

"Yes?" I ask, taken aback by his sheer presence. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and undeniably handsome in an effortless, sophisticated way. Not my type, but I can't ignore the fact that objectively, he's stunning.

"Hello. I'm Nicholas. Nicholas Ferguson," he introduces himself, extending a hand.

"Nice to meet you. Ella Cameron," I say awkwardly as I shake it.

"Can we talk somewhere quieter?" he asks, all business.

"Yeah, sure. Let's head to the back where the staff take their break. Don't expect an office or anything—just a worn-out bench," I warn.

He nods, and I quickly glance at Jimmy, who is already sizing Nicholas up like a protective older brother. I roll my eyes and mouth behave before leading Nicholas to the back, pushing open the heavy door to the dimly lit alleyway behind the club.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asks politely.

"Go ahead," I say, watching as he pulls out a sleek Cartier cigarette case, lights up, and inhales deeply.

"So, I assume you have a few questions," he says, noting the way I fidget with my fingers.

"I do, actually."

"Let me answer a few before you ask," he smirks.

"Okay."

"We first noticed you when you attended a show with Chase Crawford."

"Last March... yeah, I remember," I nod.

"We're looking for fresh faces, healthy, real girls for our next campaign. Not for the clothing line—for the bag line. We're targeting the twenty-something demographic, the modern, urban 'it girl,' and I think you fit the image perfectly," he explains, exhaling a slow cloud of smoke.

"And I know you don't have a book or experience, but I have an eye for these things, and so far, my instincts haven't failed me," he adds with a smirk.

"Well, that covers most of my questions, but I do have a couple more," I say, ever the smartass.

"Shoot."

Before I can, the door swings open again, and the music from inside floods the alley.

"Hey, everything okay here?" Jimmy asks, eyeing Nicholas like he's a security threat.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Jimmy," I say, my heart swelling at how protective he is.

"I'll be back in five," Jimmy warns, clearly not convinced.

"Or Ed might come," he adds before disappearing back inside.

Nicholas chuckles. "I see you come with your own personal security."

"Just making sure I don't get kidnapped," I tease. "Now, my question—why meet here instead of your office?"

He smirks, taking another drag of his cigarette. "I wanted to see you in your natural habitat."

I raise a brow. "Natural habitat?"

"Girls tend to change attitude the second they step inside an agency office. I wanted to observe you in your world before making my decision. And let's just say... I'm happy with what I've seen."

I don't respond. I just cross my arms and wait.

"Alright, let's talk business," he continues. "Come to my office tomorrow at three. I'll have our photographer there, we'll take a few test shots, see how you feel in front of the camera, and then we'll talk numbers. I can assure you, it'll be worth your time."

I exhale, weighing my options.

"Deal?" he asks, holding out his hand.

After a beat, I shake it. "Deal."

"Good. Now let's head back inside before your security comes looking for me again," he jokes.

"His name is Jimmy," I correct him.

"Excuse me?" He pauses, slightly confused.

"My friend's name is Jimmy," I repeat. "He's a model, just like Chase."

Nicholas exhales slowly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Oh, I know exactly who he is," he replies smoothly. "I know my job, Ella."

As we step back inside, the lights are brighter, the music louder, but I can't shake the feeling that Nicholas Ferguson is someone I'll need to keep a very close eye on.