Author's Note: This story is completely fictional and did not happen. All names of characters are fictional and were made up. Please do not copy and plagiarize my work.
This series is dedicated to my good friend Jack.
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Paris, France
July 2012
Sunlight illuminated the white table, giving a small reflection across the gloss finish. Scratches had dulled the top after years of heavy use. The marble texture was still visible underneath when the table was not cluttered with drinks. The bubbling of a coffee machine from across the table could be heard in the room. Footsteps could be heard louder than the bubbling sounds as a man entered the room and attended to the coffee pot. A visible five-o'clock shadow covered his face after neglecting to shave yesterday. A jacket that belonged with his suit was left in the office, tucked over his desk chair. The man stood in black slacks and a buttoned up white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Time was not on Jordan White's side. The end of the work week had come in the early morning hours of Friday, leaving him stuck with a brutal deadline coming up. He poured his freshly brewed coffee into a plastic cup as someone else stepped into the room.
"Good morning."
A heavy French accent greeted Jordan before he turned to see a friend at work. Samuel was properly dressed with a clean-shaven face. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, matching his eye color. No rings were visible under his eyes, giving the impression he was in a healthy state of mind. He was not under the same level of pressure that Jordan currently felt on a day like this.
"Rough night, Jordan?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"I hope you saved me enough for a glass."
Jordan rolled his eyes at that comment. Sam had made it a point to socialize with him every morning for the past three days due to a current mutual interest they had. It was only a matter of time before he began to ask him about the interview. That was the only subject driving any of their conversations throughout the week. As the two men stood there and sipped from their cups, Jordan began to relax when Sam spoke.
"I'm glad it's Friday. Are you gonna be at the bar after getting paid?"
"Probably not. I need to stay up tonight and get my interview printed out to send upstairs."
"Oh, that's right. You haven't finished that yet. Someone upstairs isn't happy with you right now."
"You don't have to remind me."
Sam glared at his friend before the conversation could shift to that one topic Jordan wanted to avoid. He knew that he was in deep trouble for slacking on his work. If the interview was not done by tonight, he would likely be without a job to start the next month.
"What's that term you Americans like to use? Up shit creek without a paddle?"
As Sam laughed, Jordan rolled his eyes.
"You've made your point, man. You don't have to remind me how lucky I am to be interviewing a supermodel."
"No, but I will remind you that you're lucky that I know her. If not for me, you really would be up shit creek about now."
Jordan turned around before walking out the door of the breakroom. He figured Sam would be following behind him to carry on their banter. After walking a few steps alone through the office cubicle, he realized that Sam was not behind him. White walls divided the small offices in a pattern that made up the entire floor for the English printing of Numéro magazine. Landing a job away from home in a European country was something of a dream come true for Jordan. His first year of college was spent in New York before he ventured to London to take up an internship in London at another university. His first job was two years in the rearview mirror. Opportunities were there to be had in London with the glamour industry. To leave that behind, Jordan hoped he would not regret it.
Money was the sole motivation that led him to France. The pay for English editors and writers at Numéro magazine was higher than any other fashion related media. With his credentials in education and a previous job, Jordan found himself with a small office in no time. August would mark six months since his first paycheck. Work had proved to be overwhelming at times, only due to the distractions that came from life. At twenty-four years of age, he was beginning to miss the old life he had in university. There was much more time to go out, party, and chase women. It had been almost three years since the last time Jordan last shared a commitment with a woman. A long-term relationship was not a goal he had in mind. What he truly missed was getting laid. Jordan had been lucky to indulge himself with the services of a call girl back in January.
But it left a bad taste in his mouth to be paying for sex. Jordan did not see a level of pride in it. The experience was not like when he chased a girl all over campus, trying his luck weekend after weekend to get lucky. During his brief time in the British glamour industry, he saw many beautiful women who caught his eye. The ultimate dream, going back to his youth, was to bed a model. That was a fantasy he had kept to himself throughout the years. Jordan knew he probably would have had better luck achieving that goal had he stayed in London. His luck had changed, thanks to Sam introducing him to supermodel Bar Refaeli earlier in the week. Jordan remembered her photoshoots printed in the special swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated. A copy of it sat under the bed of his college dorm back in the day.
His job at hand was to interview the sexiest woman in the world, according to Maxim magazine. Sam told Jordan that Bar was a friend of his. How they met and knew one another was left a mystery. She completed a photo session for Numéro last week. The only thing holding up the editorial side was an interview to accompany the photo shoot. Sam would have finished it days ago, as Jordan had been reminded more than once by now. Distractions were the one thing that had stalled his work after his first meeting with Miss Refaeli. Her agent arranged a date for them at a diner not far from the office. That day was spent getting to know her before the scheduled interview. Her big blue eyes gazed back at his face, like windows to the soul. It was something about that date that brought a level of excitement to Jordan that he did not anticipate.
The date went like any other time. Bar spent much of her time getting to know the man who would be interviewing her rather than talking about business. Jordan had heard tales of staged interviews at Numéro. It was standard practice for a model with a capable PR team to pull out all the stops needed to control the questions and narrative of the interview. What questions he had to ask her were lost that day. She passed her phone number on a napkin for him to call at any time. That made things easier than calling her agent to arrange something. When Jordan sat down in the squeaky, black leather chair at his desk, he let out a sigh. The napkin with her phone number was tucked beneath a red spiral notebook on the left side of his desk. The number was added to the contact list on his smartphone, but Jordan felt the need to call from the office instead. Once he retrieved the napkin, Jordan grabbed his desk phone and began pressing the buttons to dial her number. A few seconds of ringing passed before she answered.
"Hello? Who's this?"
"Hi Miss. Refaeli, it's Jordan calling at Numéro magazine."
"Oh, it's you."
A chuckle was heard through the phone after her answer. Jordan smiled to himself before replying.
"Yeah, what do you know? It's just me calling you."
"I doubt you're calling simply to chat."
"No, I don't have time for that. I was calling to ask about our interview. I've got to get that done with you today or I'm in big trouble."
"So the interview is due for today?"
"Yeah."
She giggled into the phone.
"You have some sense of urgency. Someone must be breathing down your neck."
