Unknown

**

James decided to switch it up back at his apartment on the fourteenth, smoking a delegate, wooden pipe instead of a cigarette. He remained in his formal-casual outfit, taking slow, long drags from the traditional pipe, letting smoke diffuse through his study.

Slow R&B was playing at a low volume, loud enough to enjoy it in the background, adding thrill to the evening atmosphere. It was at this moment, James holding the pipe, observing the pattern of the smoke and the music in the background, that a wave of inspiration travelled to James.

Not wasting a second, he turned his chair around to face the desk, pulled open his laptop and started a new document. He began typing and wouldn't stop for a long time. When he constructed words into sentences, which were slowly building a story plot, he was in another dimension. A world of his own. A world where he knew no limits, trapped in the depths of his mind and unreachable, completely switched off from the outside world. He was in the centre of his element.

James only stopped typing when the sun basked through the window and reached his naked skin. It was a strong pull back to reality, as he for the first time in hours, looked up to his surroundings. The laptop projected a time to be hated.

He yawned, stretched, saved his work and went to make some coffee. He decided it was too late to sleep, so a constant supply of coffee every few hours will have to power him through the day and keep his sleep cycle normal.

It wasn't the first time that he had to pull an all-nighter, but the level of exhaustion, even for someone like him who did not dare to sleep more than six hours, always surprised him.

Through continuous yawning, he watched the coffee slowly drip and prepare itself, his eye-lids closing with every drop. Jesus, he thought and decided that today was of type for breakfast on the road. And with that thought, his mood lifted and he jumped into the shower for an explicitly cold shower. He felt like hitting the gym later in the day, and so made a mental note to revisit closer to the time.

His favourite place to get a healthy breakfast was a small Italian café situated in the corner of a building. It gave off French vibes, offered Italian and was located in New York's finest area. This was James' summary for Morata's, and of course, others found this out about it too. It was always busy, no matter the hour, but James had been a loyal customer since their grand opening years ago. That was when he was new in the city and eager to start building relationships, he became familiar with the shop owner, a very handsome old man called Emilio Morata. He was the genius behind the coffee.

So when James entered the shop, which as usual was particularly busy and had people waiting in line to be seated, he didn't have to wait for long. His table was never occupied and was always ready for whenever he walked into the shop. He skipped the line, much to the disgust of the people still standing and waiting, and straight away sat at his designated table located right next to a huge window at the very back. He sat facing the entrance as this way he had the choice of either observing the stream of people or the busy streets to the left of him.

He reached for the newspapers, which a bunch of were pooled together in a contained hanging from the side of the desk where the till was in operation.

'Back here again I see.'

James looked up from the paragraphs he was feeding his brain to lock eyes with Marie. At her sight, he instantly smiled.

Marie was Emilio's daughter, and he had her working either the cashier or as a waitress, going around the tables and taking orders. If James had to describe her, she was this natural beauty that was always in a happy mood. It was almost as if she came straight from the "happy 80s". A short haired brunette, with pale skin and rosy cheeks, big brown eyes and legs that seemed to never end. She had the looks to be an Italian runway model, if she seriously pursued that path.

'What can I see.' James smiled and folded the paper away. 'You created an addict with that coffee of yours.'

Marie smiled brightly, showing a row of perfect white teeth. 'Than it's my responsibility to get you off it.'

'Now that would be a true American tragedy.' He pleaded, resting his face on his palm, teasingly working his charm on the pretty waitress.

'That was a good book.' Marie eyed him down, suddenly turning serious at the mention of the book with that exact title.

'A classic.' He rolled his eyes.

'The bookworm doesn't like it?' She feigned shock.

James adjusted his glasses. 'Just overrated.' He simply suggested. 'By the way, you planning to take down my order anytime soon?'

'That depends.' Marie sensually leaned on the table, closing in on James and captivating him with her mesmerising eyes. 'You got a book for me?'

James tried to hide his amusement while rolling his eyes. He decided to have some fun with the apparently innocent Marie, and suggested her a book that his alter ego wrote.

'It better be good.'

'Or what?' James light-heartedly challenged.

Marie leaned in closer to James, her mouth reaching his ear. He felt her warm breath down his neck, which gave him pleasant goose bumps.

'Or I'll spit in your scrambled eggs.'

James instantly pulled a horrified face, much to the pleasure of Marie who broke into loud giggles, attracting concerned looks from other customers. She turned around away from James and headed to the kitchen.

It occurred to James that she never asked what he liked to order, but he wasn't fussed. She served him too often not to know his standard order by now; scrambled eggs with salmon and an Americano.

He sat back and had a glance around the environment he was all too familiar with. Morata's was the opposite to the place Olivia and him had lunch in. Morata's was informal, artistic and gave its customers exactly what they sought when stepping into this Italian mini-establishment. While the other location attracted business men, powerful people in suits, Morata's was for the artists, the people with creativity flowing thought their veins. Models, actors, painters, photographers and even writers. They all went to Morata's, and quite naturally, due to some of the famous names, there were often paparazzi's hanging outside, trying to take snapshots. But so far, no one with enough fame brought the cameras, and James enjoyed that.

Marie brought out his order, flirter for a few minutes with him before she was flagged down by another customer.

James sipped on his coffee and enjoyed the plate of egg and salmon one bite after another, savouring the taste. The food was always remarkable at Morata's. It never disappointed and James was satisfied as he finished cleaning his plate and was sipping on the coffee, staring out through the window.

Manhattan was always busy. That was a given. A known fact. But what would sometimes be a rare sight, was seeing a celebrity walking down the street, shown the way and followed by bodyguards. Cameras haven't caught up to the fact that she was out in the public, but James assumed they will soon.

James had seen the face that was partly covered in big shades, although it wasn't a sunny day, before in the media. He didn't know her profession, whether a model or actress, but that was a fifty-fifty guess. However, as he observed the way she walked, or more like glided, down the road, he places his money on the former. He didn't know her name, but considering that she was almost everywhere, even on some billboards promoting various products, he knew she was the elite kind of famous. The type that had serious influence on today's youth. In a way, she matched James' very own status in power.

He kept his eyes on the model as she waited for the traffic light to turn green to cross the road. And then, with two bodyguards while the other two remained stationed outside, she entered Morata's. By that time the queue thinned, although it didn't matter much as she simply followed her bodyguard, who was making way for her.

People who had been waiting for an awful long time, at first voiced their anger, until she took her sunglasses off and everyone instantly recognised her. Eyes like those would easily be identifiable anywhere. A green, almost turquoise shade, her eyes were seductive, and she had hooked James like the the rest of the world; with her special stare, innocent but all-knowingly sexy.

James gazed at the person who caused such ruckus. The model waited casually, looking around while her bodyguard talked to the man behind the till to get some takeaway.

The fact that she had left her apartment, dressed like that and causing a big drama show only to get some takeaway astonished James. He figured that she wanted some publicity, to stay trending.

The model continued her analysis of the place until those damn eyes landed on James, who returned her stare with a sip and even cocked a brow at her. She returned the stare and both kept their eyes locked on each other. He didn't know for how long they were staring at each other, but one was able to cut the tension in the room, which was filled with a type of intensity that was new to James.

She curved her lips to a simple smile directed at him, before whispering hushed words to her bodyguard, then gliding through the café and stopping next to James' table. She pulled the chair out and sat down slowly, setting her sunglasses and her phone on the table.

Silence enveloped the table, as both continued their little game of eye-trapping. James was confused, but didn't show it. He wasn't the type to show those kind of reactions, and instead was the kind of man who remained collective, staring at the opposition.

She was pretty, James thought. Really pretty. Her face was perfectly structured. Her lips had the perfect curve, her high cheekbones showcased her round jaw. Her skin was blemish free, almost like porcelain. And those damn eyes, he thought. Those eyes were fucking enchanting. Her blonde hair was kept in a tight bun, highlighting her features even further.

Just like he had analysed her, so did she. She observed James' strong jaw covered with a scruff and his olive skin. By far her favourite feature were his brows. Full of character, his brows were the perfect thickness and the perfect length. But his looks were not what drew her to him. It was his tense stare that created a confident aura, oozing with sexiness. He was a fine specimen.

James leaned forward and used his fist to rest his face on, a subtle smile showing. She crossed her legs, tangling one foot back and forth, while intertwining her hands and placing them under her chin, rivalling his stance, her smile mirroring his.

It was this scene that the paparazzi captured perfectly. The perfect silence was suddenly interrupted by the uninterrupted flashes of the cameras. But despite the disruptive light, both remained unfazed and lost in each others features.

'Ava Faye.' The words that started it all and were accompanied by her hand held out to him.

James instantly took hers softly into his. 'James Vidal.'

He held her hand a second longer than appropriate, his eyes still locked on hers. This was of course a million dollar shot, which the paparazzi didn't let go to waste and continued snapping.

James, now bothered with cameras, reached into the inner pocket of his leather jacket that was hung around the chair and pulled out a business card, handing it to her. He didn't say anything else, as he also reached for his pack of Marlboros, putting one between his lips, getting up, putting money onto the table and leaving.

The fact that Ava was a very famous model and he a no-one left the attention on her, while he was able to exit the café without any problems. He lit the cigarette, one hand covering it to protect the fire from the wind. He took couple tokes to start it and then made his way home.

**

The smile never left Ava's face, even when she carelessly dropped the bag of food from her favourite café on the table and sinking into the couch. Wow, she thought as she replayed the fairy-tale like encounter. Snippets of his face played in her head like a vintage film; his hair, glasses, stare, smile.

Ava felt her heart pumping faster than usual, her smile widened. She was clearly flustered, her cheeks heated. She pulled his card from her purse and stared at it for a good few minutes, rolling his name over her tongue. After a while, she decided that she liked how his name sounded.

The small, elegant card was pushed against her chest and she closed her eyes, still blissful about the events of the day. She wondered whether to call him straight away and glanced at his phone number printed in black against the white. She shook her head, 'too soon', she whispered.

Her phone pinged, which took her attention away from the card and to the message she received. It was from her best friend, Emily, and stated "WHO THE HELL IS THAT?????". Ava opened the message and saw the attachment.

'Wow that was fast.' She thought as she examined the picture of her and James in the café.

It was taken perfectly, and even with some skill. It was snapped in detail and was edited to black & white for some artistic finish. The photo reflected exactly the feels of the meet, mysterious and flirtatious. It showed Ava and James leaning forward and smiling at each other. If she didn't know better, they could have been mistaken for a couple. At that thought her heart dropped in excitement.

'God, what is wrong with me?' She felt like a child.

She typed back to her best friend, explaining how he was just someone she had met by chance. Of course this didn't kill the excitement of Emily, who typed faster than she could, giving room for spelling mistakes.

**

James stared down at the small screen of his smart phone, reading the title of what Olivia had sent him only a few minutes earlier. With the settled surroundings and pace, their meeting now far over, one thought remained. The day of their next meeting, that's all he could think about.

Although James was a man who valued his privacy, and a lot too, he surprised himself at the lack of annoyance he felt that the last years of hard effort to stay under water and away from the fake obsessed media was now in ruins. Maybe it was due to the diligent fact that he was still not figured out to be associated with the pseudonym Murdoch.

Or maybe it was because he cared more for the initial attraction he felt to the mysterious lady of status. Being a deep thinker and a writer, James was victim to passion. Not just any, but intense passion. The kind of passion one saw in the Italians with pizza, cars and women, or the Spanish for the music. But right now, he was falling for the passion of the French, love.

He couldn't help but question whether it was love at first sight. It would be naïve to believe, but he dearly wanted to hold onto that thought.

A smile crept up on his face as he replayed the strange happenstance in his favourite café. He traced every fine line of her pretty face in his mind, still speechless of her beauty. It was impossible to tell his mind to stop as he even began to analyse her walk, which was the perfect walk, as it should be for a model.

He decided to reach out to the internet for further analysis and began googling her name. There was a lot of info on her, surprisingly so, and through quickly skimming the text James found out that she was one of the few most sought out models in the industry. She was an icon.

Feeling crept out by his own stalker level, James stopped his research there and began focusing on his day and the book that was yet to be completed, as promised to Olivia. He made his way to the study, sat down in the comfortable leather desk chair and before even booting up his laptop he reached for a cigarette.

It was almost a tradition by now to smoke before typing. He felt that in a way it was boosting his creativity, although he knew that was untrue. Nevertheless, he kept up this tradition and wasn't looking to stop anytime soon.

With the new lit companion held between his fingers, he began writing, but no matter how concentrated he was on the words he typed, in the back of his head was the feeling he was trying to temporarily supress, at least for the next couple hours to finish the daily word count target. But she was there, lingering in the shadows of his mind.

Several hours and thousands of words later, the sun had kissed goodbye and let the main stage for the moon to take over. It was a great evening in New York. The weather wasn't too cold, but pleasant. The air felt incredible to breathe in. The noise of the city sounded eccentrically friendly, like the background noise put together in an Oscar-winning film.

James wondered whether it was the city or him. There was a change that the happiness he felt and delved into made him perceive the world around him differently. But it was strange, he thought. Although he would love for the idea of his heart being captured by a lady, potentially even his soul mate, through one single meeting that happened by chance, he didn't want to be caught off-guard. Precautions in life could sometimes save a life.

The scenery was nevertheless as breath-taking as always. James enjoyed the evening air while sipping on coffee, this time homemade. He was lost deeply in thoughts when an alert from his phone interrupted him. He glanced at the message he received and held his breath. It was from her. Like a child opening presents on Christmas day, James opened the message with the same level of excitement. In it was a single word: 'Hi.'

James typed back swiftly and hit the send button, then put his phone away and took a sip from his cup of coffee. Before he had the chance of putting the cup back down, he heard a new message come in.

Ava had asked what he was up to, and James being of complex nature, had optioned for the act of sending a picture of his view rather than typing it out for her. He loved the irony in itself.

Couple seconds after sending it, she replied, stating dramatically that she adored that view, and thus began the flirtatious texting.

Both texted with a continuous smile on their faces, replying as fast as possible and ignoring other messages from their friends. They discussed the blow-out of the news over them. She asked whether he was okay with it, to which he coolly said that it was of no worry. They carried on with their lives for the rest of the night, doing the usual tasks, only this time they were glued to their phone. When it stayed silent too long, both worried if the other lost interest and would be relieved to hear the familiar ping of the message. They were almost like kids in love, of the purest type.

'Want to hang out?'

Sent at 9:22pm, seen at 9:23pm. No reply as of yet.

James scratched his head, but wasn't worried that he wasn't getting back to him. Maybe she was preoccupied with something else, or maybe someone else. He plunged down on the couch, got the remote for the electrical fireplace and turned it on, then turned the TV on and listened in to the late evening news. Every couple seconds he would glance in the direction of his phone, laid to the right of him.

Minutes passed, his mind thinking of her. Suddenly he surged to his feet, brows furrowed. He decided that at some point of the evening this had become crazy, even unhealthy, so grabbing the pack of cigarettes he took off to the familiar balcony. This time, instead of standing and leaning against the rail observing the scene to the fullest extent, he sat in one of the chairs he put out there, legs raised on the table that was part of the set. Just like that, he smoked through one cigarette after another. One could say that he was smoking away his anxiousness.