You gaze out of the window of the stretch limo as the scenery of the suburbs continues to pass you by signally the ever-nearing closeness of the city. You shake your head in disbelief. Who knew I’d be in this situation just because I refused to give up my perfectly comfy spot at a table in a park no less. You think. And this event only happened just a single day ago.

“This is a perfect design to go with the cosplay I want to do for the upcoming cosplay contest.” You mutter to yourself as you lean back in your chair, taking in the crisp air of your favorite park in your hometown. It has always been a great place for inspiration for you ever since you were little. Plus, it helps that you only lived a few blocks down from it.

With all of the surrounding trees bunched up like the area was encased like a forest, and the light and senseless jabber of the little kids nearby playing pretend on the Jungle gym seeing who “King of the mountain” could be or who was the bravest to do the fanciest tricks. Ah to be young again. But then again, you wouldn’t trade your experiences for the world. Without them, you wouldn’t be the aspiring costume designer you were today.

You went to look back down at your sketchbook and were about to continue on with your design, when your thought process was interrupted by the silkiest, deepest, and dare you say it, the sexiest voice you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“You there, girl. You’re in my seat. Off you go.” The sexy voice demanded.

Ah hell no.

No one tells you what to do. Especially not in the middle of a very productive inspiration session. You placed your drawing pad down beside you for a brief moment and you found yourself staring all the way up to meet the stranger’s face dead on. You could easily tell this guy was some kind of prima donna. Black Armani shoes, tailored slacks, a white button-up with a blood-red vest, and a, what you hoped to God was a faux fur mink coat draped around him. His fashion sense though wasn’t exactly what drew you in though. NO, it was that perfect alabaster skin, the wry smirk on his face those piercing blue eyes that seemed like they were devouring you with each passing second. And last but most certainly not least, his monochromatic hair. One part was perfectly styled and coifed being white in color. While the other side was much like the other side except it was jet black.

You find yourself taking a deep breath just to steady your hummingbird-like heart. Then you try to pair his smirk with one of your own. “I don’t see your name on it, mister. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some drawing that needs to be finished.”

“Snarky little thing aren’t you?” He remarks with an eyebrow raised.

You just click your teeth in response. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Before you were able to get back to your own work though, your cellphone rang. Pulling it out to check you mutter a few curses under your breath. It was work. Apparently, there were a few more call-outs than usual at the boutique and they needed you asap. You start stuffing all of your things into your purse hurriedly trying to get to the boutique in time. If you were late, you’d never hear the end of it.

“Well, it looks like you get your wish after all. Work calls.” You mutter as you dash off of the bench completely forgetting the fact that in your rush you forgot to put your sketchpad in your bag as well.

The man picks up the book and flips through it for a minute, a curious smirk gracing his features as he does. “Well, it would seem, Ma Cherie, you have more to you than just a little snark.”

“So you see Miss (Y/n) …Miss (Y/n)?”

The voice of the assistant of the pompous but unfortunately very handsome fashion designer—who you just barely learned was named Cruello De Vil brings you out of your reverie.

You turn your head to face the wiry brunette. She had light green eyes with a soft face. She looked like a very kind-hearted person but considering who she worked for there was definitely more to meet the eye.

“Hm? Oh, sorry. My mind was just wandering back to what started all of this. Me basically telling your boss to go to hell, forgetting my sketchbook, him finding it, and now me being captured from my work the very next day to become some sort of personal designer/muse or whatever he wanted of me.”

The woman gave a soft chuckle. “He wants you to be his new Chief Costume designer. It’s a new position Mr. De Vil decided to give his fashion line just recently. And we gave you back your notepad once we brought you in here.”

You let out a snort. “More like dumped it into my lap.” You look down onto your lap and brush a thumb over the cover. This thing contained your dreams, the very thing you wanted to do all of your life. Any time you lacked inspiration for any of your other tasks you would draw and create new costumes. Maybe they never got created, but just knowing you had the plans were enough.

“So, you were saying…”

“Oh, that’s right I never told you my name. It’s Katerina. And what I was trying to tell you Miss (Y/n),”

You interrupted her. “Just (Y/n) is fine.”

She nods and smiles. “Alright. I was trying to tell you that when we get to the building that Mr. De Vil is currently occupying, I want to give you a heads up that with his designers he can be quite the finicky man,”

“You don’t say.”

Katerina chuckles. “Though, I highly doubt you will have much of a problem judging by how he practically bit anyone’s head off anyone who dared come near that sketchbook of yours yesterday.”

That threw you. Why would someone so obviously pompous and full of himself be so protective of your sketchbook? You didn’t know much about this man—hardly anything for that matter, you were always one for being more into cosplayers and Broadway names than fashion designers. That was your mom’s bread and butter so to speak. But from the info you found out from her after you got her to calm down and stop asking if you were ok and then what he was wearing, he was even more pompous and self-serving than what your first impression was, to begin with.

“Well, that should be an interesting experience then.” You mutter.

The next thing you know, you’re slowing down to a crawl and stopping in front of a very ritzy building. The door of the limo swings open and the driver holds the door for both you and Katerina. “After you mademoiselle.” The chauffeur says.

You take a deep breath and step out of the limo and stare up at the towering building. It was at least Thirteen stories high. “Well, here goes nothing I suppose.”