countries. I zoom in on my screen to get a better look at the photo on the webpage and discover a man with a beautiful, sculpted face. His jaw is very well defined and makes him look incredibly masculine. Blond, carefully styled hair frames a large, broad forehead. Above his straight and elegant nose, his intense blue eyes stare out, full of mystery. There's some darkness in that blue. His stormy gaze contrasts with the sweetness of his mouth, perfectly framed by full lips, parted slightly to show off his impeccable teeth. It doesn't reassure me much, but I understand things better now: that sort of face doesn't leave a person indifferent. I realise that I get a little thrill from looking at that photo, and I start to think about this two-day trip with a touch of excitement. However, I know that mustering up the courage to approach Mr. Diamonds will be a real challenge for me. Eric asked me to prepare a few questions so that I could include a little interview in my report, and I start to jot down a few ideas in my notebook, but my eyes are hopelessly – almost magnetically – attracted to that photo. My mind wanders, I have a hard time concentrating on what I'm doing. I think about Eric again, so disappointed that he couldn't go to this party in Mr. Diamonds' vineyard, and how I hated the idea of having to stand in for him. Maybe I'm starting to have a change of heart...
I look for other photos of Gabriel Diamonds on the internet. There are very few of them, as if he trying to protect his image. I can see him clearly in one of them, though, he's standing up during a wine-making ceremony. Taller than most of the other men I know, he looks slender and well-built. Judging by his broad back, his solid shoulders and his muscular butt, he's either an athlete or a particularly potent force of nature. It's almost irritating. And to top it all off, he seems to have an innate sense of style. He's dressed very elegantly, without seeming too sophisticated. A black suit, dark and chic, frames a white shirt, the first three buttons of which are open, showing a torso as tanned as his face. I'm surprised at how much pleasure I'm getting from studying this man, a man I barely knew existed a few minutes ago. Well, he's extremely attractive, that's for sure. His extraordinary physique, his appearance, the way he holds his head and his posture all have an effect on me, I have to admit it. I let out a long sigh and close my eyes after looking once more at the two photos of Gabriel Diamonds. Without trying, I slip into an beautifully sweet sleep, a smile on my lips and my head full of dreams.
Mounted on an imposing thoroughbred horse, Gabriel towers over me, in a dominant stance, and his presence makes me feel even more minuscule. My chestnut hair, too messy and too boring, my jeans tucked into my flat and plain boots, my black jacket that's a little too big: nothing about me does much for my confidence. He's dressed as a chic version of a knight and shoots me a harsh glance.
“You're late,” he scolds in his sexy voice, his gorgeous blue eyes boring into mine.
“Yes, sorry...”
“Spare me the excuses. Who are you?"
“Um...I'm here for the interview.”
What's come over me? Why am I stuttering like a idiot unable to string a simple sentence together?
“I believe I asked you who you are. Not what you're doing.”
“Ah, yes. Sorry. I'm Eric Chopard's intern, from the wine website.”
“I know who he is. But I still don't know anything about you. Except for your obsession with constantly saying you're sorry. Do you have a name, Eric Chopard's intern?”
“I was just trying to be polite. But I can stop if you prefer.”
His way of looking down at me starts to bother me, and his last remark irritates me. But he doesn't seem to like the insolence of my response either, judging from his dark gaze, his parted lips and the silence that follows. He must not be used to people standing up to him. I collect myself and quickly
I look for other photos of Gabriel Diamonds on the internet. There are very few of them, as if he trying to protect his image. I can see him clearly in one of them, though, he's standing up during a wine-making ceremony. Taller than most of the other men I know, he looks slender and well-built. Judging by his broad back, his solid shoulders and his muscular butt, he's either an athlete or a particularly potent force of nature. It's almost irritating. And to top it all off, he seems to have an innate sense of style. He's dressed very elegantly, without seeming too sophisticated. A black suit, dark and chic, frames a white shirt, the first three buttons of which are open, showing a torso as tanned as his face. I'm surprised at how much pleasure I'm getting from studying this man, a man I barely knew existed a few minutes ago. Well, he's extremely attractive, that's for sure. His extraordinary physique, his appearance, the way he holds his head and his posture all have an effect on me, I have to admit it. I let out a long sigh and close my eyes after looking once more at the two photos of Gabriel Diamonds. Without trying, I slip into an beautifully sweet sleep, a smile on my lips and my head full of dreams.
Mounted on an imposing thoroughbred horse, Gabriel towers over me, in a dominant stance, and his presence makes me feel even more minuscule. My chestnut hair, too messy and too boring, my jeans tucked into my flat and plain boots, my black jacket that's a little too big: nothing about me does much for my confidence. He's dressed as a chic version of a knight and shoots me a harsh glance.
“You're late,” he scolds in his sexy voice, his gorgeous blue eyes boring into mine.
“Yes, sorry...”
“Spare me the excuses. Who are you?"
“Um...I'm here for the interview.”
What's come over me? Why am I stuttering like a idiot unable to string a simple sentence together?
“I believe I asked you who you are. Not what you're doing.”
“Ah, yes. Sorry. I'm Eric Chopard's intern, from the wine website.”
“I know who he is. But I still don't know anything about you. Except for your obsession with constantly saying you're sorry. Do you have a name, Eric Chopard's intern?”
“I was just trying to be polite. But I can stop if you prefer.”
His way of looking down at me starts to bother me, and his last remark irritates me. But he doesn't seem to like the insolence of my response either, judging from his dark gaze, his parted lips and the silence that follows. He must not be used to people standing up to him. I collect myself and quickly
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