Backstory: earlier this year, Keira's birthday
Nic would really, really like to be able to sing. But he warbles and skips all over the scales when he tries, so it's just as well the stereo system in his car is loud enough to drown him out.
Doesn't stop him trying though.
The carpark at DBY has terrific gravel to skid on, and it's very difficult not to swagger like a Levi's model when your soundtrack is John Lee Hooker and your backdrop is a smoggy, orange LA.
Nic grabs the two bags from the passenger seat -- bright pink with discreet black logos -- and tips his sunglasses back on his head, saunters inside the building.
The studio redlights are on, and there aren't any signs of life in the dressing rooms. Keira normally hangs out in the office, where there's a flat surface to scribble on, but she's not there. He knows she likes the patio table in the little garden enclosure, and although it's barely bigger than a handkerchief, enough grass to stretch out in and nothing more, and when he cracks open the sliding door to the garden, there she is.
Nic thinks of himself as pretty equal-opportunity when it comes to boys and girls, but working in this business, even for the brief time he's been here, he realised that he definitely likes women to be fast, bright and pushy. With men, Nic can't help but be the one who's aggressive and competitive. Keira pushes his buttons perfectly; she's like he is, but in a much prettier package.
Pretty. Hot. Sexy. Cheeky. She's got her hair in ponytails, tapping a pen on her teeth, and peering at him over her glasses.
"Hallo, birthday girl," he says, moves to insinuate himself where she has her feet perched on two chairs.
Doesn't stop him trying though.
The carpark at DBY has terrific gravel to skid on, and it's very difficult not to swagger like a Levi's model when your soundtrack is John Lee Hooker and your backdrop is a smoggy, orange LA.
Nic grabs the two bags from the passenger seat -- bright pink with discreet black logos -- and tips his sunglasses back on his head, saunters inside the building.
The studio redlights are on, and there aren't any signs of life in the dressing rooms. Keira normally hangs out in the office, where there's a flat surface to scribble on, but she's not there. He knows she likes the patio table in the little garden enclosure, and although it's barely bigger than a handkerchief, enough grass to stretch out in and nothing more, and when he cracks open the sliding door to the garden, there she is.
Nic thinks of himself as pretty equal-opportunity when it comes to boys and girls, but working in this business, even for the brief time he's been here, he realised that he definitely likes women to be fast, bright and pushy. With men, Nic can't help but be the one who's aggressive and competitive. Keira pushes his buttons perfectly; she's like he is, but in a much prettier package.
Pretty. Hot. Sexy. Cheeky. She's got her hair in ponytails, tapping a pen on her teeth, and peering at him over her glasses.
"Hallo, birthday girl," he says, moves to insinuate himself where she has her feet perched on two chairs.