Normally, I do my job and go about my business, but every once in a blue moon, something outrageous will happen and I'll get my feathers ruffled. That's precisely what happened today.

Hold on. Before I explain, let me rewind a little.

I'm Rebecca Gibson, a twenty-one-year-old, college student who's about to start her next to last semester at UCLA. I'm working towards a Communications degree that I may or may not use, and I've considered dropping out recently. For the time being, I've decided to stick with it since my living situation was great and no better plans have emerged.

I grew up two hours from L.A. in a small town near the Mohave Preserve and probably wouldn't have been able to afford to live in L.A. and go to college there if my Uncle Greg didn't offer to let me stay with him for free.

Uncle Greg is what we called him, but he wasn't really my Uncle. He was a high school friend of my dad's. He was eccentric, even back then, and he'd relied on my dad to take up for him when he got picked on. My dad was part of the popular crowd, and apparently Uncle Greg's only ally most of the time. Anyway, the high school nerd grew up to be a very successful professional poker player. He was one of the best, and known for his mysterious, eccentric demeanor at the table.

Greg Carson was a three-time winner of the World Series of Poker, and was richer than Donald Trump because of it. Okay, maybe he wasn't that rich, but poker afforded him a nice house in Los Angeles, and a fairly lavish lifestyle in spite of the fact that he really didn't even play that much anymore. He was generous with the spoils of his riches, which was exactly why I decided to finish my degree. I hadn't paid a dime in rent, nor had I bought any groceries since I moved in over three years ago. I always offered to chip in on things, but he never let me. He never asked for anything in return, and simply desired to help me get through school.

I had a part-time job working with plants that I truly enjoyed. That, paired with the free rent and food situation at Uncle Greg's, was worth the effort of getting the Communications degree. College wasn't so bad anyway. It was, without a doubt, better than high school. I had a few good friends who I'd met during my first semester, and besides the fact that I wasn't passionate about my field of study, it was an overall positive experience. I would graduate in less than a year and honestly had no plan in place for when that time came. For now, I would just appreciate and enjoy my current situation.

I was working at my part-time job as an indoor plant artist when the tail-ruffling event that I mentioned earlier happened. I did the design and maintenance of the indoor plants and flowers at three different Los Angeles hotels. I'd been working with the same company since I moved there three years ago, but was relatively sure I could branch out on my own without burning any bridges if I decided to stay in L.A. once I graduated.

Those were thoughts that could take place on a later date. Today, all I was thinking about were the beautiful white lilies I was working with. I snipped the end of each stem before adding them one by one to a gigantic arrangement. It was one of my best efforts, and I smiled as I placed a particularly stunning flower near the center.

"Becca?" It sounded like whoever said my name was saying it for the second time, and I turned down the music in my headphones as I twirled to see who was talking to me. It was the general manager as I'd expected when I heard the man's voice. His name was Stan Snead, and he was my favorite manager. The Crestwell gave me the biggest budget and the most freedom, which made me pay extra special attention to his hotel.

"Yes sir?" I asked, smiling at him.

"I just said it's magnificent!" he said, looking wide-eyed at the lilies.

Did I mention he had a flair for drama? That was another reason I liked him. He always used words like
magnificent
and
breathtaking
to describe my arrangements.

"You said you liked lilies."

"I do." He put his nose to one, closed his eyes, and took a long sniff before handing me an envelope, which I knew contained a check. I put it into my bag.

"I'm almost done."

"You might want to stick around if you'd like to see the big shot male model we have checking in tonight."

"Like Zoolander?"

"Not that cheesy," he said. "I heard some of the girls talking, saying he was the best thing since sliced bread."

"What's his name?" I asked, mostly being polite. I couldn't care less about male models. In fact, the second thought to enter my mind after
Zoolander,
was some emo-looking guy who weighed about half of what I did, making a pouty face.

"Isaac Charles."

He said the words at the very same moment that the main doors slid open and my heart stopped. His Instagram name was something entirely different than his real name, so the name Isaac Charles didn't really resonate when Stan said it. I stared in disbelief at the person who was now crossing the lobby in the direction of the front desk.

"That must be him right there," Stan said, shifting to get my attention as I stared blankly. I knew in the back of my mind that Isaac was a model, but for some reason, I didn't categorize him that way. He would more likely be in the category of general gorgeous badasses I follow on Instagram.

I only followed about a hundred people, and Isaac Charles was one of them. He was the most stunning creature on the face of the earth, covered from the jawline down in amazing black and grey tattoos, that were beautifully done and well thought out. His tattoos perfectly accentuated his extremely sculpted body, and the whole package was simply stunning to behold. I found a picture of him one time when I was looking at random popular photos and after one glance at his feed, I started following him. He was constantly posting pictures of himself traveling to different locations and shots from modeling campaigns, but for whatever reason, I still never thought of him as a "male model".

That thought made me even more intimidated than I already was, which was currently at a devastating level. I glanced at him one more time and watched in awe as he ran a hand through his black hair. I swallowed against the growing sense of dread that Isaac Charles might
actually lay eyes on me in my current condition
. I turned stiffly and focused on the lilies, absolutely stunned.

"I better go see to his check-in. If he gets this kind of reaction from the girls at the desk, they'll forget how to use the computer," Stan said.

I laughed nervously at what must have been a joke, but I hadn't even really heard it. My heart, which had all but stopped earlier, was hammering in my ears like a bloody sledgehammer, and I could hear nothing but my own inner voice saying,
that can't possibly be him, that can't possibly be him
.

"Are you okay?" Stan asked, peering at me before he took off.

"Me? Fine. I'm good. I was just surprised that he was the one you were talking about. I've actually seen that guy before. Not in person, but you know, in pictures or whatever."

Stan looked at me like he wanted to ask me a question, but decided he better go take care of his customer. "It looks great, Becca," he said, from over his shoulder.

"Thanks." I spoke barely loud enough for him to hear because I did
not
want to draw attention to myself. I never in a million years dreamed I'd be in the same room with Isaac Charles, and I had months worth of maintenance to do on myself before I would be in any condition to run into him.

Months, you ask? Well, considering the fact that I was about fifty pounds overweight and was in the process of letting some bad hair color grow out, then yes,
months
.

I was equally as terrified to pass up the chance to meet him as I was to let him lay eyes on me. I had no make-up on my face, and my unglamorous hair was tied in a knot right on the top of my head. I might as well have been barefoot and had on a pair of torn overalls. I moved around the gigantic floral arrangement, trying to go unnoticed as I caught glimpses of his profile. I watched as another guy spoke to the bellhop and handed him a tip before joining Isaac at the desk. My hand shook as I made small, unnecessary tweaks on the arrangement.

I stared at his unmistakable profile. There was only one guy in the world that looked like him, and he was standing twenty feet from me. I was tempted to take out my phone and snap a picture so I could prove to myself this actually happened. It was at that very second that he unexpectedly glanced in my direction. He did it absentmindedly during a break in the conversation with Stan, but when he glanced my way, he caught me looking at him. I looked away instantly, but I knew I'd been caught.

I didn't dare risk a glance at him after that. Instead, I went directly to work putting away my tools and cleaning my mess. I'd never cleaned up so quickly in my life. I was in such hurry to get out of there that I had to make a real effort not to seem panicked.

I wasn't really the type to crush on famous guys. I knew better—knew they were out of reach. But the level of butterflies I got at the sight of him would definitely be categorized as a crush. I cleaned my workspace in record time, and hoped he'd still be preoccupied at the desk when I made my way out.

"Did you put these flowers here?" I heard a man's voice say.

He was handsome—I could hear it in the tone of his voice, and I cringed, praying with every fiber of my being that Isaac Charles would
not
be standing in front of me when I turned around. I turned stiffly, and realized in what felt like slow motion that Isaac
was indeed
standing three feet away, looking straight at me.

I swallowed and prepared to speak—hoping my vocal cords would function. I clutched a hand to my chest wondering if he could possibly be talking to me. "Did I, you mean, were you asking about these flowers?" My voice and hands were both shaking. Hell, everything was shaking. I was a freaking mess, and I knew it was obvious. I had the sense to be mortified of my own nervousness, so I glanced down with a smile and said, "I was just finishing up with the lilies," as I stooped to grab my bag and some empty containers.

"I'd like to take a picture in front of them if you don't mind," he said. He held out his hand and made a gesture like he was expecting me to hand him something by wiggling his fingers. I regarded him with a stunned expression that made him smile. "Hand me your phone," he said. He smelled like heaven in a jar and his face was breathtaking. It literally took my breath away—I might have whimpered. His smile broadened and he made the gesture with his fingers again. I sat the containers down so I could dig for my phone, which I found and breathlessly handed to him. He pressed the home button, and looked at me. "What's your password?" he asked.

I wasn't about to type it in myself—not with these shaking hands. I cleared my throat. "Two, two, six, five."

He pushed the buttons, and before I knew it, he turned me by the shoulders, and held out my phone so he could take a selfie with me. I tried to smile in time for the picture, but I was so overwhelmed that there was no telling what it came out looking like.

I smiled stiffly as he handed me my phone and bent to put a kiss on my cheek before walking back to the desk where his friend was still talking to one of the clerks.

I didn’t stick around to see what happened after that. All I saw was the back of Isaac's perfect body as I quickly walked out. This was officially the craziest day in the history of days. Isaac Charles, most gorgeous man on earth, just put his mouth on my face, and I have emmer effing photographic evidence of it! Maybe I didn't have any evidence of the kiss, but I had proof of the encounter. I couldn't wait to get into the car and look at it. My phone burned a hole in my pocket as I waited for the valet to bring my car around.

I didn't look at it until I was a few blocks away at a red light. My hands were still shaking as I peered down at the photo. I hated the face I was making and it was blurry, but it was an image of myself standing next to an unmistakable Isaac Charles.

I smiled uncontrollably as I put my earbuds in and pressed the button to call my best friend, Naomi.

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