A thousand stuttering apologies were poised on my trembling lips, ready to explode out in a waterfall of embarrassment. But before I could let loose this flood of awkward words, Daniel's grip loosened ever so slightly.

And down I went, folding up like one of those cheap lawn chairs. I must have looked like a newborn giraffe trying its first steps. There I lay, all tangled and twitchy, with this soggy towel thing on my head looking like a dunce cap. I peeked up at Daniel through the dripping bangs of my soggy towel turban, bracing myself to be scorched by Daniel's no-doubt furious glare. I saw instead that he had thrown back his well-coiffed head and was bellowing with mirth.

"Well well, Ms. Watson," he chuckled, wiping a tear. "Ain't you a lively one. Most assistants pass out from excitement at the sight of me, not fling themselves into my arms like a clumsy amateur ballet dancer working up a sweat."

Ouch, that sarcasm stung something fierce. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole. But something sparked inside - a tiny flame of sass.

"Maybe if your water dispenser wasn't on the fritz and these floors didn't hate high heels so much, things would've played out differently, Mr. Hunter," I said, brushing off and trying to find my dignity.

"Feisty, aren't we?" he drawled, a hint of amusement lingering in his drawl. His tone was like the lazy buzz of a fly circling the office on a hot summer day, flitting from topic to topic without alighting for long. "I like that. A good bit of fire and steam, it can make an otherwise dull and dreary place... interesting. Let's hope it stays this way. Now, let's get you cleaned up before you short-circuit the entire office with that... creative headwear."

He gestured towards my soggy hand towel with a smirk, his long fingers unfurling as lazily as wilting petals. Briefly, I considered throwing it at him, imagining the splash it would make against his perfectly sculpted jawline. But the image of myself being plastered on TMZ as "The Towel-Throwing Assistant" quickly doused my mood like a cold shower.

The room felt stifling, the air thick and close. I mumbled some sheepish response, forcing my lips into a tight smile that felt more like a grimace. Daniel chuckled again, the sound echoing in the oversized room. This guy laughed a lot. Maybe a little too much, and too loudly.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart," he said, his voice softening to a throaty purr. "Accidents happen. Especially around me, it seems." His eyes flickered down my mismatched outfit with curiosity, taking in the details like a nature documentary pausing on some bizarre species.

"Right, about that coffee..." I mumbled, forcing the friendliest grin I could muster. This morning had gone from bad to bizarre, and it wasn't even eleven o'clock yet. One spilled drink and I was already flushing more shades of red.

Daniel let out another chuckle, long and low like a rumbling train. You'd think he'd never seen espresso arching through the air before. "Don't give it another thought, sunshine," he replied, eyes twinkling. "I've certainly caused my fair share of mishaps over the years."

He glanced down at my lone pump, soaked and squelching. "Though footwear problems seem to find you an awful lot. Why don't you raid my sister's closet and find something dry? My sister, Diana, leaves a few things here. You might find something that fits and doesn't come with a built-in ankle breaker."

I stared at him, stunned. Was he really suggesting I pilfer his famous sister's wardrobe like I was Cinderella herself? I wonder if in his world, the line between professional and peculiar blurred faster than an impressionist painting.

"Your sister's clothes?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

I parroted dumbly. Daniel just shrugged, like borrowing Diana Hunter's designer duds was an everyday occurrence.

"I'm sure she won't mind. Hell, she probably forgot what half that junk even looks like," he replied. Before I could protest, he clasped my hand — soft as a chinchilla, yet strong — and pulled me upright with ease.

And just like that, I found myself face to face with the enigma that was Daniel Hunter, staring into eyes that danced with mischief. This was shaping up to be one peculiar first day, to say the least.

"All right then," he grinned. "Let's see if you can avoid any other accidents. Fingers crossed for success!"

~

I pushed open the double doors to Diana's wardrobe with hesitation, unsure of what fantastical fashion phenomenon awaited me inside. The hinges creaked much like those old grandfather clocks you see in haunted houses, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. Peering inside was like stepping into the glossy pages of Vogue - if Vogue spent all their money decorating one room. Rows of hanging clothes stretched as far as the eye could see, sparkling under the sunlight filtering through lace curtains straight out of a Jane Austen novel.

"Whoa momma," I muttered under my breath. "This place is crazy!"

Even though I was alone, talking to myself seemed the only reasonable reaction to the luxury explosion before me. There were jackets from Chanel hanging right alongside skirts from Gucci. And get this - an entire drawer packed full of scarves from Hermes, like they just couldn't quit making them. Even a pair of boots from Christian Louboutin that probably cost more than my college tuition. I tell you, my eyes nearly popped out of my head taking it all in.

It was then that my usual shirt and pants, comfortable as they were, started feeling lacking. Like I was underdressed for the situation. A washing machine full of self-doubt swirled around inside me. Who was I kidding, trying to fit in someplace so posh? A writer from Georgia spending the afternoon amongst clothes pricier than my car.

But I shook it off, telling myself I wasn't there for a makeover. Just had a job to do, even if navigating dresses and such wasn't my normal routine. So with a big sigh, I got to looking through everything, careful not to touch more than I had to. Passed over something leopard print and flashy that belonged in a zoo, and a top sparkly as a disco ball. Finally settled on plain black pants and a soft blouse, not very stylish but professional enough for the mess I'd gotten myself into.

Just as I was about to slip on the glittery purple checked blouson top, a tiny thread got stuck in the soft knit fabric. Great, now it looked like a fuzzy caterpillar was crawling on it. My tummy felt all weird and fluttery. I really didn't want Daniel to think I'd messed up her sister's fancy clothes. Great. Now I'd be accused of ruining Diana's designer masterpiece.

I stood in the cramped wardrobe room, fidgeting with the snagged blouse as sweat collected on my brow. The lighting was dim like at the library after hours, with bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling that swung slightly whenever someone walked by in the hall.

I frowned and bent down closer, poking at the string with my finger. But it just got more tangled. Ugh, why did I have to be so clumsy? This was the worst.

Suddenly, warm hands appeared on both sides of me, making me jump. I looked up and nearly bumped noses with Daniel Hunter. He was standing really close, closer than anyone except maybe my Aunt every night in ny childhood when she was checking if I'd brushed my teeth. I could feel the heat coming off his body and smell his cologne, which smelled like oranges and trees. Weird but good.

He was wearing a different button-down shirt than earlier. Of course, he'd changed - it was probably because of the coffee I spilled on him! I felt my face flame up at the memory. But then I started wondering - did he change in here? Was he watching me get dressed here? Yikes.

I know Daniel's supposed to be a bad boy, but I hoped he wasn't a total creep. Then again, what do I know - he's way older and cooler than me. Maybe peeping is normal for hot actor guys. I just thanked god I wasn't trying on anything skimpier than this camisole underneath.

"Need some help?" he asked, his voice all low and rumbling. It made a shiver go down my naked back.

My brain turned to total mush. "Umm, eh, ah..." I babbled like an idiot. He smiled, which made his dimples pop in the cutest way.

My face felt hotter than the sun. "I, uh, was just...the string...it got stuck..." I babbled like an idiot. Why couldn't I talk normal around him?

Before I could keep messing up my words, he leaned in so our faces were just an inch apart. I could see every eyelash. His warm breath tickled my ear and made my toes curl in my sparkly flats.

Everything else kinda faded away except how close he was and how blue his eyes looked. My heart was thumping so loud I bet China could hear it.

Gently, he took the string between his finger and thumb. It felt like a spark went through me when he touched my hand. He moved the string around like a magician for just a few seconds. Then it popped free, fixing the blouse as good as new.

He stepped back with a little half smile, looking pleased with himself. "All done," he said in his whisper voice.

I stared at the blouse, then back at him. My brain was still buzzing from what just happened. Me, clumsy Emily Watson, almost brushing chests with the amazing Daniel Hunter. His touch lingered on my arm like a warm tattoo.

When he finally stepped back, the snag was gone but my insides were still all tangled. "Thanks, I'm not too handy with repairs," I laughed nervously.

"No problem," he grinned. "My grandma taught me to sew."

He looked at me a moment more, with an expression I couldn't place. Then he grinned, making his eyes all crinkly.

"You're welcome, assistant. Just perks of the job. Now let's get you out there before Veronica sends out a search party." He winked, which made my heart do a somersault.

Daniel Hunter was so confusing - charming one second, full of himself the next. And totally mesmerizing. I smiled back weirdly and then scurried out, my mind still reeling.

~

"Mr. Hunter"

I was standing there half-naked in the cramped dressing room, sweat pouring down my back in the stale humidity. The fluorescent lights were flickering, as reliable as the city bus schedule. I looked up from fanning myself with a crumpled PLAYBILL to see Mr. Hunter peering through the crack in the door.

"Yeah?" he asked, trying far too hard to play it cool. I tell you, that man could produce saliva at the sight of a bare ankle....huh

I took a gulp, "I, uh, just wanted to make sure...when you came in, you weren't...you know..." peering, leering, having impure thoughts? Take your pick.

His brow furrowed like a freshly plowed field. Then realization dawned and his eyes went wide. "Oh! No, no, I swear I wasn't watching you change or anything creepy like that."

He sighed, his gut heaving like the subway braking hard at the station. "The truth is, I was changing too after the spill in the adjacent wardrobe. You know that outer closet you just saw before entering here... tt-that is my beloved dressing room. I heard noises and checked in case you needed any, ahem, assistance. It was purely innocent, I promise."

"I should have knocked or at least called before entering...I-I am sorry Ms. Watson," he stammered. It was the first time I saw 'The Daniel Hunter' look genuinely worried and shameful at the same time.

I breathed a sigh of relief but my cheeks still burned hotter than the heat lamps here. "Sorry, I just had to ask," I said, secretly wondering how much "assistance" he had in mind.

~

After I quickly slid into the top, I shuffled back a few steps, laden with a precarious pile of discarded clothes that threatened to slip from my grasp at any moment. The new outfit felt fresh and flirty, a vast improvement over my usual potato sack dressing. But this mound of fabrics in my hands suddenly made me feel like some sort of rag collector. Just as I was preparing to mumble an excuse about needing more space to properly fold and organize my findings, Daniel surprised me with the most unexpected act.

He somehow managed to gracefully lower himself down without disturbing so much as a sequin, dodging the clothes tumbling dangerously in my arms. "Here, let me help you with that teetering textile tower before it sends you toppling," he offered in a voice as smooth and silky as fine milk chocolate.

Before I could protest, he produced a sparkly flat from Diana's shoe emporium like a magician pulling a rabbit from his hat. Which is to say, I hadn't even noticed the footwear in question until it suddenly appeared. My breath caught in my throat. Was he truly about to...?

Without hesitation, he grasped the shoe and slid it onto my helpless foot himself, sending shivers shooting up my leg to my ahem. I felt my cheeks flush a shade of pink typically only found on piglets and newborn infants. If they got any hotter, I feared they might melt the flimsy dressing room curtain clean off its rod.

"Much improved, if I do say so myself," Daniel remarked, failing to hide a hint of amusement at my state of stunned suspension. "Wouldn't you agree?".

Feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I stammered out a thank you and attempted to restore a decorous distance. But in my rattled state, I very nearly toppled face-first into the clothes cluttering the floor. Luckily, Daniel shot out a steadying hand before I could crash to the carpet in a humiliating heap( all over again).

"Why are you always tripping over your own two feet, Ms. Watson?" Daniel inquired with a smirk and a raised brow, though not unkindly. "One might think you have two left feet, or perhaps no feet at all!"

~