A/N- This started out as a fic that I wrote for Guiding Light characters and I could not find the inspiration to finish it. I changed the characters and some of the plot and was finally able to keep going with this.

Let me know if this is something you think I should keep working on! Oh, and I own nothing. This is all for fun.

"Mmmm," Jackson moaned, rolling over to drape an arm across Callie's bare abdomen.

"Yeah, it was okay," Callie replied nonchalantly not understanding what all of the excitement was about. Callie was someone who loved sex.

"Okay?" Frustration laced the model's voice. "Three hours. We made love for three hours," Jackson stated, flipping onto his side and propping himself up on his hand.

"We didn't make love, Jackson, we fucked. I don't make love, and I don't do sleepovers," Callie said, reaching down blindly to grab a pair of jeans from the floor. Tossing the denim over her shoulder at the surprised stud, Callie added, "You can see yourself out, right?"

"Seriously, Callie?"

"Don't forget this," Callie said, throwing the shirt in her hand towards the very attractive and incredibly stunned male model. Jesus, why is it the pretty ones are always so fucking needy?

"But it's four o'clock in the morning and it's raining outside."

"There's an umbrella in the closet by the door. Help yourself. Shit, is it four already? I really need to get some sleep. I have an early morning." Callie pulled the sheet up to cover her exposed chest before turning her back to the man. "Thanks for tonight. It was... uhmm...special," she stated half-heartedly.

With a frustrated huff Jackson stalked out of Callie's bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Why do I sleep with models? They are like toddlers in designer briefs, Callie thought. She really should feel a little bit bad about her rather callous treatment of Jackson, but the fact was, she didn't give a flying fuck. If he needs his ego stroked, he can go find some vapid bimbo with nothing better to do than to feed his raging narcissism.

She closed her eyes, and smiled like a Cheshire, knowing that sleep would come easily that evening.

Callie's eyes shot open and she sat up abruptly, grabbing her alarm clock. "Shit!" Her mind registered that it was already 10:53am, making her 53 minutes late for her 10 o'clock appointment with the photographer. I'll just call him and reschedule for later today. Never a morning person even on the best of days, she cursed under her breath, wishing the coffee genie would arrive with a hot latte and a muffin. She knew vaguely that blowing off the meeting with the photographer was poor form. But she'd been working so hard on her fall line that she'd been burning the candle at both ends lately, so she wasn't surprised that she overslept. And of course, I had to fuck the toddler last night, which didn't help me get more rest—although it did scratch my itch.

Sighing, Callie reached for her cell phone and scrolled through her contact list; pressing 'talk' she brought the phone to her ear. "Hi Owen. It's Callie Torres. I am so sorry that I missed our appointment. Something came up that required my urgent attention. I was hoping that we could reschedule for later this afternoon," Callie said smoothly, switching the phone from one ear to the other. "What? Wait! I understand that you are a very busy man but surely we can work something out for later this week then?" Callie pretended to listen as the man explained to her that he did not have another opening for weeks. "I don't have a few weeks. My new fashion line has to be photographed, like, yesterday." Exasperated, she paused to listen to more excuses before continuing, "I don't think you understand. I CANNOT wait weeks. I am afraid going to have to find another photographer." Callie stood from her bed and paced her room. "Ok. I understand. Alright. Sure, I'll keep you in mind for next season. Okay, goodbye." Callie hung up the phone and threw it on her bed. Fuck. I am so screwed. What am I going to do now?

She had worked for years for this chance—the chance to show her fall line at Fashion Week in New York's Bryant Park. Years of apprenticing with progressively more prestigious design houses, had brought her to this place. First being the gopher, then the grunt, then graduating to worker bee, stitching together other peoples' designs, and then finally, finally, being allowed to design pieces that would ultimately be created under the named designer's label. After paying her dues sufficiently and realizing that because she didn't have a penis that could be shoved up some rich fat-cat's ass, she was not going to ever become the head designer of a major fashion house, she struck out on her own. Although it was a lot harder, she found she had the temperament, the patience and the talent to make a go of it. She'd also cultivated a large network of fashion industry insiders, and she knew how to get what she needed from them as necessary.

A wet nose on Callie's ankle broke her of her internal monologue. "Hey, Bear. You want to go for a walk, don't you?" Bear, a black and tan German Shepherd with soulful brown eyes looked up at his mistress with unadulterated admiration and longing. A walk wasn't exactly on the schedule this morning but I really don't want you pissing on my Persian rug.

Callie, armed with her Blackberry, quickly scrolled through her contact list as she wandered aimlessly through Central Park. She located the number of one of her assistants. "It's me. Listen, I need you to find me another photographer. I missed my appointment with... WHOA, Bear, what the... I'll call you back."

Callie hung up the phone and increased the speed of her steps in an attempt to keep up with the freely sprinting canine, who had snapped the leash out of Callie's hand and was headed for a large group of dogs. Callie struggled to keep up as she weaved through several small groups of people. "BEAR!" Callie called out.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she noticed that Bear had finally started to slow down. "Come here, boy," she shouted, crouching down and slapping her hands to her knees. Bear obeyed his mistress and trotted back to her. She bent down to reclaim his leash and walked deeper into the park. Is that a... no...it can't be. I mean that would just be ludicrous right? Oh my God, it is! It's a fucking doggy birthday party. Callie stood, unable to move, staring in wide eyed amazement at the sheer ridiculousness of the scene before her. Her eyes skipped from one proud mommy to the next, as she tried in vain not to laugh at the sight of their exquisitely dressed pooches, balloons and streamers hung from the neighbouring trees, and a large plastic fire hydrant had been placed in the middle of the gathering like some sort of perverse centerpiece. And they hired a professional photographer for this? This is exactly why little girls grow up wanting to be Paris Hilton.

"Did you need something?"

The beautiful voice coming from behind her was so soft that Callie barely heard it. "Huh?" Callie asked in confusion, her eyes finally focusing on the stunning woman standing in front of her.

"You've been here for little a while now. I was wondering if there was something that you needed." The woman took a few steps towards her.

"No. Not at all. I was just admiring the... ummm..." Callie paused and motioned to the dogs. She shot the other woman her trademark grin before continuing, "festivities."

"Hey. Don't judge me. You don't even know me," the other woman stated flatly.

"No judgement here," Callie responded, raising her hands in mock surrender.

"Mmhmm. Well, if there is nothing that you need, I should get back."

"Actually, I was wondering... how does one get involved in photographing doggy birthday parties?" Callie's attempt to suppress the chuckle threatening to burst forth from her lips was unsuccessful.

"Why? Are you looking for a job?" The blonde quipped with a roll of her eyes.

"Me? No. God, no." Callie watched as the other woman turned to walk away. "Wait. I have a question. Do you only photograph four-legged, furry creatures or do you switch it up every once in a while and take risqué pictures of aquatic life, too? "

"Are you always this funny?" The blonde questioned sarcastically.

"Always. I can't help being entertaining when I have such a responsive audience. But seriously, all kidding aside, what else do you shoot?"

The younger woman raised an eyebrow suspiciously, gauging the sincerity of Callie's inquiry. "Architecture, landscapes, fashion. You name it, I can shoot it. I am very confident in my ability to make the simplest of objects look beautiful."

"Are you always this modest?" Callie asked with a cocky grin.

"Always. I can't help being humble when I have such an exuberant audience," the blonde mocked playfully.

"Ha! You do have a sense of humour. Do you have a name as well? Or am I going to have to refer to you as the dog whisperer from now on?"

"Of course I have a sense of humour. I just don't find you funny!"

"Well, Miss I'm-Going-To-Pretend-That-I-Don't-Find-You-Funny, I'm Calliope," the older woman said, offering her hand. "Calliope Torres, but you can call me Callie."

The blonde stuttered slightly, "Cal...Callie Torres... Like THE Callie Torres?"

"The one and only. Well, probably not the only, but I like to think so," Callie chuckled, her hand still suspended in mid air.

Taking Callie's hand in her own, she found her voice and replied confidently, "Whatever helps you sleep at night. And since you asked so nicely, my name is Arizona."

"So, Arizona..."

"Robbins," Arizona offered.

"How much experience do you have with fashion photography?