The slender, raven-haired, tanned skinned, green-eyed beauty barely made it through the foyer before Sam was sending her packing. She was the latest in a string of rejections. "I've had it up to here," he said gesturing over his head. "Get Jesse St. James on the phone, NOW!" He demands.

A rattled Rachel scurried to her desk to place the call. "Hello, Jesse St. James please. Yes, Rachel Berry from Sam Evans Studios." She nervously traced the scar on her face as she waited for the temporary receptionist to patch her through.

"Hi, Rach-face. How are you?"

"I'm well Mr. St. James. How are you?" She hated that she had to engage in pleasantries with the man, and she despised the pet name he'd given her. It seemed like a mockery to mention her face. As though he was poking fun at her disfigurement, and she wanted to punch him in his face. She held back her disdain hoping he would move on. He was a busy man, so how is it he found so much time to disturb her? "Yes, thank you. I'll send you through to Mr. Evans. Good day, now."

"Wait-" Jesse called out but, it was too late. She had already dropped the call.

"Hey, Sam. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Cut the crap Jesse. You know what you did!"

"You asked me to find a figment of your imagination, a brown woman that looks good in Mustard. I delivered several times over. Hell, I even scouted from the chubby pool. You keep sending them back. I granted your wishes and received a slap in the face for my efforts."

"No, this isn't what I asked." Sam paused for a beat heavily breathing trying to compose himself. "I'm unreasonable? No, you promised me a Bronze Goddess to paint. This lot has me thinking of going in a different direction." He listened a minute more. Maybe, he needed a new talent scout because this wasn't working out. "Anything would be better. Right now, I'm contemplating painting mustard on a hot dog. It would be more appealing. That at least sounds appetizing." He frowned when his assistant interrupted offering him a plate of mixed fruit. "Yes, my stomach growled. Ignore IT. UGH!" He mashed the end call button unable to hear a second more of the man's excuses. "I'm going out for lunch." His assistant gestured non-committedly towards the lavish spread on the break room table. Dismissing the gourmet meal with a huff, he added, "I'm not in the mood for stuffy food." He walked the open floor plan of the shared space headed for the elevators.

"Do you need me to make a reservation? What are you in the mood to eat?"

"Hot dogs, of course." He threw over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

Sam stalked across the courtyard fuming over these incompetent fools. They had served him up more of the same knowing his muse required something different, new, fresh, exciting. He was happy the line quickly dwindled because his stomach was roaring at him. He had been wrapped up in completing the picture, and he couldn't focus on anything else, not food, sleep, or painting. It was becoming a serious issue. Just as he made it to the vendor, there was loud commotion behind the line. His nosiness got the better of him ordering a double dog with mustard before filing out of line once he had it in hand.

"OH HELL TO THE NO! YOU DID NOT STEP ON MY FEET, KNOCK DOWN MY HOT DOG? Really? YEAH, JUST- UGH- WALK AWAY!"

Sam was frozen still mesmerized by the woman dressed in purple running gear. She was small in stature, curvy, and gorgeous. He took her perfect Bronze complexion cheek covered in mustard. She would be the perfect candidate to model for his painting if he could get his jaw off the floor and his legs to work.

"Excuse me- Miss?"

She rounded on him with fire in her eyes. "What- I mean-" She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and stilled her hands before trying this again. "What a jerk?" He raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Not you- HIM!" She pointed towards the tall, broad-shouldered figure fading into the distance.

"Here, have mine," he offers, placing the hot dog in her hands without waiting for her to accept. Do you have a moment? I want to talk to you about an art modeling opportunity. You are- Wow." She'd stolen his thoughts, his words, filled in the missing portion of the portrait. He circled her frame marveling over her peaks and valleys. The image was etched in his mind, and he needed her in the dress posing as his living model. No other would do.

Thoroughly engrossed in ogling every inch of her, he missed her nervously biting down on her hot dog. She was in shock. It was the only explanation for not socking this man in the eye, she thought. Her expression and body language said it all, but he was thick, dense, or maybe mentally ill. That's it, she internalized. There has to be something wrong with him. He brushes the back of his hand over hers, and she jerks away.

"Well, I would suggest you feed me first, but I guess you have. Ugh!" She returns the hot dog to him mustering every ounce of willpower not to throw it in his face.

"You're the perfect shape to birth my baby!" Sam said thinking aloud. She raises a hand to slap him, but he catches her wrist before she connects. "No, that came out wrong. I meant to say you're the girl of my dreams. Sorry, No. I'm Sam I am, and I don't like green eggs and ham. He couldn't believe how much of a bumbling idiot he'd become since running into her. I'm an artist, and I'm looking for a living Model to pose for a portrait I'm painting. It's my new project, and I think of it as my baby. I just meant you would help me birth my dream. I'm rambling, sorry."

She hadn't said a word which left him wondering if he had gotten through to her. His eyes follow her line of sight landing on her wrist, and he realizes he's still holding on for dear life. As soon as he lets go, she stalks off in disgust. When she notices him following, she breaks off into a run. He starts to give chase but backs off for fear of doing more harm than good.

After a few moments, he picks up the half-eaten hot dog stuffing it into his mouth. There, your mouth is full so you can't open it and stick your foot inside, he internally chastised. Learn to be subtle. He continued mentally kicking himself as he made his way back to his studio.

A/N: It's been a while. MyHiggins25 asked me to do a story surrounding Amber's IG post in this Mustard Dress. Here we go. Let me know if y'all like this. Should I dump it and start over?