Considering the net worth of the sperm shakes I’ve been chugging all weekend, it’s hardly a surprise.
“Swiped another of Gilded Lily’s models on Friday,” I brag as I smack the file down on my boss’ desk. “That’s, what? Eleven this month?”
“Twelve, actually,” Mr. Ackerman says with a smile. “You’re on a roll, Kara. There’s nothing I like more than watching you put Evian Sprague and her shitty little agency in their place.”
Mr. Ackerman was my saving grace once Evian dumped me. I’d been modeling since I was a preteen, so I never went to college or anything. The fashion world is all I’ve ever known, and I didn’t know what I was going to do when Gilded Lily tossed me out the door and onto my fat ass.
But Mr. Ackerman was there to help me get back on my feet.
He offered me a job scouting for Wild Rose, Gilded Lily’s biggest competitor. And better yet, he offered me a chance for a little revenge on Evian. How could I turn that down?
“Actually, boss, I’ve been thinking about that,” I begin. I take a deep breath—because considering what I’m about to ask him, I’m gonna need it. “I’ve got another former Gilded Lily model that I want you to sign.”
“Oh? I’m always happy to steal that bitch Evian’s thunder. You’ve got my attention.” Mr. Ackerman leans back in his desk chair, kicking his cowboy boots up on his desk and twirling his mustache.
If he wasn’t a former male model himself, he wouldn’t be able to get away with it—and truth be told, it’s not my favorite look on a dude. But I guess when you own your own company, you can dress however you like.
I’m just fucking glad that Chase and Eric don’t dress like that.
Chase and Eric. I haven’t been able to get them out of my mind since our last bang sesh, and I’m already salivating at the thought of another one. They’ve put the idea in my head that I might still have a career in modeling—not just signing models, but being one.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this industry, it’s not to listen to the business opinions of dudes that you’re fucking. Ryan warned me away from leaving Gilded Lily a thousand times while we were dating—and as soon as Evian dumped me, so did he.
I need a second opinion, and maybe I’ll get a second chance to boot.
“She’s smart and classy,” I begin, planting my ass on the corner of Mr. Ackerman’s desk. It’s still sore from all the working out I’ve been doing—and I haven’t even been to Power Plus yet today. “She already knows the business inside and out, and I think she’s a great investment.”
“Go on,” Mr. Ackerman says, leaning in. His mustache is twirled to new fucking heights now, and the more confident I am, the more interested he seems.
“It’s me, boss,” I admit, staring him down and holding my chin high. “I want a contract with Wild Rose. You already know I can woo clients until they’re eating out of the palm of my hand. I’ve got a killer walk. I’ll need new head shots, but my social media has been blowing up lately, and you know that I’ll work my ass off for you if you’ll just—”
“Kara, Kara, Kara,” Mr. Ackerman says, shaking his head. “I’m going to stop you right there. Now, of course, sweetheart, you’re gorgeous…”
“Then what’s the catch?”
He chuckles, and my heart drops into my stomach.
I wore my favorite heels for this, dammit, and he’s fucking laughing at me?
“The industry has changed since you were last in it, baby,” he informs me. “It’s sweet that you’re game for trying—Lord knows we need women with an appetite for success around here. But this isn’t the same scene it was two years ago. Clients don’t just want skinny anymore—they want Kim Kardashians, honey. Not Kate Mosses.”
I slide off his desk and put my hands on my hips. “I can be a Kim Kardashian.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t
want to be,” he says, shaking his head again. “You know I only want the best for you, Kara, but you’re too thin for plus-size now, and you’re just not…”
He outlines the shape of a woman in the air with his hands: big tits, tiny waist, and an ass so big you could eat dinner off of it.
“That can’t be all that the clients want,” I say, feeling my temper bubbling up and threatening to burst. “You know I can do it, boss. There’s not a girl on our roster who knows the game better or who will work harder—”
“No, there’s not,” Mr. Ackerman admits. “But the fact of the matter is, Kara, women of your age—”
And that’s where this conversation ends.
Right fucking there.
“Women of my age?” I repeat, picking up the file of the model I just signed for him and tossing it in his face. “You just put your goddamn cowboy boot in your fucked up, lopsided mouth, buddy.”