I don’t expect to be one of those lucky models, but it sure as hell makes me want to work hard enough to be modeling for one of those shows one day. If only my family knew the success I was having, perhaps they would be more excited for me. Then again, Vince might never understand what working for Miu Miu actually means for my blossoming career. Yes, he knows fashion but mostly stays within his comfort zone, Armani.
Look, I’m not saying my family is ill-informed–rather, just that they prefer to stick to what they know. Which is why the whole New Era thing came as such a shock to us all. Then again, new ideas are only frowned upon when they come from lower down the food chain (aka, me).
“This is it, Sir.” Knox, one of the security guys who’s gone with me to every gig so far, pulls up to the gates of the lot. I slide my phone into my pocket that I’ve been mindlessly scrolling through to ignore the irritation simmering in the background of my mind.
“Great.” I nod as he types in the passcode and the gates part for us to drive through. He drives me to the first building, where a crew is already running in and out of trailers with clothes, models, and walkie-talkies. The kind of chaos I love.
“Thank you, Knox!” I call as I leap out and briskly walk up to a trailer with my name on the call list. Before I’ve even made my way up the steps, the door opens, and Ruby— my assigned stylist— sighs with relief.
“You’re here!” She smiles.
“Yes, so sorry, I’m running a bit late.” I step inside, and she helps me to a chair in front of a long mirror lit around the edges. She swats a hand dismissively as she furrows her brows at me through the mirror.
“That’s alright, love. We’re still waiting for one model.” Her palms tilt my chin down as she begins to take a comb and heat tool to my untamed hair. I always find my zen at this part of the gigs. Usually, I take a moment to center myself, distract the stupid things boiling in the back of my mind that always come and go when I don’t want them to. Most people call them feelings; I like to call them nuisances and treat them as such.
As I’m trying to calm myself, I remember that Vince, Jess, and baby Nari will be staying with us for the next couple of weeks due to construction in their home. Honestly, I don’t want to go back to Pops’ tonight because of it. I grit my teeth and reach for my phone, pulling it out to scroll through my contacts. I barely notice the many models matriculating in and out of the room or the hands touching me to put on my clothes and finish my hair and face.
In my head, I’m strategizing.
I keep thinking of this gorgeous girl I hooked up with last night. I met her at a premiere party, and we hit it off pretty quick. She was hot. I’m hot. I think that’s always an easy ice-breaker. Usually, I have a one-time policy– sleep with a girl once, then move the fuck on– but she had a nice ass, was really into my tattoos, and might be nice to show off at a club or last-minute concert. I start to type out a text to her, ready to break my rule, but fate seems to have another idea.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the most radiant being I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I think she’s glowing, or I’ve inhaled too much hairspray to think straight. It’s weird because I don’t remember seeing her during the audition process. A minute ago, I had half a boner thinking about the girl from last night, but now every bit of blood in my body feels like it’s shooting straight to my dick on account of this new girl.
Not to brag, but I’m great with faces– not so much with names– but a face I never forget. And I would remember a face like hers, skin so soft it's practically begging to be touched, and a long, lean body so flawless I have to force myself not to picture her naked.
“Lydia Royce.” Her smooth song-like voice rings through the room, and every single occupant’s attention shifts completely to her. She tilts her chin, cheeks pink, and a glossy strand of auburn hair falls into her eyes. Why do I want to brush it behind her ear? I’m completely drawn to her, so much that I know she’s who I’ll be with tonight. No doubt, I will fuck her— it’s like every star has aligned for me to do so. I’ve never struck out when I put my mind to it–not even once–and I’m already thinking of what I’ll do to her. What she might taste like, whether she’ll be a screamer or a moaner or both maybe. Whether she’ll suck my dick if I ask her nicely enough.Or perhaps she likes to be told. Even better.
One of the make-up team girls sits her in the chair beside me. She doesn't even glance my way. Women, even in the modeling world, always glance my way.What the fuck is her problem?
This isn’t the best start, but I’ve come back from worse. All you have to do is give a woman a little attention, and you’re golden. Sad that they melt for you when you just look into their eyes while they talk. Well, sad for them that other men haven’t mastered the art of making a woman feel seen. But good for me, because I have my masters in making women feel special to get what I want.
After Ruby steps over to the wardrobe trailer to grab my clothes, I turn towards her.
“Hi.” I kindly smile, waiting for her eyes to lock with mine, so I know I’m in the clear to begin asking her questions about herself. Fuck. She doesn’t even tilt her eyes to me. Hmm. I’ll excuse her poor focus if only—
She snaps her head in my direction, interrupting every one of my thoughts with her deep green eyes.
It startles me for a moment, and then I begin to blink, trying to force my mouth to connect with my mind, so she doesn’t think I’m an idiot for just gawking. To be completely honest,Ifeel like an idiot because women don’t usually have this effect on me. I’m always the one in control, the seducer, the one who makes women speechless with my attention. The fact that this girl makes me feel off my game is all the more reason for me to conquer her, though. It’ll be that much better when she’s mewling underneath me with pleasure.
“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want my affection.” Her voice is still just as incredible. Her words, on the other hand, need a little work.
“Who said I was trying to get your affection?” I lean in, and she pulls back defiantly, turning her head to look at something behind her, and I glance that way as well. She immediately snaps her head back around, eyes narrowing at me like she’s going for a kill shot.
“I don’t see anyone else here being harassed by your hungry eyes.” She looks around, leaning back in the chair like this is her day job– delivering crushing blows.
“Hungry eyes?” I nearly snort, though I have no fresh content to deliver. I’m off my game, and I think I'm being… rejected? She licks her perfect lips, and her brows twitch up like I couldn’t possibly top her. I take it as a challenge to do just that. “You must not realize what flirting is, given the fact that you look like you’ve never had to utilize it a day in your life.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” She furrows her brows, and a smile raises the corners of her lips, revealing her straight white teeth. Fuck. Was it? I’m about to say something else to recover from this disaster, but in the next breath, the glam team swarms around, pulling us in opposite directions. Her crew member, with a curling wand, and mine with the first look for today, clutched tightly in her petite hand as she nears me.
“Come on, you’re needed in five.” Our PA calls from the bottom of the steps, and I quickly change into my clothes behind a curtain, hands reaching through to help me with the delicate bits of flouncy material. I nearly lost my cool and almost fucked my reputation as smooth and endearing. The way her eyes titled as I looked at her continues to run through my mind on a loop, and it doesn’t stop as I’m pushed out the door.
It’s dark upon entry; only the bright flashes of the camera light the pathway that I’m guided down by someone in a black uniform. When I’m brought to a taped X on the floor, someone bumps my shoulder. I glance over to see the girl from before, who still continues to look anywhere but at me. It’s like she’s doing it deliberately at this point.
A few models pose behind the camera as the kinky-curled, black-haired photographer calls out instructions for them. As to be expected, they’re dressed incredibly. Neutrals of flowing material that almost looks angelic, glowing skin sprayed with oils that perfectly capture the light, and material worth more than my brother Antonio’s entire time spent at Harvard. They look similar to me, vibe wise, but my clothes have more color. I can’t tell if Lydia is dressed like me, but by the way they lined us up, we’ll shoot with the group of models gathering behind us.
“That’s it.” The photographer shouts as assistants guide the models off their marks in front of the camera to the dark path I just walked down.
“Next.” He calls, and I’m guided out by myself at first. I search past the camera, and the light flashes. The first one always takes me off guard. But now I’m ready. I tilt my body, positioning my hands to rest in whatever way I move, and he clicks through a few more shots as I pose. Before I even realized it, they brought out Lydia and stuck her next to me.