Billionaire's Single Mom

Now, three years later, I was 21 and still struggling to make it as a model. I'd gotten a job on a flyer and done some work at a seedy convention, but that was basically it. So far, my big break hadn't come, and after all this time, I wasn't sure it ever would.

"So, what happened at the audition today, baby? Tell me everything." Mick had his arm around my shoulder and was giving me his full attention, stroking my hair and gazing into my eyes. It was impossible not to open up to him when he was like this; this was the Mick I had fallen in love with five years ago.

"There's nothing to tell, really. I have the look they want; naturally blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a friendly smile. I just don't have the experience, and all the other girls looked so much more professional than I did."

"Forget classes. That bullshit is for suckers. Why do we want to pay our hard-earned money for some asshole to tell you how to look pretty and smile?”

"There's a lot more to modeling than that. There are certain ways to enhance your figure while showing off the product that photograph better than others. I didn't even know how to pose on the bike properly. It was really embarrassing. Besides, it's my hard-earned money. You haven't had a job in months."

"I work damn hard as your manager." He was angry now, and I knew I'd crossed a line as he pulled his arm away and started shouting. "You think it's easy finding these auditions for you and getting the appointments? You'd be nothing without me. Who the hell was it that got you that catalog spread? Me. And, which one of us turned it down and lost a perfectly good thousand bucks for us?"

"I'm sorry. I know you work hard, but that photographer wanted me to do a lot more than just pose for him in a bathing suit, and I just couldn't do that."

"Well, maybe you should. Has it ever occurred to you that I'm not the one holding you back on your modeling career, that maybe it's your over-the-top moral standards? You think none of these other models are willing to take off their clothes for a photographer or give a director a little blow job on the side? Fuck, Kayla, you're such a damn prude. No wonder you can't get any jobs."

"I'm not a prude. I've been sleeping with you since I was 17, and we're still not married yet. It broke my parents’ hearts when I ran away with you to L.A. to be a model, and now I wonder if it was even worth it. Nothing's ever come of it. It's been three years I still haven't gotten my break."

"And, you won't until you loosen up and start showing some skin. The next time a director, producer, or photographer wants you to take off your top, you'd better do it, if you know what's good for you. That's when you'll start getting the jobs, when you start showing some tits and ass."

"Well, you'll be happy to know that I did that today," I said glumly. It was my biggest fear that Mick was right, that it was my own refusal to sacrifice my moral integrity that was blocking my career, and not my lack of classes or experience.

"Really?" Mick's face lit up. Somehow I had been hoping he would be jealous and want me to save myself only for him, but he wasn't like that. He'd prostitute me out if he thought he could get money for it, only I wouldn't let him.

"Yeah, my bikini top fell off right in front of everybody. It was so embarrassing; I wanted to die."

"No, baby. This is a good thing. Just wait and see. I bet you get called back, and when you do, make sure to give them all the nudity they want."

"I don't think they'll call. After my top fell off, I accidentally knocked over the motorcycle I was supposed to be posing with. I probably broke it. The only call I'll be getting will be from the legal department billing me for the damage."

"No, you'll get the job, and then you'll know I was right. Just wait and see." Mick jutted out his chin confidently.

Just then my cell phone started to ring, and we both stared at it. The caller ID said Speed Motorcycles, Inc.

Chapter Three

Ethan

"I want this one." I slapped my hand over the picture of Kayla Brandt, and slid it across the boardroom table into the hands of Keith.

"No way, forget it. She has no experience. You saw her up there; she was a damn mess. She even knocked over the bike."

"That's just because she was upset her top fell off. Your production assistant doesn't know how to tie a knot."

"And, you don't know how to run a marketing campaign. This girl will cost us $10,000 in production costs just teaching her how to pose on the bike properly. We need a professional who knows what the hell she's doing. Like this one. She's perfect."

Keith slid the picture of a dyed-blonde with fake lips across the table to me, and I grimaced. "No. I like Kayla."

"The klutz? Forget her."

"That's the thing. I can't forget her. She has a quality to her that really sticks in my mind."

"Yeah, that's because her top fell off and you got to see her tits. She probably did it on purpose trying to get recognized. You won't believe how many models come to these auditions and try something like that."

"No, it's more than that. She's fresh, clean, pure. She's not jaded yet by this city and pumped up with chemicals, spray tans, and plastic surgery. She's a real, all-American girl, and I want her to be the face of our new ad campaign."

"She does have a certain charisma," one of the board members said, staring at her picture.

"She's very sweet, pretty, and charming," an assistant chimed in.