Suddenly, my assistant came into my office and set a stack of papers on my desk.
"Here are the end-of-the-day reports, Mr. Colson. Is there anything I can do for you?" She was wearing stiletto heels, a skin-tight black skirt, and a crème, silk blouse with the buttons down the front undone one too many to reveal her impressive cleavage. She leaned forward way too far as she set the papers down, giving me a thorough look, and the innuendo in her voice was unmistakable.
A glance at my watch told me it was after business hours and everyone else in the company would be leaving the building now. It was the time of day Angela and I had been fucking in my office, but I wasn't in the mood. Sure, my dick was hard as rock, but my mind was on Kayla, not her.
"No, thank you. You can go home, Miss Stratham," I stated simply. I turned to the reports, clearly indicating my lack of interest, but she wasn't so easily dismissed.
"Is that what we're calling it now?" She sat right on the middle of my desk, grabbed my head, and kissed me passionately on the lips. She tasted like cigarettes, not at all like the fresh sweetness I was certain Kayla's mouth would have.
"Knock that shit off." I pulled away from Angela, standing up at my desk and glared at her angrily.
"You seem tense. Don't you want me to help you relax, like I always do?" She slid off the desk and got down on her knees in front of me. Before her hands could reach my zipper, I grabbed them and stopped her.
"I don't have time for that. Now, go home. We have a long work day ahead of us tomorrow, and I want to be alone."
"That's how you're going to end up in life: alone." Angela's green eyes sparkled with angry jealousy, but I didn't give a fuck. My face held a bored expression as I watched her leave. I sat down at desk and returned to the picture of Kayla, with her innocent face and demure personality. She was only woman I wanted to be with now and no one else would do.
Chapter Four: Kayla
"Whatever you have to do to get this job today, do it," Mick dictated. He was laying on our bed in his ripped jeans and a dirty tee-shirt, watching me get dressed for my call-back at Speed Motorcycles. It was just making me more nervous.
"How can you say that me? Most boyfriends want their girlfriends only for themselves, to love, cherish, and protect. They don't prostitute them out to any sleaze who wants to see them naked." I felt hurt that Mick was so eager for me to be ogled and groped by strange men. Didn't he care about me at all?
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to be a model. What did you think modeling was? It's posing for men, with your tits and ass hanging out, so strangers can get off while looking at you."
"Modeling is so much more than that. It's about beauty, grace, style, fashion, and presenting things in the best light. It's about creating an image of something that melds fantasy with reality, want with desire."
"Yeah, that's what I said: getting guys off." Mick grunted. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes at him. He didn't understand my career, and I was beginning to wonder if he even understood me. All Mick saw when he thought of my career was dollar signs and sleaze.
A part of me wondered if he was right, though; after all, he had told me I needed to expose myself to get jobs, and the time my bikini top falls off is the one time I get a call back. Maybe I did need to sacrifice my morals to get the jobs—but I just didn't know if I could bring myself to do it. Feeling self-righteous, I put on my most conservative outfit: a white sundress with pink flowers embroidered along the edges, a cardigan sweater, and wedge sandals.
"How's this dress look?" I turned to face Mick, and he scowled.
"No. You look like a damn Sunday school teacher in that thing. Take it off, and put on that sexy mini-dress I bought you for your birthday."
Mick's reaction settled it for me: I was wearing the sundress. I took the time to curl my hair so it fell to my shoulders in gentle rings that bounced lightly. I kept my make-up minimal, not wanting to look vampy or overtly sexual. I needed to
make it clear in this meeting that yesterday's flashing of my breasts was an accident and I had no interest in trading my sexuality for the job. I was a good-girl, devoted to my fiancé, and just looking for an honest day's pay for my modeling services. Nothing more. Some pink nail polish on my fingertips and toes completely the look, and I left feeling sunny and bright, like a fresh, country breeze in the city.
As I sat in the waiting room of Speed Motorcycles’ executive floor, I began to rethink my strategy. The walls were lined with framed photographs of the company's motorcycles, each with a model looking sexy as sin posing along with it. Their shorts were skimpy enough to show their ass cheeks and their bikini tops left little to the imagination. It was easy to speculate that any of these women would have been willing to sleep their way into successful modeling careers. As I sat there in my prim sun dress, I realized just how much I didn't fit into this world of fast bikes and faster women, where everything was flashy and built for speed.
I stood up to leave, but just then a woman with fiery red hair and a skin-tight, black dress with red stiletto heels came up to me. "Miss Brandt, Mr. Colson will see you now."
"Thank you. Is he the photographer?" I asked casually as I trailed behind her down a richly-carpeted hallway.
"No. He's the owner and CEO of the company," the sexy redhead smirked at my naive ignorance, making me feel even more out of place.
"Oh. He'll be sitting in on the meeting?" I was genuinely surprised. I'd only ever worked on small jobs with just a photographer and once a director. Never had I worked with a CEO, especially for one of the country's biggest companies. My stomach began to squirm, and I wrapped my arms around my waist, trying to squelch my nerves.
"No, he is the meeting. It will just be you and him. Mr. Colson is a very busy and powerful man, so try not to disappoint him."
The redhead opened a set of large, oak doors, and I found myself entering a vast office filled with expensive furnishings in an art-deco style, imported rugs lined the floors, and fine crystal lamps filled the room with light. A man was seated at the massive desk in the center of the room. I instantly blushed when I recognized him as being at the audition where I had humiliated myself.
He strode towards me with a welcoming smile shook my hand warmly. "Miss Brandt. It's a pleasure to meet you. Please, have a seat."
He indicated a grouping of chairs and sofas at the east end of the suite, and I chose one, gasping with surprise as I sunk into the comfortable cushions. My host chuckled and sat in the chair closest to mine so our knees were nearly touching.
He was a very handsome man, with dark black hair cropped close to his head, chiseled features, and the most incredible steel gray eyes flecked with specks of gold and blue. As his eyes peered into mine, I felt as if they could penetrate my soul and see into the very heart of me. Quickly, I averted my eyes, staring down at my hands as if my cuticles had never been more fascinating.