"You're the boss." Keith handed me her file as everyone started to leave the room.
"You might try remembering that sometime. I won't forget that comment you made; I don't know how to run an ad campaign? You can count on me to be involved in this one every step of the way just to show you that I'm the boss for a reason."
I slapped Keith on the back as we both chuckled. He was a good friend of mine, and I liked having someone in the company with the guts to stand up to me and tell me what they really thought. It challenged me and helped me to keep the company strong, unlike being surrounded by annoying yes-men. Still, there was a grain of truth in what I'd said, and I could see from the look in Keith's eyes that he knew it.
I carried Kayla Brandt's file back into my office and sat at my desk. I felt strangely nervous about calling her. My palms were actually sweaty as I dialed her number, and I could hear my heart pounding as it rang. What would I say to her when she picked up? I couldn't wait to hear the sound of her gentle voice again.
The anticipation was killing me as her phone rang for what seemed like forever before she finally answered.
"Kayla, this is Ethan Colson with Speed Motorcycles. I want to discuss some things with you. Can you come to my office tomorrow at noon?”
"Certainly. I'll be there." She sounded shocked, and I couldn't help but smile. She was so unpretentious; I could read her every emotion and could even picture the expression on her pretty face.
She had the biggest blue eyes I'd ever seen, like liquid pools on a tropical beach. Her skin was creamy perfection, and her lips were like the petals of a delicate pink flower. When she smiled, her entire face lit up, and when she laughed, it was like music. Most of all, I kept picturing those magnificent breasts of hers. The nipples had been taut, rosy nubs in perfectly round areolas at the center of wonderful plump, full breasts that jiggled and begged to be touched. I wondered what it would feel like to hold them in my hands and squeeze and fondle them, to brush my thumbs across the nubs of her nipples and taste them with my lips. Yes, she was the perfect model for next month's magazine cover, and the one every man would be obsessed with, just as I already was.
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 completed 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.