Just the Tip - The Manning Brothers

After a pause, after which I can only assume I was surveilled by the camera in the corner, the door clicked and I was able to shoulder the steel-reinforced door open. There was a steep, narrow staircase going upwards and I tiredly hoisted my bag over my shoulder, trudging upstairs.

The truth is I’ve been studying out of boredom and necessity. I’d been cribbing off of Tina before and obviously, that wasn’t an option anymore given our contentious relationship. Plus, the girls I’d always thought of my “friends” at law school were curiously dismissive.

“Oh yeah, your bridal shower. I’m so sorry to hear about that,” said Courtney from my contracts class. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Well, I’d love to be taken out to dinner,” I’d hinted. “It’d mean a lot to me.” I’d just been publicly shamed with the break-up of my engagement, and I was hoping some girls would band together and take me out to make me feel like a princess.

But Courtney was curiously evasive.

“I’m sorry Jenna, I’m just so busy,” she said. “Henry’s got exams too, and we’re both trying to cram before things really get hectic.”

That made no sense to me. She’d had time to come to my bridal shower but had no time for a regular dinner? Plus, Courtney hated Henry. She was always begging me to set her up with one of Jake’s millionaire friends.

But I guess once I didn’t have the Jake connection, Courtney’s hopes of marrying rich had gone up in flames and she saw no reason to invest in our friendship anymore. She’d hemmed and hawed some more and I’d let it go because there was nothing else to be said. She clearly wasn’t interested in hanging out unless I had a hook-up to wealthy dudes.

Sadly, that’s how it was with a lot of my so-called friends. They disappeared like smoke once my broken engagement became widely known, giving the most random excuses and not returning calls.

So I ended up studying instead, making the most of my time alone. I could have gone on the prowl immediately, started looking for another man, but my reputation was already damaged enough. It’s not every day your sister steals your billionaire fiancé out from under your nose, and even I recognized that a break was needed to let the drama dispel before I started up hot and heavy with a new guy.

But studying doesn’t pay money. So here I stood, lugging my bag to this modeling gig or whatever it was. Given the dingy surroundings, things didn’t bode well.

Finally, at the top of the stairs was another steel-reinforced door, this one just as heavy and imposing. However, as soon as I reached to knock I heard the lock click open, surveillance cameras whirring towards me once again.

I pushed open the massive steel and was greeted by a wave of warmth. Thank god, because it was chilly and I was shivering, so the humid heat was a welcome respite. There were blinding lights and I put up a hand to shield my face. Holy shit, those were Krieg lights blasting a bright, white glare onto everything on the stark floor space.

The scene inside took my breath away though. I blinked, surprised. Multiple cars were parked, although how they’d gotten them up onto the second level, I have no idea. Lambos, Ferraris, Maseratis, you name them, they were all there. The staff was there too: photographers, assistants, make-up people, and costume people, if you can call them that.

Because the models were barely dressed, some altogether nude except for stripper heels. They sprawled across the vehicles, posing provocatively, and there was even one redhead straddling the door to a fire-red sports car, grinding against it, letting her bare pussy do the talking as she moaned for the crew, cameras flashing.

Was that moisture I saw on the leather? Sure enough, the redhead was turned on, her plush folds spilling their wet secrets onto the pebbled material.

Holy cow … did they expect this of me too?

3

Jenna

“You must be Jenna,” purred a melodious female voice. “I’m Deborah.” I turned, more in shock than anything else. A middle-aged brunette strode confidently towards me, perfectly groomed in an elegant but sexy black suit, her hair swept up into a chignon. She was fully dressed, thank god.

“Yes, that’s me,” I stammered, looking down at my feet. It was unlike me to be shy, but then again I’m not confronted with rampant nudity all the time.

The woman chuckled throatily at my obvious discomfort.

“You’re beautiful honey, you’ll fit right in,” she said soothingly. With a more critical eye, she added, “Hmmm, tall, slim, big boobs, long blonde hair … just the ticket. Patrick!” she called off in the distance, “come take a look at the goods.”

I bridled a bit. The goods? I was a woman, not some inanimate object, but I checked myself. You know what? I was an aspiring model, “the product” so to say, out to make money off of my looks and my body. I was getting paid cold hard cash to sell cars. I could do this.