Chapter 2
Kellan
I stood on the sidewalk, baking in the Florida sun. I knew I looked tight in my best white linen pants and a new, dark purple dress shirt. I’d opened two buttons to show off my broad, hairless chest—tanned to caramel perfection, of course. Mirrored sunglasses and my brand new, close-cropped haircut completed the effect of the quintessential South Beach stud.
Fat lot of good it had done me!
I turned around in my imported Italian leather loafers and sneered at the faux-modern exterior of the Platinum Poses Modeling Agency. Its oversized planters were filled with exotic palm trees on either side of plate glass doors that featured huge, chrome handles designed to look like crescent moons. Above the doors, in winking neon, glowed giant letters that spelled out Platinum Poses.
“Platinum Posers is more like it,” I growled to no one in particular as I snorted and shook my head, then hitched my leather portfolio under one arm and sauntered down Ocean Beach Boulevard toward Daisy’s Café. Nestled between Nestor’s Newsstand and Linda’s Laundromat, Daisy’s was a lively South Beach hot spot—loud, boisterous, colorful and convenient.
Daisy herself was behind the counter, as usual, and looked nothing like her name. She was in her late sixties, crusty as a three-day old pizza, with wire brush grey hair and a ready smile across her wrinkled face. Daisy had my order ready before I’d even reached the counter.
She winked as I approached, sliding the iced cappuccino across the counter. “Cash or credit, honey?”
I grabbed my chin dramatically, doing what I did best—striking a pose. “That depends. How good is my credit?”
Daisy rolled her eyes, pausing to bark some butchered Spanish curses at the delivery man who was making a mess in the kitchen. Turning back to me, she forced a well-meaning smile—it was an impression I was getting more and more used to, the longer I was out of work.
Her voice was as coarse as sandpaper. “Honey, you know your credit’s always good here, but if you rack up much more, I’m going to have to make you start washing dishes to whittle down the bill.”
I sighed, smirking as she slid a complimentary biscotti across the counter to join my iced coffee, the first solid food I’d had all day. “I may just take you up on that offer if the job search doesn’t pick up soon.”
She shook her head. “You’re such a pretty boy, Kellan. Someone will pick you up soon. I just know it.”
“From your mouth to the male model god’s ears.”
She cracked a smile then croaked out something like a laugh. Regarding my crisp outfit dampened slightly by South Beach’s constant, raging and bitchy humidity, she smiled. “I see you out here every day hustling to find a new agency. Aren’t any interested in my favorite model?”
“None of the good ones, Daisy.”
She shrugged, wiping wrinkled hands on her green and white Daisy’ Café apron. “Bad ones pay the same, right hon?”
“Not hardly.”
Another shrug. “You think I pay Starbucks’ wages here, Kellan?”
I snorted. “Yeah, but at least you still serve coffee. In modeling, you either work for a reputable agency, or start doing online porn.”
She shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Hey, we’ve all done things we’re not proud of in our lives—”
She paused for a second, and then berated the delivery boy again before disappearing altogether. I sighed again, and slid a few crumpled bills across the counter for the tip, before drifting to the outside patio where several tall, metal tables without chairs encouraged convenience, but not loitering.
Bolstered by the quick carb fix from the biscotti and crisp, cold caffeine from the iced coffee, not to mention the life-giving shade, I opened my portfolio and considered my options.
Make that, option. As in…singular. After being let loose from my old modeling agency, Elite Physique, I’d hit the ground running. Hell, I’d had to. Sure, I’d made a mint before they unceremoniously dumped me, but I’d spent twice that much along the way—including my sweet new crib in Luxe, one of Miami’s hottest new condo developments.
But the job search had gone less than well. Wherever I went, I was like a pariah. The other modeling agencies in town all smelled blood in the water and the scandal that had cost me my Elite Physique contract was following me around town like an albatross around my neck.
I’d left no stone unturned in my quest to find a new modeling agency. Florida Faces. Bare Assets. Photogenix. They’d all turned me down, no questions asked.
Now all that was left was the newest agency on the block—a small outfit called Miami Models. It was in the Radiance Building off of Coquina Boulevard, not far from Daisy’s Café, which was ideal, seeing as the bank was looking to repo my car, so I’d hidden it at a friend’s until I could make my latest payment.
Well, make that two payments.
Or is it three?