Chapter 1

Lacey

The atmosphere before the show is high. It’s dizzy and half-sick, like how you feel when halfway through a bottle of really good champagne—you know you’re in too deep, but you have no intention of stopping.

It’s my first time modeling, and I think I could get used to it. It’s incredibly glamorous being prepared for the show, having others do my hair and makeup and just dolling me up.

Also, I just love the idea of showing things off. Not so much me—although that’s fun, too—but the whole principle of helping people show off their ideas. Helping others decide what they like.

“Lacey, darling, where did you get that robe? It’s lush.” Serina sways towards me on heels higher than her opinion of herself.

To her credit, she’s a drop-dead stunner, with piles of curly dark hair cascading over her flawless pale skin and eyes that seem like they can see for miles ahead. She has the model deadpan face perfected to a T.

She’s made up heavily, so her green eyes even more closely resemble those of a cat. I smile back at her nervously, tugging the robe a little. I’m so sure of myself—until I’m faced with someone experienced like her.

“Oh, it’s not mine. Jerard down in wardrobe said I could borrow it.”

“That figures.” Miss Cat licks her lips like she got the cream. “He gets all sorts of things left over from shows. I honestly didn’t think you had that kind of taste.”

“What sort of taste would that be?”

The eyes narrow. The grin is sharp. Here it comes. Flocks of women in dense groups like this always end up fiercely competitive.

“Champers!” A loud trill cuts through the murmurs as Tracey Lee comes swinging through the crowd with a tray of tall, fluted glasses. “Just in case anyone needs a bit of courage! We need this to zing, girls, really pop! So, come on and get into the party.”

She stops by me, handing me a glass. Serina takes one and swishes off, looking magnificent in her black silk and lace. She hasn’t bothered to throw on a robe like most of us.

She likes to show off the goods, especially before a walk on the runway. It gives her a confidence boost, or so I’ve heard. The gossip has been running wild all day.

I heard she pays $3000 a month to maintain that hair. So many extensions. Not something I have to worry about, thank goodness.

It’s amazing how much all the girls know about each other. I suppose it’s because I’m new, but they’ve been trying hard to get my story. I honestly don’t feel like I have much to tell.

I sip the champagne. It’s beautifully ice-cold and tingles nicely across my palate. It must be incredibly expensive, or so I’d guess. I’m no connoisseur.

A couple of the other girls gather around, drinking and fussing with hair and makeup.

Tracey is one of our event managers, and she has years of industry experience. She’s here to check up on us more than chat with us.

Some of the girls like to think that the lifestyle is just one big party. I take myself a bit more seriously than that. I expect to make waves in the fashion industry.

I’m not just a rocking bod to drape pretty panties on—although that certainly helps, don’t get me wrong. I flex slightly, stretching up tall to flatten my belly and then curl my hand to bring the flute closer to my face. I eye myself in one of the many mirrors.

Honey blonde hair falls in waves over my shoulders. I blink my big eyes, admiring the skillful make up that has given the blue an extra depth. Under the black silk robe, I’m wearing a black bra and panties set with edges of red lace.

A perfect shot. It’s easy to pull together the stance, the look. One of the girls jostles me, almost spilling my champagne.

“Are you going to the dance with anyone?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t have a date.”

“I think we should all find a nice boy to play with,” one of the brunettes giggles. “Or maybe a bad boy to fuck.”

The crowd murmurs approval. Serina stalks back into the crowd that has gathered around Tracey and the champagne.

“I tell you what we should do,” she purrs, glancing around the room. “We should do a New Year-style challenge. Whoever you are dancing with at midnight is the guy you have to fuck.” She sips her champagne, daring us all with her dark eyes.

A couple of the girls squeal, giggles erupting. Most are nodding. A perky blonde speaks up.

“I think that’s a really fun challenge, Serina. I’m in!”

With that, they all start chorusing their approval. I stand quietly in the storm, clinging to my champagne. All this sex talk makes me a bit nervous. I’ve never gone all the way.

I’m ready to, believe me. Just haven’t found the right guy, the right situation.

“Ladies, you all look positively scrumptious!” A high-pitched voice rings out from the doorway.

“Uh-oh,” Tracey whispers to me, “It’s Dicky Denham.”

“Shh,” I nudge her softly with an elbow. “Don’t be mean.”

“Well, he is a dick. Look at him. Bet you he doesn’t give me a second glance.”

I sip my champagne so I don’t have to answer. I think Tracey is beautiful. I know she’s not model material, but that doesn’t have to be the absolute measuring stick for beauty.

Mr. Denham walks through the crowd, inappropriately touching shoulders and giving leering looks. I feel my face pull down in a frown—and try to stop. Frowns are a breeding ground for wrinkles, especially with as much makeup as I have on at the moment.

Denham is the big CEO. He pays for everything, and he gets the profits. He has a right to be here.

Still, I don’t think he’s coming in at this exact moment just to protect his financial interests.

The way he grins at everyone, staring at all the girls’ chests instead of their faces, really makes me feel gross. He’s short, balding, with a belly, but has skinny arms and legs.

Physical attributes might not be so unattractive if anything about him was genuine. As it is, he comes off completely fake. I really hate liars.

Serina places herself right in front of him, one hand on her hip, the other holding her champagne. She has her back to me, but I can tell she’s giving him her suggestive face.

Sure, fine, go ahead. Try and nab the big CEO. Be my guest. I don’t think anyone is going to get in her way.

While I’m watching them, I see Denham’s eyes move from Serina’s chest to just over her shoulder…cruising around the room…and stopping on me.

Oh, crap.

I start maneuvering through the room, trying to get out of the way of his lecherous gaze. The place is so packed that I only make it a few steps before he waddles his way through to me. A pudgy hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks—more from the chill down my spine than the force of his grip.

“Hey there, honey.” His voice is very high and just a bit nasal. I try hard not to judge him for it. There’s more than enough I’m already judging him for.

“Hello, Mr. Denham.” I turn and smile, resigning myself to the conversation.

“I’m not sure if I’ve seen you before.” He looks me over slowly, his eyes going from the tips of my toes up to my neck, but no higher. He just can’t look a woman in the eyes, can he?

Even though it feels like something crawling on me, I just smile politely. You can’t model lingerie unless you have a generous amount of patience.

Particularly with guys that think you exist for them to look at. I’ve been mentally preparing for this moment.

“I’ve been around.” I try not to draw him into a conversation. Maybe if he thinks I’m boring, he’ll take off to one of the other flirts in here.

“I’m sure I would remember. You really have what it takes, you know? Seriously, I think you should come and see me after the show. I can get you places. Who knows? We might hit it off.”

His eyes slip from my chest to my face for the first time, but only for a couple of seconds. He smiles, and it takes everything in my power not to gag.

I’m sure he doesn’t intend for it to be weird and creepy, but there’s just something so…off. I try very hard to be understanding and not let the expression on my face change at all.

“I—ah, I think I might be busy after the show. I’ll have to get back to you.” I try to smile to lessen the blow.

Thankfully, I see Serina slinking up behind him. She gives me a fierce cat snarl, mouthing ‘fuck off’ as she approaches.

“I have somewhere to be,” I smile brightly, handing Mr. Denham my champagne. “I’ll speak to you later!” I break off quickly through the crowd.

I hear Denham call out something, like ‘make sure you do’, but when I look back, Serina has her arm around him, cradling him against her chest already. His eyes are locked on her lace-covered breasts, hovering just inches below his nose.

Looks like Serina and her special talents come in handy, after all. I’ll have to remember that for later.

I head towards the front of the dressing area, where the anticipation is hanging thick in the air. It won’t be long now until the show starts.

I can hear the crowd as a dull roar. Music and announcements play.

It’s funny, thinking about Mr. Denham really makes me wonder. It would be nice to have someone fall in love with me to that extent. To look at me as if I am a goddess and treat me like one.

But where do you find a guy who can stimulate your intellect, your passion, and your body all at once? Can just one person truly satisfy you for your entire life?

I really don’t believe so. It’s one of the reasons I’m still a virgin.

What’s the point of going all the way if you aren’t going to truly invest in the person? I’ve never found someone special enough to truly reveal myself to.

Luckily, I will be on the runway soon, where I don’t have time to think.