Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I nod in agreement. It’s crazy to feel the way I do. To let this guy I barely know take my virginity. There’s a good chance I’m going to regret it tomorrow, but right now, it feels right.
“Tell me something about you,” he says, his lips curling into a beautiful, lazy smile. “But first, what’s your last name?”
I laugh. We’re obviously doing this all backwards. “My last name is Leblanc.”
“And…”
“And I want to be a model,” I admit. It’s the only thing I can think of that won’t scare him away. My age, where I go to school, where I live…it’s all off limits.
Jase smirks. “You’re definitely beautiful enough. What kind of model?” He takes my fingers in his hand and brings them to his lips for a kiss. “A hand model? Because you have seriously sexy fingers.” He sucks my middle finger into his mouth erotically, and a soft moan escapes my lips. How can something as simple as him sucking on my finger turn me on?
“No,” I croak, then clear my throat before I continue. “A real model.” I gently pull my finger out from between his lips. “My dream is to be on billboards across New York. I want to walk the catwalks for high fashion designers during the New York, Paris, and Milan Fashion Weeks. I want to get a deal with Victoria’s Secret or Tommy Hilfiger, or maybe Donna Karen or Chanel.” I can’t help the excitement I feel when I talk about my goals and dreams. Growing up, I used to toy with the idea of wanting to become a model. I would play dress up with Nick’s mom’s clothes when she wasn’t home, and force Nick to watch me put on fashion shows.
When I got older, I would watch the various fashion shows on television when Mom remembered to pay the bill. But it was confirmed the first time Nick’s mom brought Nick and me along with her for Fashion Week when I was twelve year’s old. Nick’s nanny got sick and canceled last minute, and his dad was out of town on business. Like always, my mom was in a drunken stupor, so Victoria ended up taking us with her to New York. She was able to find a replacement nanny for the rest of the week, but that first night we went with her, and it was that one night that changed my life. Up until that day, my dreams were puffs of clouds in the sky—beautiful to look up at, but unreachable. But as I watched the fashion show from the third row, it was as if I was floating in the air. I could taste it, smell it, feel it. For the first time, my dreams were within reach, and I knew I would do everything in my power to grab ahold of them.
“But I don’t want to stop there,” I continue when I see Jase’s eyes are on me, that he’s actually listening and waiting for me to explain. I can’t remember the last time someone just listened to me. “It’s common knowledge that a modeling career peaks by twenty-two and is over by twenty-seven, thirty, if the model is lucky. Modeling is my dream, my foot in the door, but I don’t want that to be it. I want to start my own jewelry and makeup lines. Maybe even a clothing line. I love fashion,” I exclaim.
“Why?” he asks thoughtfully.
“I love the way an outfit can give a woman confidence. The way makeup can make her feel beautiful. I love how a single necklace or bracelet can make her feel… more.” I don’t know how to explain it without telling him I was raised in a shitty trailer park, in an ugly, tiny trailer. I grew up being made fun of for wearing the Walmart clothes my mom would buy me secondhand from the thrift stores. The no-name brand shoes that she would pick up from the local consignment shops. Kids were mean, and I always felt so ugly.
That was until Nick’s mom, Victoria, bought me a beautiful Marc Jacobs gown for the function we were attending. She took me to get my hair and makeup and nails done. Then she lent me a pair of pearl earrings and a matching necklace. That night, not only did nobody make fun of me, but I was complimented on several occasions on how beautiful I looked. I watched the models strut up and down the runway as everybody oohed and ahhed, and it was in that moment I knew I would do whatever it took to become a model. I want to travel the world, wear gorgeous, expensive clothes, get paid to put on makeup. I want to live in a penthouse that overlooks Central Park. I want a husband who’s rich and takes care of me and thinks I’m beautiful.