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I can’t believe I’m considering this.
Hell, I more than considered it. I went through the registration process to pimp myself out to unknown men. Two retail jobs and they were still not enough to make ends meet. Desperate times.
I paused over the username and weighed using a fake name.
Anastasia? Isabella?
Despite the thrill of going by something exotic, I decided to use my first name. The world was flooded with Jessicas. I entered my height and body type. Then I realized I would need a profile picture, and it needed to be good. I grabbed a black cocktail dress from Natalie’s closet and peeked into the hallway. The bathroom door was open. I rushed inside, closed it, and looked into the foggy mirror.
I wasa mess.
My blonde hair looked like a bird’s nest. I attacked it with my brush, bemoaning the split ends I found. I lined my makeup on the sink like toy soldiers. These billionaires only cared about having a hot chick dangling on their arm.
All the tangles teased out of my hair made a noticeable improvement, but it still looked dry. I squirted some of that hair moisturizer in my hands and then tousled itto make it shine. Should I straighten my hair? Nah. I didn’t want to look too polished, and yet I wanted to stand out from all the blonde Barbie dolls listed on the website. My mascara and eyeliner were next, and then I added just a touch of lip-gloss.
I looked at the frightened, pretty girl in the mirror.
Damn it. This will never work.
Then I walked out of the bathroom and bumped into Natalie.
“There you are! I was getting worried.” She paused in the midst of talking. “Wow, are you going out on a date or something?”
She knew I didn’t date. “No, I’m not.”
“Then why are you all dolled up?”
“Because I need to take a nice picture of myself. Can you help me?”
“Sure,” she smirked. “Is this for an online dating profile?”
I faltered as she dashed inside her room to get her camera and wondered why she was so excited. “Uh—sorta.”
“Well, I think that’s great,” she gushed. “It’s about time you dated.”
My insides squirmed at not revealing the whole truth. I would tell her soon enough, but I didn’t think she would approve. “It needs to be flattering.”
“Well, duh.” She dragged me around the house. “Here, lean against the wall and hold one of your arms. Look down.”
“Shouldn’t I look at the camera?”
“No!Models never smile for the camera.”
I rolled my eyes. Natalie took one photography class in college, and apparently that made her an expert.
“If I don’t smile I’ll look angry.”
“Stop talking.”
I laughed and was blinded by the flash of her camera. She took dozens of random photos, some of me sitting down on the couch, standing, drinking wine, and holding books.
“What’s the point of this?” I whined as I held several volumes.
She kept shaking her head at me as she snapped pictures. Am I doing something wrong?
“You’re so pretty. I always thought you should model.”
I choked out a laugh. “Me? Model? I don’t think so. I’m too short.”
