Page 56 of Pink

Gigi learned fast that almost every model she knew was just medicating to get through it; to be happy or whatever they needed it for that day. Molly. Liquor. Pills. It didn’t matter what it was … nobody put it in their body because they wanted to get high … they just did it because if they didn’t, then life was a lot more difficult to deal with.

Except her.

She wasn’t perfect—she had dabbled a lot with different drugs in the first couple of years after moving to Paris. It was almost a cultural thing inside the modeling world. Expected, even. Oh, she didn’t want to sit on a tiny swing while she hung thirty feet in the air over a pool because she just spent twelve hours on a red-eye flight coming back from a brand trip?

Here, she was told by a former handler, take this pill. Your day will get a whole lot better.

And it had.

It also came to an end eventually.

If someone didn’t keep medicating to stay happy or able to function, then they stopped being any of things or able to do anything altogether. That terrified Gigi because she watched all around her as her peers fell into those same traps again and again.

“What is the next appointment today, anyway?” Gigi asked.

That question sent Kayla’s brown gaze dropping to the phone in her hand. “Uh … Marla told me you knew about this. Something special for the agency—they have that campaign coming up with the major league baseball team?”

“The New York Revvers, yeah. So, what does that have to do with today?”

Because that campaign wasn’t even going to be shot for another month or more. She would show up, a rack of clothes would be waiting for her to wear and change through the process of the shoot, and then her check was signed over. She might do one or two media things if they asked it of her, but that was usually it.

“Marla said she explained this,” Kalya muttered. “Listen—”

What did her agent have to do with shit?

“What’s the appointment?”

“Lunch with Jensen Todrey.”

Why did that name ring a bell?

“The owner of the Revvers?”

Kayla gave her a look. “Yeah.”

“Since when do I do lunch with baseball team’s owner just because I’m a model in an upcoming campaign?”

A heavy exhale answered that.

“Marla said—”

“Fuck Marla,” Gigi snapped although she instantly regretted it when Kayla flinched at her burst of anger. “Sorry—it’s not you. I know, you just … do what you’re told.”

“I really thought you knew.”

“So, what, did he like … get the lawyers to sneak some shit in the contract, or what?”

“Kinda seemed like he talked directly to Marla. I don’t know, she was down for it. Said it was standard at your level in the game. And she’s not wrong. Look at Tara Franco’s social feed for the last year. The girl has been around the globe on the arms of some of the richest men in the world. No isn’t a word people with money usually hear, Gi. You know that better than anyone.”

She did, but … “I’m not for sale, though.”

Kayla cocked her head to the side a bit, and then asked softly, “But aren’t you … in a way? Think about it, Gi. They’ve been selling the fantasy of you for years. Surprise, someone’s decided to tell them to put their money where their mouth is.”

Gigi didn’t believe that.

She couldn’t.

“So … lunch?” she asked.