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Once he was away from the sunlight, his visage was finally visible. His chin was marked with a noticeable line of scruff, but it was expertly manicured. His hands rested in his pockets, and a shiny watch reflected the stage lights. He held himself with more grace than all of us on stage.
All eyes were on him.
He knew it, but he didn’t seem to be affected by it.
He took a seat in the chair reserved along the aisle for him. The woman who followed him around took a seat directly behind him. The men who had escorted him there shut the doors then lingered in the back, turning into motionless statues now that they weren’t needed.
Quite a performance.
The woman on stage with us addressed us again. “Now that Conway Barsetti is here, let’s get started. When I call your number, you’ll walk to the edge of the runway, pose, and then return to your position. Cue the music.”
Instantly, music erupted from the speakers. The lights were cranked higher.
My eyes looked at the spot where Conway was sitting, but I couldn’t make out much of his features. His green eyes slightly reflected the lights coming from the stage, and it seemed like he was staring at me.
But that must just be in my head.
Number one went and strutted to the edge of the stage. Her heels clanked against the floor, but she didn’t falter in her steps. She posed at the end, flipping her hair profoundly before she turned and walked back. She was in a thong just the way I was, but she obviously didn’t feel even remotely uncomfortable showing her entire ass to the men in the audience.
I kept my posture, but the sky-high heels were already killing my feet. After five minutes of wearing the damn things, I was in pain. How did models bear the discomfort and still strut like they owned the stage? It was a mystery to me.
Number two went next.
My eyes moved back to Conway Barsetti’s figure in the audience. His elbows rested on the armrests, and his hands came together in the center of his chest. His watch was more noticeable, and he wore a black ring on his forefinger. His face was still mostly hidden in the shadows, but now there was no mistaking what he was looking at.
Me.
Number two did her best work and returned to the line, but Conway Barsetti missed her entire performance.
He couldn’t actually be staring at me, not when there were nine better candidates performing for him right at that moment.
Number three took off.
His green eyes were locked on me, not even blinking. He stared at me with an intense gaze that was almost hostile. It wasn’t clear whether he hated me or wanted me. Maybe he was ticked his assistants had placed me in the top ten. Perhaps it irritated him that such an unworthy woman wore one of his greatest designs.
Number four went next.
His eyes were still on me.
I turned my eyes away, his heated gaze becoming too much. I suddenly felt vulnerable, like an antelope standing in the tall grass of the Serengeti. There was a lion watching me. I couldn’t see him—but I could certainly feel him.
I’d been threatened by worse men, Knuckles being the top pick. But I always hit back with the same force they struck me with. If a man tried to disrespect me, I did the same to him. Allowing myself to be intimidated simply wasn’t an option. To live your life in fear was to not live at all. Despite learning all those lessons, I felt trepidation when he stared at me.
I felt like he could see right through me, see all my fears and doubts. He could read my mind like words on a page. He could feel every emotion like it was wafting from my skin. He could sense my vulnerability, knowing I was slowly coming undone.
His image on TV was nothing compared to the real thing.
He might be beautiful, but damn, he was terrifying.
He was thirty feet away from me, but his presence projected so far it seemed like he was standing right in front of me.
The lights put me on display, and all I could do was stand there and take his stare. I was already nervous to walk in my heels, but now that his harsh eyes were watching me like a pair of binoculars, I didn’t feel as strong as I had before.
I felt like a mess.
Now, we were on number six.
She didn’t make it to the edge of the stage.
As if Conway Barsetti was speaking through a microphone, his voice projected throughout the entire auditorium, but he accomplished it without raising his voice. “Numbers one through nine, you’re dismissed.”
Number six froze at the edge of the stage, in mid-pose. She looked over her shoulder at the older woman in charge of the audition, shocked and seeking direction. The other girls looked at each other too, devastated by the announcement.
