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“She’s smart and classy,” I begin, planting my ass on the corner of Mr. Ackerman’s desk. It’s still sore from all the working out I’ve been doing—and I haven’t even been to Power Plus yet today. “She already knows the business inside and out, and I think she’s a great investment.”
“Go on,” Mr. Ackerman says, leaning in. His mustache is twirled to new fucking heights now, and the more confident I am, the more interested he seems.
“It’s me, boss,” I admit, staring him down and holding my chin high. “I want a contract with Wild Rose. You already know I can woo clients until they’re eating out of the palm of my hand. I’ve got a killer walk. I’ll need new head shots, but my social media has been blowing up lately, and you know that I’ll work my ass off for you if you’ll just—”
“Kara, Kara, Kara,” Mr. Ackerman says, shaking his head. “I’m going to stop you right there. Now, of course, sweetheart, you’re gorgeous…”
“Then what’s the catch?”
He chuckles, and my heart drops into my stomach.
I wore my favorite heels for this, dammit, and he’s fucking laughing at me?
“The industry has changed since you were last in it, baby,” he informs me. “It’s sweet that you’re game for trying—Lord knows we need women with an appetite for success around here. But this isn’t the same scene it was two years ago. Clients don’t just want skinny anymore—they want Kim Kardashians, honey. Not Kate Mosses.”
I slide off his desk and put my hands on my hips. “I can be a Kim Kardashian.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t want to be,” he says, shaking his head again. “You know I only want the best for you, Kara, but you’re too thin for plus-size now, and you’re just not…”
He outlines the shape of a woman in the air with his hands: big tits, tiny waist, and an ass so big you could eat dinner off of it.
“That can’t be all that the clients want,” I say, feeling my temper bubbling up and threatening to burst. “You know I can do it, boss. There’s not a girl on our roster who knows the game better or who will work harder—”
“No, there’s not,” Mr. Ackerman admits. “But the fact of the matter is, Kara, women of your age—”
And that’s where this conversation ends.
Right fucking there.
“Women of my age?” I repeat, picking up the fil
e of the model I just signed for him and tossing it in his face. “You just put your goddamn cowboy boot in your fucked up, lopsided mouth, buddy.”
“Kara, I’m sorry, honey, but—”
“Nope,” I say, grabbing my purse. “If you’re going to apologize for anything, honey, it had best be an apology to all of woman-kind for that ugly-ass mustache. I quit.”
“Can’t we talk about this?” he calls out after me.
I try to think of something clever to say back and can’t.
I’ve already run out of insults, and it’d just be looping back to call his cowboy boots stupid again.
“See you around,” I say as I slam the door in his face. “Probably sooner than you think.”
I don’t even clean out my desk. There’s not anything there that I’m going to need.
I’ve got a set of workout clothes and my gym shoes in the bottom of my purse, and I’ve got two hot men waiting at the gym for me.
And Chase and Eric? They’re going to be fucking thrilled for a visit from a woman of my fucking age.
“Kara,” Chase calls out, jogging over to me as I come stomping through Power Plus’ front doors. “Babe, what’s wrong?”
I consider telling him the truth—that I just failed to get my modeling contract back despite having lost all the fucking weight that got me booted to begin with. I consider telling him that my boss—ex-boss—just called me too old to model, or that I’m unemployed now with no fucking prospects for the future.
I even consider telling him how much I fucking hate Kim Kardashian and her perfect ass right now.
But then Chase pulls me against his hard, sweaty chest, and I breathe in his smell.
