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His family ran Menendez Industries, the parent corporation for the cell phone company doing the ad campaign she was posing for. While his grandfather and father still played an active role in running the business, analysts agreed that Miguel was responsible for most of Menendez Industries’ expansion in the last five years.
He’d gotten them in at ground level with cell phone service to parts of Asia and Europe as well as negotiating investment in other high tech ventures that had paid off hugely for the more than hundred-year-old, multibillion dollar, family controlled company. He wasn’t the only member of his generation involved with the company, but thus far, he’d been the most successful.
Amber had done her homework, learning what she could about both the company and product she was supposed to be representing—as she always did for a job. As her mom often said, it never hurt to be prepared. Only she had the distinct feeling that nothing could have equipped her for seeing the billionaire in person for the first time.
She’d seen photos, but the pictures accompanying articles in prominent business journals hadn’t begun to catch the essence of the man. The flat two-dimensional images had in no way alluded to his sheer animal magnetism or overwhelming masculine presence.
Six feet two inches of prime male, Miguel Menendez had a body most male models would have sacrificed a year’s wages for. Tall, lean and muscular, he filled out his Dolce & Gabbana shirt and trousers like they’d been made for him. And they probably had. While she recognized the cut and style of the designer’s signature look, there were subtle differences that implied this man’s clothes weren’t even bought off the runway.
Not that a super rich tycoon was going to do anything but have a personal shopper who brought designers to him, but still.
Gray eyes watched her with heated interest tempered by a humor that surprised her. The man made her go weak in the knees and considering she spent her time with some of the most beautiful males the earth had to offer on a regular basis, that realization was not an altogether welcome one.
Yes, his patrician features and dark, curling hair were to-die-for gorgeous, but it was more than that. And it was themore that had her taking another step backward in the awkward silence that had fallen after his last statement.
He smiled, even white teeth flashing briefly. “My concern is for this most lovely young woman whose beauty will not be enhanced by sunburn I think.”
“We’ve got Amber slathered in fifty factor sunscreen,” the photographer said dismissively.
Señor Menendez’s eyes narrowed. “I see that you are in long sleeves and wearing a hat. Very sensible…while she pretends to talk on the phone in little more than three triangles of fabric.”
“She’s a model.”
Which said it all. Her body was a tool. To sell products for them and to achieve her dreams for Amber. It was the way it was and she didn’t even mind.
But apparently Señor Menendez did. She could only be grateful she was not the recipient of that particular look. The photographer
tugged at his collar and looked beseechingly at the ad campaign manager who in turn was looking at his boss as if the tycoon had sprouted a couple of horns.
“She is a beautiful woman whom you would do better to care for than to mistreat in such a manner if indeed it is her image we wish to use to encourage customers to use our products.” He turned to her, the chilled visage warming. “Though I am still unsure of what a barely clad woman and better cell phone coverage have in common.”
She laughed, charmed by his blatant bemusement. “My body has been used to sell car batteries. I’m not really sure what the connection is, but I’m personally grateful advertisers seem to think there’s a correlation. And honestly…I’ve done photo shoots in the California desert during the summer. This isn’t any worse. Believe me.”
A smile flirted at the edges of his perfectly shaped lips. “But we are more civilized than Californians, yes?”
“If you say so.” She’d found that some Europeans still saw Americans as backwoodsmen.
Her agent would swoon at being described in such a way, but Perry had a propensity for drama anyway.
Señor Menendez cocked his head. “You said yourbody? ”
She shrugged.
“Surelyyou sell the products.”
“My image, which is essentially my body.”
He shook his head decisively. “No. There are thousands of truly beautiful women who could be standing where you are right now, it is the spirit inside you that shines through when you smile as you were doing when I arrived. It isyou that my advertising executives hired…not a mere body.”
He was right. Modeling was so much more than displaying body parts to their best advantage, but few people saw it that way. And regardless, her body was still the main tool for her trade. Which sounded kind of bad when she thought of it and didn’t open her mouth to say so.
She simply smiled and said, “Thank you.”
“The smile…it is real? Or can you turn it on for others as well as the camera?”
The question was like a smack between the eyes. It was too much like the question that had been plaguing her lately. Was she a plastic person, or real? Sometimes she felt like a wind-up toy that operated only for the photographer’s pull on her string. She’d always worked hard to be in charge of her career, but was it really controlling her?
“When was the last time you did something for the sake of enjoyment alone?” he asked although she had not answered his first question yet.
