So my sister and I are estranged now, after Jake broke off our engagement to be with his baby mama.
"I can't believe this is happening," I spat to my mom. "This is so fucked up, what kind of sister does this to you?"
My mom looked at me reprovingly. I guess since she's known me since birth, she knows how vengeful and spiteful I can be on occasion. But this was an instance where it was deserved. I swear, my twin ran off with my man, how messed up is that?
"Jenna," she said gently. "You're beautiful but surely you can see how much Jake and Tina love each other. Maybe you were there first, but the heart wants what it wants, and Jake wants Tina."
This wasn't helpful at all.
"Whose side are you on, Mom?" I screeched. "I did nothing wrong! It was all her! Tina makes herself out to be such a goody two-shoes but inside, she's dirty and corrupt, she'd do anything to get her way."
My mom only sighed.
"Jenna, maybe you should take a closer look at yourself," she advised. "Just because you're pretty doesn't mean that life is going to be easy."
"Is that a warning?" I'd sneered. "Shit happens Mom, I know, but this was really beyond the pale."
"Take another look at yourself," my mom urged. "Work on yourself first, really look inside and figure out what you want, what will make you happy. And don't throw stones if you live in a house of glass."
Whatever. These platitudes and old sayings were too much to bear, they just made people feel worse without actually being helpful.
"Fine Mom, I will," I said shortly, ending the conversation. But my mind had already turned to other things because right now, I just needed money. I'd been living on Jake's largesse for the past couple months, reveling in a luxurious lifestyle and clearly that was over. But I couldn't bear going back to being a penniless grad student either, so I began calling around.
I'd seen an ad in the student paper for a modeling gig a few days back, and I knew I was photogenic. Maybe I'd check that out, it'd beat being a teaching assistant or some waitress job for sure.
"Hi, I'm inquiring about the modeling job I saw in Craigslist," I dialed the number. "The one where the girls promote a premium craft beer?"
"Oh right," said the disembodied voice on the other end. "Are you five two and Latina?"
"Not exactly," I said slowly. "I'm blonde and five nine."
"Then no can-do," said the voice. "Premia Modela is geared to the Latino market, we're only looking for girls with spice."
Um, okay, they could have said that in the ad. But if the WASP look wasn't what you were looking for, then fine, I'd move on. After a couple more calls, I finally got a bite.
"Hi, I'm calling about the modeling ad in the paper," I said in a clipped voice, my temper short. "The one that pays two hundred per hour," I said emphatically.
This whole process had been far more annoying than I thought. You'd think that being blonde and hot would open plenty of doors, but that hadn't been the case with these gigs so far.
"Oh right," said the silky voice in response. "And may I ask your cup size please?"
Cup size? They asked this stuff straight off the bat? But I had nothing to hide.
"Double Ds," I said shortly. "Not natural." I really wasn't holding back on the nastiness.
"And height and weight?" she positively purred.
"Five nine and one twenty," I snapped. "Listen, should I come in or what? You're not going to get anywhere with stats, I could be a wretched hag for all you know."
The voice wasn't perturbed by my rude behavior. "Of course, honey," the woman said sweetly. "Why don't you come by tomorrow at 11 a.m.? It's 243 Divisadero Street. Bring two bikinis," she added. "One in black and one in red."
"Wait, I didn't know I had to provide the clothes," I shot back, but it was too late. The woman had hung up and I was stuck going to the mall later today. WTF? I thought models sold outfits, not supplied them. But it was too late now, and two hundred dollars per hour was cash that I desperately needed.
CHAPTER THREE
Jenna
I showed up at Divisadero Street, looking around dumbfounded. There were only warehouses here, nothing to indicate a professional photography studio or anything artistic. Instead, it was clearly an industrial area, everything grey, from the sky to the asphalt, the faceless buildings grimy and dirty. Oh god.
I found the bell to number 243 and rang the buzzer, the electric squawk making me jump. Chilled, I rubbed my arms, hunching my shoulders against the cold San Francisco wind.
After a pause, after which I can only assume I was surveyed by the camera in the corner, the door clicked and I was able to shoulder the steel-reinforced door open. There was a steep, narrow staircase going upwards and I tiredly hoisted my bag over my shoulder, trudging upstairs.
The truth is I've been studying out of boredom and necessity. I'd been cribbing off of Tina before and obviously, that wasn't an option anymore given our contentious relationship. Plus the girls I'd always thought of my "friends" at law school were curiously dismissive.
"Oh yeah, your bridal shower, I'm so sorry to hear about that," said Courtney from my contract law class. "Is there anything we can do to help?"
"Well, I'd love to be taken out to dinner," I'd hinted. "It'd mean a lot to me." I'd just been publicly shamed with the break-up of my engagement, and I was hoping some girls would band together and take me out, make me feel like a princess.
But Courtney was curiously evasive.
"I'm sorry Jenna, I'm just so busy," she said. "Henry's got exams too, we're both trying to cram before things really get hectic."
That made no sense to me. She'd had time to come to my bridal shower but had no time for a regular dinner? Plus she hated Henry, she was always begging me to set her up with one of Jake's millionaire friends.
But I guess once I didn't have the Jake connection, Courtney's hopes of marrying rich had gone up in flames and she saw no reason to invest in our friendship anymore. She'd hemmed and hawed some more and I'd let it go because there was nothing else to be said. She clearly wasn't interested in hanging out unless I had a hook-up to wealthy dudes.
Sadly, that's how it was with a lot of my so-called friends. They disappeared like smoke once my broken engagement became widely known, giving the most random excuses and not returning calls.
And so I ended up studying instead, making the most of my time alone. I could have gone on the prowl immediately, started looking for another man, but my reputation was already damaged enough. It's not every day your sister steals your billionaire fiancé out from under your nose, and even I recognized that a break was needed to let the drama dispel before I started up hot and heavy with a new guy.
But studying doesn't pay money and so here I was, lugging my bag to this modeling gig or whatever it was. Given the dingy surroundings, things didn't bode well.
Finally at the top of the stairs was another steel-reinforced door, this one just as heavy and imposing. However, as soon as I reached to knock I heard the lock click open, surveillance cameras whirring towards me once again.
I pushed open the massive steel and was greeted by a wave of warmth. Thank god, it was chilly and I was shivering, so the humid heat was a welcome respite. There were blinding lights and I put up a hand to shield my face. Holy shit, those were Krieg lights blasting a bright, white glare onto everything on the stark floor space.
And inside, multiple cars were parked, how they'd gotten them up onto the second level, I have no idea. Lambos, Ferraris, Maseratis, you name them, they were all there. The staff was there too … photographers, assistants, make-up people, and … costumers, if you could call them that.
Because the models were barely dressed, some altogether nude except for stripper heels. They sprawled across the vehicles, posing provocatively, and there was even one redhead straddling the door to a fire-red sports car, grinding against it, letting her bare pussy do the talking as she moaned for the crew, cameras flashing.
Was that moisture I saw on the leather? Sure enough, the redhead was turned on, her pussy spilling its wet secrets onto the pebbled material.
Holy cow … did they expect this of me too?
CHAPTER FOUR
Jenna
"You must be Jenna," purred a melodious female voice. "I'm Deborah." I turned, more in shock than anything else. A middle-aged brunette strode confidently towards me, perfectly groomed in an elegant but sexy black suit, her hair swept up into a chignon. She was fully dressed, thank god.
"Yes, that's me," I stammered, looking down at my feet. It was unlike me to be shy, but then again I'm not confronted with rampant nudity all the time.