CHAPTER FIVE
Rafe
"Jenna, Jenna, Jenna!" the crowd screamed. I'd heard a lot about this new model but hadn't had a chance to meet her myself. As the chairman of Levast Corp., I take a personal interest in all the brands my company owns and that includes going to dozens of fashion shows, meeting designers, scoping out the crowd.
The audience at Jason Alexander, our newest label, was promising. Between a mix of hoity-toity editorial staff, celebrity ingénues, Instagrammers, and serious buyers, we had a good turn-out. I could see Vanessa A., a hot new rapper, preening in the front row. There were cameramen all around her but the crowd kept screaming "Jenna!" without abandon.
Hmmm, Jenna Walsh. Very interesting. She was the newest model to hit the scene, older than most, probably twenty-four or twenty-five. It wasn't often we hired from the "mature division" of an agency, but in this case Jason had felt he had no choice. Jenna had come onto the scene so suddenly that it took everyone by surprise. The blonde bimbo was the absolute opposite of what high fashion was about – way too curvy, with boobs and an ass that bounced and jiggled with a life of their own.
I have to admit, I was curious myself. Ms. Walsh had come to prominence in a roundabout way. Rejected by all the high fashion agencies, she'd turned to promoting herself via YouTube, Twitter and Instagram. She'd filmed multiple shorts of herself doing silly things, dancing around her room, shimmying on the sidewalk, probably even brushing her teeth.
But the thing is that she was captivating. Her video doing the Cat Daddy in a bikini was riveting, her boobs jouncing out with every squiggle, the girl laughing as she danced, not at all like the cold, hard faces models present to the world.
So I was curious myself. I wanted to see what this Jenna had, what had propelled her to ultra-stardom in such a short time.
The lights dimmed and the music began. A fast cha-cha to match the tropical air, as Jason Alexander was presenting its resort collection. And Mr. Alexander didn't disappoint. Right in time with the first beat, Ms. Walsh stepped out.
I felt my body harden reflexively, its reaction to the goddess on the runway pure male instinct. Because Jenna really was gorgeous. Maybe she was considered fat by the traditional modeling industry, but to me she was perfect, with big, beautiful breasts and a sizeable rump. I could see her jugs bouncing inside the aquamarine bikini top, threatening to spill out and dazzle us all.
She let out a gleaming smile, waving to the crowds, working the audience, a glow coming off of that radiant blonde hair, her golden skin. I wasn't so naïve that I thought it was all natural, but damn, she was the picture of health, bouncy and flushed, the opposite of the anorexics the agencies always send over.
The blonde was sassy and fun too. Reaching the end of the runway, she turned and strutted, rocking her hips, smiling over her shoulder, throwing a come-hither look at me. At me? I growled at myself. Please. I was just another man in the crowd, she couldn't even see me from where I sat in the back. I try to keep a low profile, no need for the world to know that the boss was present.
But the interplay stayed with me even as Jenna sashayed back down the runway, throwing one more dazzling smile over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner. It was as if a camera flash had gone off, rendering me momentarily blind to the other girls filing out from behind the wall, showing off their assets. The image of Jenna was imprinted on my mind, her curvy figure, that golden fall of hair, the undeniable charisma and sweetness.
I had to have her. Uncomfortably crossing my legs, I realized just how aroused I'd become, my cock semi-stiff, my body gearing up as if for war … and dominance.
CHAPTER SIX
Jenna
I'd seen him. A lot of times, the runway is so brightly lit that you can't see a thing. But in this case, when I got to the end of the runway a strobe light went off, illuminating everything in its arc.
And that was when I saw the man. Tall, imposing, handsome, in an impeccably cut suit, seated elegantly with his legs crossed. His eyes were deep, penetrating, and I felt an immediate flush on my body as he stared, my chest growing heated as darts of lightning streaked down to my center, making me feel soft inside.
I calmed myself, acting like nothing had happened, that I hadn't just felt the clouds open. "Stop it," I reminded myself. "You're imagining things, your life's been so crazy lately."
And it's true. It's been a short and surprising rollercoaster ever since I took those nudie pics. I'd done it for the money, nothing more, figuring that once I was paid it'd become a thing of my past. But Deborah had ideas for me.
"Jenna honey," she purred, sorting through some photos, "have you thought about modeling? I mean, real modeling, not this import car stuff."
I was stumped. Even though I'm beautiful, I know I don't have a model's body. Those girls are two inches taller and twenty pounds less, plus I was already twenty-four, too old to be competition for the sixteen year-old ingénues gracing the Paris catwalks.
"I'm not sure I qualify," I said slowly. "But what are you thinking? Some Sears catalogues? Maybe J. Crew?" I'd noticed that commercial models tended to be more normal looking, not the skeletal remains parading about in magazines. Plus, I could use the money.
And Deborah was savvy.
"I have an idea," she said. "I've got a friend at MGC Models, they want someone to appear at a Giants game just to generate some heat, you know? They want someone real because it's supposed to be candid, on the fly, but you know how these things are, they're totally staged."
No, in fact I didn't know that. But it was an idea and I wanted the free tickets to the Giants game. If I had to pimp myself in some way or other, that was fine, so long as it wasn't too embarrassing.
It's terrible I know, but the money from the nudie shoots had already run out, I'd spent it on random things and I was penniless again. Dammit! I knew I shouldn't have bought that new purple dress, but I'd felt so beaten down studying at 2 a.m. that I'd allowed myself to splurge and purchased the Versace dress on-line, my eyesight practically blurring, I was so tired.
And maybe I could use those free tickets to my advantage somehow … I dunno, get some guy to buy me dinner at the game, I heard they'd amped up the catering at these fancy new stadiums, there was actually steak and oysters now, not just fries and hot dogs.
So I agreed. It was easy enough -- I was supposed to go to the game and do a dance when my section cheered. The lensman would "accidentally" catch me on the Jumbotron and it'd provide the crowd with a glimpse of a pretty girl grooving out, relieving the boredom during a slow inning or whatever. Easy-peasy, no problem.
I'd invited Courtney to come along. Although she'd disappointed me when she'd refused to take me out after the cancelled bridal shower, there weren't many other people I could ask frankly. I didn't have many real friends and hadn't had much time to develop true friendships after my engagement blew up, that kind of shit takes years.
So Courtney and I had gotten ready together, brushing out our blonde hair, making sure our baseball caps were angled just so, pulling on the fitted Giants jerseys Deborah had provided.
"Where you'd get this gear?" she'd asked, curious. Courtney was pretty, almost competition even, but she never found the right guys. The guys who liked her were cute, sure, but they were just like us – graduate students, impoverished, studying for their PhDs or whatever. I liked my men a little more developed, imposing, commanding, and further along their career paths.
"Oh I have a friend who couldn't make the game so he gave me his tickets," I said nonchalantly, making sure my hair was brushed to a glossy sheen. I adjusted the baseball jersey so that my girls pressed against the cheap nylon fabric, highlighting my deep cleavage, turning in the mirror to make sure my ass was juicy and perky in the tight jeans. As usual, I looked flawless and made a face at myself in the mirror.
"Come on, you ready?" I asked. "You promised to drive."
Courtney finished brushing out her own long blonde hair. "I did, didn't I?" she said slowly. "But don't go crazy with the drinking okay? I'm borrowing Henry's car and I don't want to clean up puke like last time."
I waved my hand nonchalantly. "Don't worry about me, that was Renata," I said dismissively. "I can't help it if she can't handle her alcohol." Of course, I'd been the one pouring the drinks that night and had done nothing to stop Renata from downing far more than her petite 5'1" frame could handle. But we're all big girls, she should have known better.