Max’s slow grin spreads. “All the better. Sounds right up my alley.” He rubs his hands together. “You know I love a challenge.”
And just like that, I know, whether I should be or not, I’m still in the game.
19
GRACE
My phone buzzeswhile I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, surrounded by half-empty laundry baskets and unopened mail that all appear to contain bills. I stare at the name on the screen for a full three seconds before I finally answer. “Hello?”
“Grace Montgomery,” a smooth male voice says. “I’m so glad you called me back.”
There is something about his tone that makes my spine straighten. It’s not unpleasant, just practiced. However I’m admittedly suspicious about this whole situation. I mean, social media is ripe with scam artists looking to take advantage of people. The minute I hear him utter the words “Just wire over the money and we’ve got a deal,” I’m outta here.
“This is Victor,” he continues. “I came across your photos online. You have a very marketable look.”
My heart gives an embarrassingly hopeful little flutter. “Thank you.”
“I work with several major publications,” he continues. “Lifestyle magazines, digital editorials, print features. It all depends on the campaign and how the images turn out.”
“So, you don’t take pictures for one brand in particular?”
“No. We try to take a bunch of clean shots that could be used for any number of things. With your flawless skin tone, you’d be a real draw to any of the women’s magazines to pair with articles on skin or even hair care.”
“What kind of modeling would this be?” I ask.
There’s the slightest pause. “Think of it more as… curated imagery,” he replies. “The intentional editing and organization of visual content to convey a specific theme, brand, or story. It could be used in conjunction with online or print articles.”
Which answers nothing. He seems very informed on the matter,even if it sounds as if he’s reading from a cue card. Heck, I was more curious if he was doing headshots, casual wear, bikini… that kind of thing. Clearly, I’m not cut out to be a model if I don’t even know the right questions to ask. Hopefully this isn’t some random dude who stalked me off of social media.
“You realize I’m not very tall. Don’t most models have to be super tall?”
He chuckles. “That’s more for the runway. Not necessarily for the editorials we shoot. They don’t know how tall you are lying down."
I flinch.That sounded odd.
“I’m based in Las Vegas,” he adds casually. “If you’re interested, I’d like to fly you out so we can shoot properly.”
My breath catches. Las Vegas. I’ve always wanted to go to Vegas. “You’d cover that?”
“Of course. Travel. Hotel. Meals. My clients expect a certain standard.”
This suddenly feels real. Too real. The kind of real that only happens in movies or to people who aren’t worrying about rent.
“I’d like to keep this private for now,” I say carefully.
“That would be wise,” he agrees quickly. “It’s always best to wait until we see how the images perform.”
He quotes a number. A number that has me choking on my own saliva for a moment. “That would be your compensation for the initial shoot,” he says.
I swallow. Hard. That amount could float my rent. Pay for Mom’s prescriptions. Hire help. It could simply let us breathe again.
“Yes,” I say before fear can catch up. “I’m interested.”
“Excellent,” Victor replies smoothly. “I’ll have my assistant send your itinerary.”
When the call ends, my phone feels warm in my palm. I sit there for a long moment, staring at it, my heart hammering. I can’t tell Tuesday. I can’t tell Mom. Not yet. Because something about this feels like the beginning of everything changing, and I don’t want to jinx it before I know whether it’s real.
But as I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling, hope unfurls quietly in my chest.
