Not Just A Pretty Face

20. Leonel

"You've got another show on Friday night."

I nodded, fidgeting with the buttons on my crisp linen shirt. I wasn't convinced about it, but Raymond wanted me to wear only Giuseppe this month... in public, at parties, anywhere that wasn't my bedroom.

Probably even then.

That was a small price to pay for the size and frequency of the paychecks that were rolling in. Sure, I had to work my ass off for them, but the work gradually grew easier.

Now that I wasn't stressing about having to fit in, I was able to rely on my own natural talent to carry me. I didn't spend hours before every show practicing walking up and down the hallway until Nora yelled at me.

Christ, with the money I was making, I could afford to move out, but Nora was quicker and better than anyone at fitting my new clothes, and I was getting a lot of them these days. Gifts from designers, magazine editors, even other models who wanted my friendship or public recommendations.

Hell, I was getting emails from people offering me money to like their posts or follow them on Instagram. I'd been getting hundreds of followers every week, and even my posts about coffee were getting a lot of likes.

While I listened to my manager, I pulled out my phone to scroll through my notifications.

Lots of killing it! and sexy baby kinds of comments. Some who addressed me by name like they knew me, congratulating me on last week's killer collection, or for the ad campaign shoot I'd done for Giuseppe and Sascha a few days ago. Milan was full of opportunities being offered to me on a golden platter.

The campaign images weren't even up yet, but somehow, people had learned about their existence. One had been leaked onto a fashion news site, and the internet was losing its shit over it.

Even people walking down the street recognized me, even if they didn't know from where. I was booked just after Paris for a huge name brand cologne. That would put me on subway walls and buses, TVs and billboards.

Raymond had warned me things were about to go crazy for me.

I adjusted my hair, making a face as Charlie walked in. Time for another argument about which shade of lip gloss to choose.

Charlie wanted me dressed up like a damn nineteen-year-old, all fresh-faced and fair, but Paul wanted me to become people's mental image of the sophisticated twenty-five-year-old in the city.

"I hope you're not gonna make me look underaged again." I clicked my tongue, then glanced back at Raymond. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Tonight's going to be intense. We need you to stick around for a couple interviews. Now that word's gotten out about you..."

I nodded carelessly and he sighed with relief. "I can stick around for an hour or two. I've got a cocktail party tonight."

"With whom?" Raymond took out his phone to make notes. "Anyone we need you talking to?"

"Paul wants me connecting with Joaquín again after we bonded in London. He thinks he could introduce me to the London suitmaker Joaquín promotes. Apparently, his contract's almost up and they're looking for his replacement."

"Right, them. So, tonight you're making friends with Joaquín? I think he'll be desperate to make friends with you." Raymond grinned.

I smirked. He was right. Joaquín should be desperate. My name was on everyone's lips right now.

"You killed it last night, darling," Charlie added, primping my hair. "We'll do the exact same tonight."

"Who else is here tonight?" I asked, fidgeting with my fingers until Charlie stilled my hands. Then I started tapping my feet. God, makeup was my least favorite part of modeling. Most of my peers took the time to bitch about each other, but I knew better than that.

Sometimes I really wanted to, though. I saved that for Nora, when I was home in those rare hours between shows, parties, and events. She was pretty tolerant of my complaints, even if she sometimes told me to get over it. I appreciated being told that on occasion, though.

"Ivon, the German we just signed," Raymond told me. "And Luca, of course."

I made a face, nearly making Charlie smear my makeup. "If he doesn't trip his way into the audience someday..."

"Oh, God." Raymond knocked on wood -- the makeup counter -- and looked almost faint at the thought. "He never has."

But of all people I would vote most likely to do so, Luca was the top of the list. Not that I'd talk badly about him to his face. He was okay enough, as a person. He just wasn't the most professional person out there.

Raymond squeezed my shoulder. "I'll see you out there, okay?"

I nodded, then closed my eyes to let Charlie finish my makeup before I got so restless I had to walk around.

Tonight, it wasn't the biggest event I'd done, but I'd treat it like any other. One never knew who was watching and waiting to hire me.

I'd show them all. I'd show them the best damn show they'd ever seen.