C O D E W O R D | neymar jr

II

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I rushed out of the bathroom, Diane handling me to the bar, "Have drink it'll loosen you up," She joked, ordering a shot and sitting down on a stool, I closely followed, placing myself next to her. "Have you dated any other celebrities?"

"What, no? I've went out a bit but nothings been serious enough to even call it dating." I paused for a minute, "Well, I went on a couple dates with a French player but it never led anywhere,"

"Oh so you've got a type," She joked, raising her eyebrow with a slight smirk, I brushed her off. Her tendency to delve into my love life was an unnecessary one, we could discuss bigger things.

"Who would you say I should speak to, who's the best for boosting my image?" I questioned, trying to change the subject to something work related. My 50 year old manager was not someone I wanted to take advice from in this aspect. Even if she's had her fair share of guys.

"Maybe that Frenchie you were fucking," She erupted into laughter as I slapped her arm, "Oh come on, you can trust me, who was it?" She pondered as though we were 11 and she was guessing my crush.

I shook my head and (luckily) the drinks were ready, the bartender slipped over our drinks in a black tray covered with the parties sponsors. "You're never going to know because I'm never going to tell you!" I stated before trickling the alcohol down my throat, the potent taste burning my tongue.

"I need to go catch up with people, go try and mingle," She suggested, I looked around, the amount of wealth accumulated by the people in this building was sickening, watches worth cars and shoes that could pay a year of rent. It really put things in perspective. The ability to hoard that much wealth in one area, and now I've been given the task of grovelling up to them, hoping one day I can make a quarter of a footballers earnings.

These kinds of functions had always infuriated me, or perhaps it was simple jealousy. People younger than me who had more success, made me wonder where I went wrong. Or maybe it was all blatant luck, hard work can't always get you rich and famous.

"What are you thinking about?" A male voice asked behind me, I turned around, a face I didn't recognise but a face I wasn't going to ignore, "You're the only one not kissing up to everyone here, figured I'd find the one person here not obsessed with money," 

"Can't be obsessed with something I don't have," I joked, he gave a kind smile. He looked mature, around his 40s, grey strands beginning to noticeably slip into his dark hair, I stared into his hazel eyes, what did this stranger want? And why did I want to give it to him? 

"A beautiful girl like you with no money is unbelievable, spend it all on drugs?" He joked, we shared a slight snicker before he leaned in slightly, "So what's your name?"

"Anastasia, I'm a model," I announced, "What about you?"

"I'm a manager of sorts, you know I've got some good connections, I could find you an amazing gig, for a price of course" Did this man really think I was about to whore myself out to a man I don't know? Not even giving me his name, just straight to business. Pathetic.

"What are you saying?" I tried to let him take back his comments, he seemed shocked I felt insulted, as though it was completely normal to offer a woman a job to use her body.