ONCE MORE, WITH YOU

XXIII

Solené Beckett

The moment we stepped into my office, Summer's lips crashed into mine in a heated kiss.

I barely had time to lock the door before pressing her against it, my hands gripping her waist as I pulled her flush against me. Her fingers trailed up my arms, slipping around my neck, holding me close.

I tilted her head back, trailing my lips down her jaw, then lower, nipping at the soft skin of her neck. She gasped, her body arching slightly against the door.

"We shouldn't do this here," I murmured, even as my hands slid to unbuckle her belt.

"Someone could w-walk in," she breathed, her voice unsteady, her body betraying her hesitation.

I smirked against her skin. "I know, baby."

My fingers found the button of her jeans, undoing them with ease. "Tell me to stop."

Her lips parted, her breath coming uneven, but instead of answering, she pulled me back into another kiss—deeper, more desperate.

I took that as permission.

I slid her jeans down her legs, letting them pool at her feet. Kneeling, I helped her step out of them, removing her heels as well. My hands smoothed up her thighs, and I slid my knee between hers, parting them slightly. Just as I reached for the buttons of her bodysuit—

A sharp knock at the door.

"Ms. Beckett?" Savanna said from the other side.

I groaned, pressing my forehead against her shoulder for a brief second before responding. "Yes?"

"All of the models are back from their lunch break."

I inhaled slowly. "Okay, I'll be out in a second."

Savanna's footsteps faded down the hall.

I pulled back, my gaze settling on Summer. Her lips were swollen, her hair slightly tousled. She looked breathtaking like this—disheveled, undone. But beneath that, I saw something else.

Frustration.

I let out a short laugh. "I'd apologize for the interruption, but I wasn't about to let our first time be in my office."

She fastened her belt a little too aggressively.

I raised a brow. "Are you mad?"

Silence.

She turned to the mirror, fixing her hair.

I sighed, pulling open a drawer and handing her a brush. "Here."

"Thanks," she muttered, still avoiding my eyes.

Oh, so that's how it was going to be.

I shook my head waiting for her to finish.

When she was done, she headed straight for the door, not even sparing me a glance.

I laughed as she ignored me all the way to the studio.

Fine. If she wanted to play that game, I'd win.

The moment we entered, I clapped my hands together, commanding attention. The room of models fell silent, their eyes on me.

"Before we start, I want to introduce someone." I reached for Summer's hand, pulling her forward despite her reluctance. "This is my girlfriend, Summer. She'll be handling your interviews today, so give her your full attention."

I felt her tense beside me. She stiffened at the word girlfriend, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

I turned, arching a brow. "Something wrong?"

She blinked, recovering quickly. "No," she said smoothly, sliding back into her professional demeanor.

I smirked. That should do it.

"Alright, let's get organized," I continued. "Ages sixteen to nineteen, you'll be working with Summer. Ages twenty to twenty-five, you'll be with me."

The models rearranged themselves, shifting into their respective groups.

I turned to Summer. "Take them to the next floor. Interview them one by one, privately. I want to know more than just their looks—I want to know their personalities, their confidence, their aspirations."

She nodded, her features unreadable, and then she turned to her group. "Follow me."

With that, she disappeared into the elevator, her younger models trailing behind.

Summer Preston

Upstairs, I directed the models to a waiting area outside a private room I had set up for the interviews. I turned to face them.

"I'll be calling you in one by one," I explained. "While you wait, think about why you want to be here, what you bring to the table, and what your goals are."

A few of them exchanged nervous glances, but I ignored it, stepping into the interview room and shutting the door.

I took a deep breath before calling in the first model.

One by one, they entered—some confident, some nervous. I asked about their experiences, their inspirations, their goals. Some gave generic answers, others stumbled over their words.

And then, she walked in.

She had a quiet confidence, effortless yet undeniable. Where the others had seemed eager to impress, she simply was.

I leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "Name?"

"Amara." She took a seat, crossing her legs fluidly. Her posture was straight, poised.

"What makes you different from every other model who's walked through that door?" I asked, studying her reaction.

She didn't hesitate. She met my gaze with a small, knowing smile.

"Because I know I belong here."

I raised a brow. "A lot of people say that."

"They say it. I mean it."

I tapped my pen against the table, watching her. "What's your experience?"

"Two years of runway, three years of editorial. I've worked in Paris, Milan, and New York."

Impressive. But experience wasn't everything.

"Why modeling?" I pressed.

She tilted her head, considering me. "Why not?"

I resisted the urge to smile. She was testing me, seeing if I'd accept a surface-level answer.

I didn't.

"I want more than just a resume, Amara," I said, meeting her gaze. "I want to know you."

A pause. Then, something in her expression shifted.

"I grew up watching my mother model," she admitted. "She was everything I wanted to be—graceful, strong, untouchable. When she left the industry, I saw how much she missed it. I wanted to prove that I could make it—not just for me, but for her."

There it was. The truth.

I nodded slowly. "And what do you think makes a great model?"

She didn't miss a beat. "Presence."

I leaned back in my chair. "Elaborate."

"You can teach someone to walk. You can teach them to pose. But you can't teach them to own a room. That comes from within."

I let her words settle, studying her. She wasn't just saying what she thought I wanted to hear. She believed it.

And I believed her.

I closed my notebook. "Thank you, Amara."

She stood gracefully. "See you on the runway," she said with a small smirk before walking out.

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair.

Well. That was interesting.