My New Muse (Mild Wattpad Version) (Completed) [SLOWLY BEING EDITED]

1. Strike a Pose

I can't fucking stand narcissists. Just something about the way that they constantly gush about themselves and how great they are pisses me off to no end.

But when that narcissist happens to be paying you a shit load of money to take pictures of his pouting face from various angles, it is best to keep your discontent to yourself.

Mr Montgomery looks of to the side, and pushes out and spreads his lips like butter on bread yet again in a comical pose. Well, it would be comical if I weren't so pissed. I have to bite my tongue against telling him that his mouth looks like a pussy being pulled together and stretched.

When I'm finally through with the grueling task of having to photograph this man for three hours — while he talks my ear off about his achievements in the business world at every chance he gets, how he's the "best businesses man in Jamaica", and "came from nothing", and "works tirelessly, day and night", even showing me his certificates of achievement, when I asked him absolutely nothing about any of this shit — I turn to him and hand him the memory card.

"Here. This has your pictures on it." Now pay me so that I can leave, and never come back.

"Thanks, hon," he says, as he walks off to get what I hope is my money. When he comes back with a wad of bills, I say the most convincing fake 'thank you' that I can manage. It sounds so genuine, that for a second, I actually believe myself — that is, until I look into his disgusting face again.

I smile at him, then leave as hastily as I possibly can out of the lavish house without arousing suspicion. As I walk out of the white room and through the mansion, past the paintings — original, no doubt — the white walls, the pristine furniture, I wonder how much this all costs. Probably more than I'll ever see in my lifetime.

"Fucking assclown," I say as soon as my ass lands on the seat of the car. I lay my camera bag down on the seat beside me and start the ignition, when I feel my phone vibrating in my back pocket.

"What now?" I groan. It seems as if I can't even get five blasted minutes of peace.

When I see the name of the person on the phone, I almost groan in frustration.

"Yes, Marcus," I say as calmly as I can when I answer the phone, but it still comes out as a growl. This jackass better have a good reason for calling me right now.

"Hello, Leah. A pleasant good morning to you, too."

I breathe in a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, and then let it out. This man has a way of really, really pissing me off.

"What do you want, Marcus? The man you just set me up with was a narcissistic asshole." Somehow, Marcus almost always manages to put me up with some real *rass eediat. The last person who I worked with was a rich, horny, *high-colour, *upper St. Andrew jackass, who hugged or touched me at every possible opportunity. Of course, I was used to that, still am. Anytime I walk through *Half Way Tree, I get two types of complements:
The acceptable ones, i.e. Pretty lady", or "Hello, beautiful."
and the vulgar ones, i.e. "*Babes, yuh pum pum look fat inna yuh shaats!"
*"Babes, mi waa' squeeze up yuh titty dem."
*"Babes, come siddung inna mi face, nuh?"
The last man that I worked with before Montgomery kept his comments classy, but the way that he was rubbing against me completely negated his attempt at being a perceived gentleman.

"Mr Montgomery?  *Mi know. Been married t'ree times. All t'ree woman lef' 'im. Couldn' stan' 'im rass. Anyway, I'm calling to tell you that the exhibition has been cancelled."

"WHAT?"

No, that can't be true. I've spent so much time preparing for this exhibition, and now, it's just gone?