“When
are the Americans arriving?”
Three model composites
were placed on Marcella's desk. She looked up and saw Claudio Condé,
the owner of Bella Modeling Agency. “Next week on the twentieth,”
she replied.
“Good. Make
arrangements for dinner at Cigno de Nero that night. Invite our biggest
clients and a few photographers. I want these girls working immediately.”
Marcella nodded as
she took in Claudio's deep blue eyes and chiseled features. He was
just as striking today as when they met a decade ago, when he was
a teen model, and she was a newly hired booker at the agency. Mutually
ambitious, they had discussed the possibility of becoming partners
one day and taking over the business. In the end, it was the generous
income generated by Claudio's handsome face that allowed him to easily
buy out the previous owner without her help. So, she remained behind
the counter doing most of the work while he moved into the view office
and took clients out to lunch.
"I also want
you to schedule a car to pick them up at the airport,” he continued.
Marcella picked up
the composites and studied the glossy photographs of a sophisticated
brunette, an auburn-haired beauty, and a sultry blonde. Without any
apparent merit besides their pleasing features, these young women
were on the verge of earning obscene amounts of money to pose in front
of a camera lens. They were days away from attending private parties
thrown by Milan’s social elite. At least one of them would end
up spending weekends playing tennis and riding horses at countryside
mansions. If history repeated itself, as it always did, the luckiest
of the three would be swimming next to a yacht anchored in turquoise-blue
water wearing newly acquired diamonds and gold jewelry in less than
a month.
“Marcella?”
Claudio ran a hand through his dark-brown hair. “Are you going
to make that call?”
“Of course.”
She picked up the phone and dialed. As soon as Claudio left, she hung
up and sat back in her chair. It was not easy for an unattractive
woman like herself to do favors for other females fortunate enough
to be born beautiful. It was even harder to book them for a thousand
dollar a day job when her salary as a glorified secretary was much
less than that. So why did she stay? There was only one reason. Power.
She controlled everything. Castings. Contacts. Money. Only the models
who gave her expensive gifts, extended their social invitations to
include her, and offered the occasional envelope of cash experienced
the European dream they sought. She glanced at the three composites
and then pushed them aside. Any young woman foolish enough to believe
she could succeed on her own was in for a big surprise.
<Prologue <Chapter 1 <Chapter
2 <Chapter 3
© 2011 Lori Jones. All Right Reserved
