From Rags(6)
Author: Suzanne Wright

Richie wondered if she had any idea just how enthralling her gaze could be. Like she was literally yanking the truth from his soul. “Indeed I am.”

“This isn’t some kind of scam?”

“No, it is not.”

“You are honestly considering me as the face of your new cosmetics range?” She didn’t hide how idiotic she found that idea.

“Yes I am.”

“You’re not a fruitcake?”

Richie laughed at that. “I understand this may seem a little surreal. I don’t suppose opportunities like this just crop up all the time.”

He had that right. It was certainly not every day that someone like her was approached by a modelling agency, and then be told that she was super because she was sort of damaged and rude. It would have made sense for her to be experiencing some kind of shock at this moment. However Jaxxon had long ago concluded that life had so many twists and turns that trying to anticipate anything in life would be downright stupid. Expect the unexpected – isn’t that what they say? She still lived according to the theory that it was best to always roll with the punches. And as punches went, this risk wasn’t even a slap. It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose.

And yet, for her to reach for this opportunity would make her feel somewhat of a fraud. Sure she knew suffering and pain but so did a gazillion other people, it made her nothing special. “Listen, if what you’re looking for is someone who’s experienced real pain then you should go further down the poverty drainpipe; plenty of people have been through worse than me.”

“True, but the depth of your pain is not the main factor here.”

“And I really don’t get this ‘entrancing’, ‘compelling’ crap that you’re saying about me.”

Richie’s lips curved into a smile, he liked that she wasn’t vain. “That is merely a matter of self-confidence. We can work on that.”

“The trouble is you’re not really considering what you’d be letting yourself in for. Something tells me I’m not the kind of person you’re used to having around you.”

“How so?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not friendly or polite.”

“Most pleasantries, pleases and thank-yous are insincere, I find.”

“I don’t smile much.”

“Your intensity is what I like.”

“I don’t pose and I don’t know how to strut – nor would I want to learn.”

“Has nobody ever told you that there is an effortless sensuality to your movements?”

God this bloke was persistent. “I don’t work well by myself or as part of a group.”

“Then you’ll be dearly frustrated which will very conveniently bring that incredible spark in your eyes for the photos.”

“I wouldn’t think twice about hurting someone who tried to touch me if I felt I needed to.”

“I shouldn’t worry about that; you’re scary enough to make people hesitate to touch you anyway.”

“I curse like a sailor.”

“We can always say you have Tourette’s Syndrome.”

“Even someone with Tourette’s Syndrome would be wide-eyed by some of the things that come out of my mouth.”

He shrugged. “That is simply because you are an expressive person. There is nothing at all wrong with that. It is part of what makes you so intense and puts that look in your eyes.”

“So basically what you’re saying is that you want me as the face for this range of yours because I’m a bitch who doesn’t care that she’s one.”

He grinned at her opinion of herself. “Even bitches can get a break in life.”

CHAPTER TWO

A week later Jaxxon found herself standing outside Westwood Studios shaking her head and wondering what the bloody hell she was doing there. Her a model? Compelling character? Entrancing eyes? What a load of old shit. That Richie bloke had to be some sort of fruitcake if he really believed all that. She was just a person the same as everybody else. She didn’t see anything special when she looked in the mirror. For the life of her she couldn’t figure how being a bitch would land her a job. Particularly a modelling job.

Even if Jaxxon had thought ‘big’ in terms of her future, modelling would never have held any appeal for her. Nor would fame. Fortune might be nice. Or at least enough for her to move out of that shithole that Don had the nerve to call a flat and to escape the crap situation that she was currently in. But modelling…She couldn’t see how she could pull it off.

So then why was she stood there?

Two simple reasons: Firstly, curiosity. Wouldn’t it be nice to just go in there and have a peak into that world? Secondly, she had never been one to miss an opportunity, even if the outcome wasn’t likely to be in her favour. Jaxxon was pretty certain that when she got in there and dazzled Richie’s friend with her lack-of-charm she would be thrown out without so much as a pat on the head. But the fact was that she needed to get out of that mangy flat so why not go for it?

Had Leah ever been to a studio like this?

No, she wouldn’t think about Leah. Just like Leah didn’t think about her; she couldn’t possibly think about her considering that Jaxxon hadn’t seen or heard from her since that day Leah left her at the foster home alone. Shrug. Sometimes people who you loved just didn’t love you back, even if they were supposed to. Thinking about it or dwelling on it only wasted minutes out of your life. What was the sense in doing that?

With a clear mind and a loud sigh, Jaxxon allowed her curious side free-reign, and was soon stood in a stylish, bright reception area facing an extremely pretty redhead. Jaxxon would have shot her a brief smile if she wasn’t staring at her as though she had walked in with dog shit on her shoes. It seemed that the redhead didn’t approve of Jaxxon’s casual look; a simple black t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans. It was a proper Ugly Betty scenario.

“Whoa, tone down your cheeriness,” said Jaxxon with heavy sarcasm. The redhead forced a smile, though it seemed to kill her.

“Good morning and welcome to -”

“Yeah, thanks, I’m supposed to be meeting Richie Moore at nine.” Which was ten minutes from now. With a twist of her over-glossed lips, the redhead consulted the fancy computer which Jaxxon knew cost more than triple her own yearly expenditure, including food, rent and clothing.

“Mr Moore and Mr Miller,” muttered the redhead to the computer.