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At ten the next morning, a young woman stepped out of a taxi in front of the company’s headquarters.
She was exceptionally tall, made even taller by cream-and-black two-tone Chanel heels with the double-C logo glittering at the toe.
The heel itself was not extreme, but it lifted her close to six feet.
Her thick blond hair shone under the morning light, parted to one side and falling in controlled waves.
Pearl earrings touched her earlobes.
Her makeup was light, and a coat hid whatever she wore beneath it.
Even so, she looked like the image most people imagined when they heard the word model.
Every step into the building had the smooth, photographic quality of a campaign shot.
That was the weight of professional modeling.
Marketa Janska remembered the last time she had entered this building.
It had been almost three years earlier, a few years after she came to the United States.
She had been working through music videos, television commercials, auto shows, and promotional modeling.
Last night, Summer had offered her a strange job.
Two months.
At least fifty thousand dollars.
The work itself sounded almost laughably simple: stand in bookstores and sign books for customers, as if she were a famous author.
Fifty thousand dollars was close to what she had made in the previous year.
She had just finished an auto show in Chicago, so she had agreed to interview that morning.
She had heard about Hugh Hefner’s scandals, of course.
The old man had once asked if she wanted to join a reality show, but the condition was that she move into his home.
‘What a joke.
Live with an eighty-year-old man?’
Marketa had refused on the spot.
He had said nothing at the time, then found an excuse to cut her loose a week later.
The company had a new owner now.
She hoped he was not the same kind of old bastard.
When she reached the top floor, Marketa approached the front desk.
“I am here for Miss Altice.”
“Who?” the receptionist asked.
“Summer Altice.
The president’s secretary.”
The receptionist looked confused.
“The president does not have a secretary at the moment.
Are you sure you are in the right place?”
From nearby came a call.
“Pearl!”
Marketa turned.
Summer hurried toward her, wearing rabbit ears, a black bodice, a bow tie, cuffs, fishnet stockings, and heels.
Marketa stared.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
“Do not ask.
New boss’s taste.” Summer took her hand warmly.
“Come on.
I will introduce you.”
As they walked, employees on the top floor watched with open curiosity.
Marketa’s unease sharpened.
“Maybe I should pass,” she said.
“At least interview.
He is strange, yes, but generous.”
Summer rubbed her fingers together in the universal language of money.
Persuaded by a friend and by the figure she had been promised, Marketa told herself she could walk out if anything felt wrong.
Then she entered Julian’s office.
A young man sat behind the desk, both hands gripping the chair arms.
His expression looked strangely tense.
“Why didn’t you knock?” Julian asked, his face stiff.
“You were not doing anything,” Summer said, looking around the office.
“Why knock?
Where is Stephanie?”
Stephanie had been the previous interview.
“She left.
Already.” He coughed.
“You’re Janska?”
“Yes.
Marketa Janska, from the Czech Republic.
I am a full-time model.”
She brushed a strand of hair aside and looked at him with genuine surprise.
The new owner was very young, almost her age, and handsome enough to belong on a film set.
Her first impression was better than expected.
Julian exhaled.
“You will work in other states.
During the two-month period, aside from two days off, you cannot leave the assigned schedule.
Can you accept that?”
“Yes,” Marketa said.
“I already travel for promotional work.
I came to Chicago for an auto show.”
While they spoke, Summer frowned slightly.
‘Why would Stephanie leave without saying anything?’
Concerned for her friend, she took out her phone and called Stephanie.
“Good,” Julian said quickly.
“You pass.
Fifty thousand dollars.
Work begins in March.
For the next few days, you can leave or stay in company housing.”
Marketa blinked.
‘That was it?’
The interview had barely started.
“Your look is excellent,” Julian said.
“Better than the previous candidates.
Ah.”
The last sound came out strangled.
“Sir, are you all right?” Marketa asked.
Julian’s hands tightened on the edge of the desk.
“Fine.
Do you want to stay in company housing?
During the campaign, the company covers daily expenses.”
“Of course.” Marketa nodded immediately.
Free lodging and food in Chicago meant she would not have to pay for another flight home and back.
“Wait,” Summer said suddenly.
“Do either of you hear a phone vibrating?”
“You are imagining things,” Julian said through clenched teeth.
“Summer, take Marketa to the guest lounge.
Tonight you will all go to the housing together.”
Summer’s mouth curved.
Now she understood.
“Come on, Pearl.
And stay away from this man.”
She said it right in front of Julian.
When the door closed, Julian finally released a long breath.
A woman crawled out from under the desk.
Like Marketa, she was blond, though her hair was a darker shade.
Her complexion had a warmer undertone, and heavy black liner made her eyes look feline as she rose with a lazy, graceful stretch.
It was Stephanie Glasson.
As for why she had been under the desk, she had been helping Julian clean up with what might have been the world’s most expensive vacuum.
The explanation, if anyone asked, was housework.
“Wipe your face, baby,” Julian said, pointing to the tissue box.
Then he looked at her amused expression.
“Do you do this when you sell houses too?”
“Screw you.
I sell single-family vacation homes.
Couples buy those.”
Stephanie laughed and threw a tissue at him.
She had never thought of herself as impulsive.
But Julian Moretti, handsome, reckless, absurdly young and absurdly rich, had made her feel reckless too.
The interview had gone badly off course.
When Summer stepped out, Stephanie had been the one to make the first move.
Then she discovered another one of Julian’s unusual advantages.
“You know those sidewalk fire hydrants in Virginia Beach?” she said, sitting in his lap with a teasing smile.
“A car hit one near me once, and the water blasted across the street.
That was what it felt like just now, sweetheart.
You are ridiculous.”
The door slammed open.
Summer stood in the doorway.
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