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“Thirty premium steak dinners with sides, an on-site chef fee, plus the additional twenty percent service charge.
Total is four thousand two hundred forty-three dollars.
Cash or card?”
Julian paid the bill, then added a three-hundred-dollar tip.
After that, the catering staff happily took the trash with them on their way out.
All in, it was still under five thousand dollars.
For Julian now, that was pocket change.
“Gabriela, are you ready?” he asked the tall waitress.
Only then did her coworkers realize she had made some kind of connection with the young entrepreneur.
Middle of the night.
One man, one woman, one house.
Their thoughts went in the obvious direction.
“Gabriela, if you are not back before midnight, Francisco will be angry,” a short, heavyset Mexican woman said from the group, her tone sharp with warning.
“I will wait outside.”
“Please tell him I will come back tonight,” Gabriela said, almost pleading.
“I promise.”
When she noticed Julian watching, her eyes darted away.
“You know what happens when you are late,” the woman said before leaving.
After the staff were gone, Gabriela let out a long breath.
“Mr.
Moretti, I am ready.”
“We will do it in the living room,” Julian said.
“Faith, Taylor, you two can serve as judges.
I want your opinions.”
Faith and Taylor had been wandering the room, looking at the folk art pieces Danielle had brought back from different parts of the world.
After Julian explained the situation, they agreed readily enough.
The three of them sat on the sofa.
Taylor had already turned off the television.
Faith found a blues record from 1958 on Danielle’s record shelf and set it on the turntable.
“What do you need me to do?” Gabriela asked.
She looked calmer than before.
“Introduce yourself, show us your posture and proportions, pose a little, then walk like you are on a runway and maybe dance if you can.
The whole process should take less than twenty minutes.”
Julian poured himself a glass of Johnnie Walker, added ice, and gave Taylor an instruction.
“Taylor, turn off the main lights and turn on the ambient lights around the media wall.”
The slow, elegant blues filled the room.
Darkness settled over the living room.
When the soft wall lighting came on, Gabriela appeared in silhouette.
She began moving with the rhythm, then removed her clothes piece by piece: the baseball jacket first, then the inner top, then her jeans.
The mood in the room shifted into something charged and unmistakably adult.
Taylor’s breathing grew uneven.
Her Nashville was writers’ rooms, studios, country bars, and church-friendly ambition.
She knew little about the darker parts of downtown, the clubs and street corners that lived under different rules after midnight.
“You know how to enjoy yourself,” Faith murmured.
Her gaze slid toward Julian.
He was watching intently, almost too seriously.
In truth, Julian was evaluating Gabriela: lines, posture, camera presence, discipline, potential.
There was nothing extra behind it.
Faith, however, did not quite believe that.
Hefner had certainly had a history with Playmates, and Julian was stepping into a world built on temptation.
“Step back,” Julian said from the darkness.
“Stand in the light.
There.
Good.
Now introduce yourself in as much detail as you can.”
“My name is Gabriela Isler.
I am from Venezuela.
I am eighteen.
I started modeling as a teenager.
I came to the United States last year with my parents, and I currently work at the steakhouse.
I have never had a boyfriend.”
The darkness in front of her made her feel as if she were being interrogated, the way she had felt on her first night in America.
“Tell me who Francisco is,” Julian said.
“He is…” Gabriela paused.
“The owner of the restaurant.”
Julian did not press further.
He asked her to try a few poses.
The result was passable, though she was still visibly nervous.
Then she began to move on her own, attempting several suggestive poses.
Unfortunately, she had almost no dance training.
Her hips were stiff, and the effect fell apart quickly.
Julian raised a hand.
“That is enough.
The audition is over.
You two should go to bed.”
What came next might not be something teacher and student wanted to watch.
After Faith and Taylor left, Julian turned the music up slightly and sat on the sofa, studying Gabriela’s outline in the low light.
“Honestly, your poise is poor,” he said.
“You are nowhere near a trained model yet.”
He did not soften the assessment.
“You would need additional training, and that costs money.
From a business standpoint, it is not a very attractive deal unless you are willing to sign a…”
He stopped mid-sentence as Gabriela tossed a piece of fabric toward him.
The last piece.
“Mr.
Moretti,” Gabriela said, walking toward him, “I do not have much time.”
Julian did not move.
“The contract is not contingent on this,” he said.
“If you stay, it has to be because you want to.”
If she could get away from the people controlling her, she was willing to do almost anything.
Sooner or later, they would sell her as if she were property.
At least this way, she might walk away with a real contract and a career.
Faith had Taylor sleep in her room.
The bed was large enough for two people.
After washing up, Faith came back and found Taylor in cartoon pajamas printed with little bears, one leg bent while she painted her toenails.
“She really is built like a model,” Taylor said, unable to hide her envy.
“Beautiful face, amazing figure.
What do women in Venezuela eat growing up?”
Then she looked down at herself and felt personally insulted by biology.
“I think her motives are complicated,” Faith said, frowning.
“What woman volunteers her dating history like that and announces she has never had a boyfriend?
If we had not been there, I think she would have thrown herself at Julian and made sure he could not look away.”
In the end, it was Julian’s business, and Faith could not say much.
She only hoped he did not end up surrounded by the kind of scandals that had consumed Hefner.
“You should keep your distance from Julian,” Faith said.
“Unless you are sure you can compete with women like that South American girl.
They know how to pull a man’s attention, and they will use everything they have.
Otherwise, keep your head clear.”
“Miss Faith,” Taylor said suddenly, “why does that sound like advice you are giving yourself?”
Faith’s suspicion was closer to the truth than she realized.
“Shut up.” Faith turned off the light.
In the dark, she felt Taylor move closer behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist.
Taylor’s hands were restless with teasing curiosity.
“Wow, Miss Faith,” Taylor whispered.
“You are softer than you look.”
“Keep that up and I will tickle you back, Pepper,” Faith said, turning toward her.
“No, wait.
That is cheating.”
They dissolved into breathless laughter and tangled horseplay under the covers.
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