“You have perfect cheekbones, darling.”

My face burned at the close-range inspection by the makeup artist who was turning my face this way and that, gripping my chin between two fingers.

“Do you have any makeup on already?”

“Just a little under the eyes,” I told him. My skin might have been clear of spots, but months of financial and relationship stress had left me with dark circles that were only just starting to improve.

“We can take care of that,” the guy clicked his tongue. What was his name, again? Charlie? Casey? Something starting with C. He had a strong jaw and masculine face, but he wore lipstick and eyeshadow that drew all eyes.

“Charlie,” someone called out. That answered my question. “ETA?”

Charlie clicked his tongue as if irritated but smiled anyway. “Give me fifteen minutes, darling.”

I closed my eyes to let Charlie swab sponges along my cheeks and lids, evening out my skin tone and creating a perfect base coat for the rest of the makeup to stick to.

“This is your first fashion week, hm?” Charlie was working fast, his fingers swiping along my jaw and cheekbones. “I’ve heard about you. Bold choice for your agency.”

“Gideon got me in.”

Charlie whistled. “Ohhh! I can’t wait to see you in action, then. He must have been blown away by you. Last model he fast-tracked… well...” He clicked his tongue again.

“Hm?” I hummed curiously. Was he talking about Alex Joyce? It was public knowledge that sudden superstar Alex had had some kind of thing with the CEO, but the agency had dumped him or vice versa, and neither had kind words about the other now.

And rumor had it he had stolen at least several thousand dollars’ worth of shit on his way out the door, but Gideon had had such a thing for him that he’d let it slide.

“Oh, you must know,” Charlie said.

“I do,” I murmured, then closed my lips to let him swab over them.

“Nobody really knows what happens. There’s about ten versions of his story floating around. You’ll probably run into him, too. He’ll be the one with the most photographers around him.” Charlie chuckled. “I did him for his first three shows.”

My eyebrows twitched upward.

“His makeup, darling. Shame he got so… excuse the language, but bitchy. It happens all the time, though. Fame goes to their heads,” Charlie lamented.

I couldn’t help a slight snicker, even if I couldn’t move my lips. “Mm.”

Charlie fell silent for another few minutes to work on me. After a light coating of lip gloss, Charlie told me to smack my lips and check myself out.

The moment I opened my eyes, I couldn’t take my eyes off myself.

Oh.

Holy shit.

I looked good.

Sure, I was hot the rest of the time, but Charlie had done something with contours and shadows to enhance the angles in my face. This was what everyone had been looking for when they searched my face over the last few weeks.

I looked the part. Now I had to act the part.

“Final fitting!” Charlie exclaimed and clapped my shoulder. “That way, darling.”

Before I could look around the makeup room at the other guys, I was whisked away by a short woman with a clipboard and dark hair tied back into a long ponytail who confirmed my name and sizes.

My head spun at how fast everything moved behind the scenes. I barely had time to be nervous, so many people were talking to and around and about me.

And then I was face-to-face with the designer who took one look at me, picked out three combinations of clothes, and told me to show the small audience one at a time before he came back and finalized the decision.

T-minus four hours.

I stepped behind the screen, not that it made that much difference with the number of people hurrying into and out of the room, and dropped my jeans.

I was going to be doing a lot of that this week.

“You know what to do?”

That was Luca again, surely thinking he was being helpful. I barely bit back the impatience in my voice as I muttered, “Yes, for the last time.”

My shoes pinched, the jeans pulled tight around my ass and my ankles were cold. For that matter, my nipples poked out through the thin t-shirt that draped across my body, the rips in it strategically highlighting my chest and stomach.

This was a relatively small menswear show compared to what was going on in the ballroom next door, but nobody in it was treating it like a small deal. Every time a model emerged from the runway, a flurry of activity surrounded him to get him changed into his next outfit and picture-perfect in sixty seconds or less.

The models for different designers stood in clusters, surrounded by their own pit crew of makeup artists and managers and frantic designers. All of us Prestige guys were dressed and ready, and Raymond kept murmuring our order, tugging us to line us up so we were ready when the show producer gave the signal.

I stood still and stared at Luca’s back, as our designer adjusted my shirt for the third time.

Our collection was next, and my palms were sweaty. I’d eaten barely enough to keep my stomach from growling, and good thing I hadn’t had more anyway. I was almost sick with nerves.

Fuck this. It’s just one show, and Gideon picked me because I’m damn good.

All I had to do was relax and be myself.

“Raymond, you ready?” That was the show producer, pressing his headset into his ear as he scanned our group absently. “Thirty seconds.”

It was one minor show.

I was going to blow them out of the water.

Luca was out.

Then Hunter.

I was fourth.

I straightened up, every thought leaving my mind as I waited for the push on my back.

I was so wired and tense that the moment I felt the brush of fingers, I was walking like I owned the place.

It could have been my imagination, but it felt like all eyes backstage were on me for that second before I was blinded by bright lights.

You’ll feel the lights. If you feel the lights, they can see you. Never stop.

They’d all worried over me, no doubt.

I couldn’t wait to see their reactions when they realized that I got this.