“I’ve worked with half a dozen photographers who told me I’m good enough for you guys.”

I leaned back in the chair, crossing my ankle over my knee as I watched the young guy -- Alastair, with a T -- fidget with his hands. His lip was curling as he touched his hair, but he was also watching me intently.

“We can take pretty much any guy off the streets and make him good enough for us,” I answered calmly. “I have no doubt in your talent. What we’re looking for is someone who will improve our image.”

“Which means?”

“Prestige is looking for a cross-section of guys who show heart, who have a balanced lifestyle, who aren’t afraid to tread their own paths rather than following the leader.”

Alastair’s hands went still and he raised his eyebrow. “So you’re saying I’m too vain?”

“No. All of us are vain.” I laughed, and Alastair didn’t join in. “I’m saying, we need someone who understands the value of teamwork -- corporate cliché though it is -- and who will look me in the eye and tell me what’s going on. As the new faces agent, I see a lot of young guys who are self-absorbed. I was, too… everyone knows that.”

Being infamous had its advantages. I didn’t sound completely unaware of my own faults when I talked to potential new models.

“I want to hire guys who don’t feel like they’re too good to listen to anyone.”

That was my main problem with Alastair -- he wasn’t going to let anyone tell him what to do, no matter how gently they suggested things, even when they were right. No amount of talent would make up for that.

Alastair played with his hair again, then rose to his feet. “You don’t think I’ll fit in here.”

“Perhaps not.” I stood, too. “If you’d like, I can give you a list of more… traditional agencies I think would suit you.”

“Fuck you. You’d be lucky to have me.”

“Bye, Alastair.”

I smiled to myself as I watched the guy walk out, visibly fuming from the perceived insults.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that, and it would be far from the last. I knew better than to take it personally, though. On this side of the desk, I was a lot less touchy, and not because I had power.

I could gently guide the new faces in their agency with the weight of authority. Superstardom didn’t sit well on me, but guiding the up-and-coming stars suited me perfectly. I was both a warning story and a success story, and Gideon constantly said how much he admired my knack for balancing both those stories within my career.

Speaking of which… we were just about done for the day. In the office, at least.

I poked my head into his office and smiled. “Ready to go, baby?”

“Almost, babe.” Gideon was fidgeting with his bowtie in the mirror.

I smiled as I walked up behind him, tweaking his collar and the tie until they sat just right. Then, I turned him around and slid my arms around his waist, pecking his lips.

“God, you two,” Paul groaned from the doorway, rolling his eyes at us but smirking anyway.

Gideon didn’t look over at him, but he grinned as he watched my eyes.

“Hmm?”

“The limo’s here. Don’t neck in front of me the whole way there, please.”

I laughed and nodded, glancing at Paul and winking. “We’ll be there in a sec.”

He wrinkled his nose in response but winked back, then strode towards the elevator.

I turned back to Gideon and pecked his lips. “Time to go rock the town?”

“Of course. Let’s show them we mean business.”

My hand slipped into his and we walked, side by side, to the elevator to join Paul and head for tonight’s party.

I might not walk the runway much anymore, but that was fine by me. I’d rather walk a thousand red carpets on Gideon’s arm and walk a thousand of my new faces into world-famous photo studios before I headlined another fashion week.

Fuck being a superstar -- this was the good life.

A/N: Not Just A Pretty Face is officially completed!

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this story, make sure to check out my other works and lemme know what you think.

I love you all and stay safe always.