Chapter 2: Kirsten's Audition
The taxi pulled up outside the sumptuous looking building that boasted Appleby Modelling in red across the cream façade. Next to the words was the smaller red apple symbol that connected all Appleby businesses. Kirsten had spent an hour on the computer researching as much as she could before leaving the Met. Now she was on her own.
She raised her eyebrows as the driver told her the fare—was travelling to Croydon really that expensive? Maybe she should have taken the car after all, but then she'd have been worried about traffic, getting lost, being late. Still, there was no way Sandra Wilson would allow her to claim that amount on her expenses.
Not unless she came up with something useful...
The clean white foyer was surprisingly empty, with only a directional sign indicating the location of the reception. The heavy lift took her up three floors and opened directly into a spacious reception. The clinical white walls surprised her. She'd expected something different, more vibrant—maybe prints of successful models or photo shoots? Instead, only a single imposing framed picture on the opposite wall disturbed the equilibrium.
She knew from her internet research that the man smiling down at her from the wall was none other than Donald Appleby. He looked an imposing figure and she momentarily wondered if he was the successful businessman the financial world thought? Or a criminal mastermind who'd so far gone undetected?
With a confidence that she didn't really feel, she straightened her back and turned towards the curly haired receptionist. The near perfect make-up the woman wore made her look attractive enough to be a model herself and those thick red curls that sat just above her shoulders and matched her beautiful freckled face. The woman had no inhibitions about showing off her curvy body in that short, light blue dress—look at those tits!
What was she doing behind a desk when she looked like she'd be more at home in front of a camera? Was that the standard she'd have to compete with? Any thoughts of passing the audition drifted away immediately like a straw on the wind. If Appleby's employees looked so hot and sexy, what would their models be like?
"Kirsten?" the woman asked, shooting her the brightest of smiles.
Wow, that was impressive. They knew who she was. "Yes."
"You're expected," she softly said. "Just take a seat and Tony will be with you shortly. He's on his way."
"Thanks... Marcia?" she said, smiling back. Maybe she could gather some information before the audition commenced? Who better than a receptionist to have an insight into the workings of a business?
"Yes, that's right," the girl acknowledged, crinkling her nose. "You're welcome."
"Tell me—" Kirsten began, but as the young woman's eyes flickered over her shoulder she realised there'd be no room for conversation.
Swinging around, her heart almost stopped. She was face to face with an ebony bodied Adonis. Wesley Snipes, eat your heart out...
"Hi Kirsten," the deep voice boomed. "I'm Tony."
Kirsten felt a soft shiver flutter through her body as she shook his hand. He was definitely fairly muscular beneath the jeans and casual white shirt. Just her type.
"Tony Daly," he continued. "We spoke on the phone. Come on through."
Her eyes covered his butt as she followed his rolling gate along the corridor. Even in the jeans, it was obvious his ass was hard and muscular. She idly wondered what reaction she'd get if she pinched it. Giggling under her breath, she decided against telling Matt that particular thought.
Like the reception area, the large room they entered was minimalist in appearance. Apart from the heavy desk that contained a telephone at one end and a computer beside it, the only other furniture consisted only of a couple of chairs and a glass cabinet that seemed to be filled with videotapes and cd's.
The room needed a woman's touch...
"Centre of operations," he smiled, pointing to a seat and then casually perching on the edge of the desk beside her. It creaked ominously as he eased his muscular frame down. "Drink?" he asked, twisting around and reached for two glasses without waiting for a reply. He handed the one with the pink liquid to her.
"Thanks," she smiled, accepting the drink and taking a sip. All going smoothly so far, she told herself.
"First," he said, resting one hand on his knee, "we don't stand on ceremony here. We're a typical agency, short on the niceties but we're the best in the world at promoting our models. We're looking to find someone with the potential to be a real supermodel. Another Gabrielle Dubois, Alicia Styles, Kelli Palmer..."
She felt her throat catch. Daly had just named three of the most sought after women in the modelling world. It would be a short audition before they threw her out, she told herself. As for all this nonsense that had gone through her mind about trying to make it as a model rather than continuing in the Met. A girl could dream, couldn't she? But the harsh reality was that she'd never be able to compete at this sort of level.
"You're not tied to an agency?"
"No, not at all," she told him. Wilson had briefed both her and Alice on their stories and she had it off by heart. "I've done quite a bit of small time modelling but nothing in your league."
"Just what we're looking for," he answered, his keen gaze not leaving her sparkling brown eyes. "We need new, fresh talent, and for the successful few we offer a very competitive contract. And our organisation offers all the support to keep you on the right track—contracts and so on."
"That sounds great," she answered, taking another sip. She tried to place the drink but couldn't. It tasted kind nice, though. If she played her cards right, maybe she could get an insight into the business from Daly before the audition was finished? She could feel the start of a lick of heat between her loins just from looking into those dark soulful eyes.
