"Aurelia want you as the face of their new campaign." Luisa's agent sat back in his chair, a view of the LA skyline behind him. "Global launch, print, digital, billboards in major cities. The fee is... substantial."
He looked with raised eyebrows at Luisa as he slid the draft contract across the table. As she took it and scanned through she struggled to keep calm, glancing up at her agent for confirmation that she'd not read it wrong... substantial didn't do it justice. Transformational was a better word, the sort of money that would justify all of the work and all of the sacrifices there had been to get where she was, and of sacrifices there had been many.
More than the money, though, Aurelia was making waves, a luxury perfume house backed by serious money and already developing cult status among the fashion elite. Being their signature face could elevate her from her status as well known within the industry to a model known by the public.
In her mid twenties, Luisa's modelling career was delicately poised... successful enough after eight years in the industry to be selective, but not yet powerful enough to be untouchable. This could be the one, the opportunity. And the fee, well, she'd been eyeing up a villa by the beach back home in Mexico for a holiday home... this would make that a reality with plenty to spare.
She smiled at her agent. "I'm still interested, nothing's changed there." She paused. "What's the timeline?"
Her agent squirmed slightly in his seat. "That's the thing," her agent replied, hesitation evident. "The founder wants to meet with you first. Dinner tomorrow night in Santa Monica. To discuss the 'creative vision' for the brand." Her agent paused. "You've heard of her? Celine Rousseau?"
The quotation marks were audible. Luisa understood immediately what wasn't being said, it being far from the first time that a founder or a CEO or a casting director or one of a thousand other roles around the industry had expressed an interest in meeting for dinner or a drink, always with some professional pretext, and rarely without an ulterior motive.
She gave him a look that spoke volumes.
He shrugged apologetically. "Look, I know your instruction that you won't consider those sorts of meetings one-to-one... I understand." He paused, looking her in the eye. "But regardless, for an opportunity like this I had to tell you. I'd understand if you say no. My bank manager might not, but... you know of her?"
"Yes, I've heard of her." Luisa took a moment to think.
Celine Rousseau, still young, she'd have guessed maybe 21 or 22, daughter of the French tech billionaire Michel Rousseau. Her face regularly appeared in the society pages... opening galleries in Paris, lounging on yachts in Saint-Tropez, and now, apparently, running her own perfume house with daddy's money. Beautiful in that effortless way that combined good genetics with easy access to every beauty treatment available.
"Dinner tomorrow..." Luisa said. "And if I'm unavailable for dinner?"
Her agent hesitated. "They're considering two other models. Both have expressed availability, but you are the preference."
Of course they had. In this industry, there was always someone else, someone younger, someone hungrier, someone more willing to do whatever it takes.
"I'll check my schedule," Luisa said. "Can I call you later?"
"Don't take too long," came the reply.
At home in her apartment, Luisa poured herself a glass of wine and looked out of the window. The Los Angeles evening stretched before her, the city lights beginning to twinkle as dusk settled. She'd come a long way from the wide eyed eighteen year old on her first proper photoshoot in Tulum, had learned to navigate the world of modelling with skill and poise.
She pulled up Celine's social media on her phone, scrolling through images of a life of extraordinary privilege. Celine posing with celebrities at Cannes. Celine in couture at the Met Gala. Celine's perfectly manicured hand holding a prototype of the Aurelia perfume bottle... elegant, minimalist, expensive.
There were no photos of Celine with men, Luisa noted. But several with women, arms linked, cheeks pressed together, captions with heart emojis and inside jokes. Nothing that made it obvious, but enough to hint that Celine maybe had a preference and that that preference wasn't for men.
Luisa sipped her wine and considered her options with the clarity that eight years in the industry had taught her.
The professional calculation was simple... the Aurelia campaign would be transformative for her career, pushing her to a whole other level. The fee alone would secure her financially for a year. Refusing even the dinner would likely mean watching another model claim the opportunity, and this wasn't the sort of opportunity that came along often.
The personal calculation was more complex... Luisa had long since established her boundaries around transactional intimacy. While she'd done what many models starting out had done at the start of her career, sleeping with people in the industry with power out of fear of the consequences of not, she'd long ago left that behind. Nowadays, she wasn't averse to an arrangement with professional benefits but she was selective, in fact very, very selective... it would be her choice, on her terms, with someone who interested her, someone with whom she had strong chemistry.
It was a very high hurdle, and nowadays very few people could clear it. Not impossible, but near to.
Did Celine interest her? Objectively, yes. She was beautiful, clearly intelligent to have launched a successful brand so young, even allowing for family money, and she radiated a confident sophistication in every image. But attraction required more than a person on a screen.
Luisa finished her wine and made her decision. She would go to dinner. She would assess the situation, and Celine, in person. She would be charming, professional, engaged. And then, if the chemistry was there, if the connection felt authentic rather than merely advantageous, she would decide what happened next.
She texted her agent: 'Tell Celine I look forward to discussing her creative vision. Send me the restaurant details.'
The next evening, Luisa paused to check her reflection in the mirror at the entrance to the restaurant. She felt surprisingly nervous, but then this was one of those rare evenings where she was meeting someone who could, if it went well, advance her career in one single huge leap. So, maybe, she was right to feel nervous... maybe this was one of those times that nerves were a good thing.
The Luisa that looked back at her belied none of those nerves though. Tall and slim, Luisa had the kind of effortless elegance that photographers adored. Her tanned, olive skin had something intangible that needed little enhancement, catching light in ways that made even experienced make-up artists pause in appreciation.
Her face, she'd been reliably told though she still didn't quite believe it, was a perfect harmony of features, dominated by brown eyes so expressive and deep that the right glance in a photograph could almost hold a conversation with the viewer. Her dark brown hair, usually pulled back in a practical ponytail when off duty, was worn down for the night with an artfully casual, messy look that hid the effort she'd put in to getting ready, framing her face that seemed to turn heads wherever she went.
For the dinner, she'd dressed to impress, wearing a black, long sleeved, figure hugging dress that stopped around half-way down her thighs, paired with a set of high heels. She'd gone with her best lingerie too, as much for the lift it gave her emotionally as in any expectation of things to go beyond dinner.
