Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
I was tired of it—so damn tired of it. At the same time, it was all I knew and what my family and fans expected from me. Even the people in this room, those who knew me more than most, expected me to be the best of the best. I’d come from the best. Therefore, I had to be the best. Having two supermodels for parents didn’t lead to an easy life, contrary to what most folks believed.
For a few seconds, I wondered what the beautiful bodyguard was doing while I was lounging around with a bunch of misfits who either hated themselves or hated the world…or both. How mad was he about the new wardrobe clause I’d added to the contract? He’d been dressed fine…damn fine…but for some unknown reason, I’d felt the need to belittle him by demanding he be fitted for a new wardrobe. What caused me to do that kind of shit? Was I really that much like my father? I tried to tell myself I was more like my mother, but when I pulled stunts like that, I knew better. I looked around the room and fucking knew better. I was my father’s son, whether I wanted to be or not.
For all I knew, he’d quit after my self-righteous, I’m-better-than-you demand. After sending the text, I’d turned my phone off. Like a robot, I’d gone through my fittings for Saturday’s catwalk, but my mind had never been far from the bodyguard. It was weird; I wasn’t gay. I was surrounded by the most beautiful men in the world on a daily basis, but I’d never felt any yearnings to take one of them to my bed. Why, then, did the bodyguard seem to push all my buttons? He’d been all muscles and a few tattoos. Tattoos were forbidden in my world. For photo shoots, we’d all have fake ones, but the real shit was frowned on so my father forbid me to get any.
I started to turn on my phone just to see if I had any messages about whether he’d taken the job or not, but then decided against it. I didn’t want to be depressed. I had an impression of success and happiness to make in front of my friends and in front of any paparazzi that might be lurking around. Wait, surely Mom or Sammie would have said something to me at the airport when I dropped them off if Landon had refused the job. If I knew Samantha, she would have already had another agent ready to meet with me if that one had refused the job. No, Mr. Bodyguard was still in the picture. I smiled, realizing that for the first time in a long time, I was looking forward to the next day. Damn, how long had it been since that happened?
No doubts he would hate me once he got to know me but today, he hadn’t left that impression. As I watched him from beneath my bangs, he’d seemed soft and kind-hearted, regardless of his hard muscles and intense look. Yeah, Mr. Bodyguard would keep me interested for a little while—until he learned what a total ass I was…so much like my father that it hurt to even compare the similarities. I didn’t want to be shallow. I hated the person I was…but I was what I was, with little opportunity to be anything different. If I changed, allowed anyone to see a weakness in my armor, it would be curtains for me and my career. While I couldn’t give two fucks about being a model, I knew it was my parents’ dream for me. They’d both been supermodels, back when there was such a thing as a supermodel. I didn’t dare disappoint them or my fans.
I had an image.
It was an image I’d worked hard to create and maintain.
Who was I to destroy it simply to pursue my own happiness?
There was the entire Jinx team that I had to consider—people relied on me and my success to pay their bills…to support their children. Just because I often felt the urge to simply disappear into the real world didn’t mean I could turn my dream into a reality. Too many people relied on the income that accompanied my success.
“Why so dark and dreary, Jinx?” Kitten asked with a smirk. “Did you hear that someone besides you might have gotten the finale walk on Saturday? Maybe for somebody else to get a chance, somebody that wasn’t riding on their mother and father’s modeling careers.”
“Shut up, Kitten,” I muttered. “If they want you to walk last, then walk last. If not, then shut up about it. I couldn’t care less.” The truth was, I really couldn’t care less. The final walk of the night was the most prestigious, the one everyone fought hard to win, but I didn’t really give a fuck about it. Strange, I should care.