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2
Jase
I loved living in the Bay. If you asked me, I’d say San Francisco is the best city in the world. The mouth-dropping views from virtually anywhere in town, the hustle and bustle (and never a dull experience) of riding BART, the abundance of artsy or cultural events taking place on any given day, and of course, of course, the Golden Gate Bridge. A bad day could be easily righted by taking a drive across that bridge with the windows down and the music blasted.
Yeah. I loved my city.
And I loved my job…er, jobs.
The day job was an easy one, one virtually anybody could do. I worked as a ‘Liaison’ at a women’s-only spa. What is a Liaison, exactly? Basically, I walked around shirtless all day, doing anything from fetching bottles of Fiji water, to scheduling appointments, to rubbing sunscreen on wannabe cougars’ backs and ignoring their too-obvious offers to hook up.
Yeah, I was basically a manservant and I didn’t mind it one bit. It paid well, because if there was one thing I didn’t like about my beloved San Francisco, it would be the exorbitant cost of living. The decent money allowed me to pursue my true passion: modeling.
So far, my biggest job had been when I starred in a well-known local R&B singer’s video as her love interest. That got my followers way, way up on social media, which led to me signing a deal to be a brand ambassador for a workout gear and energy drink company. That was great because it meant more money for me. But I didn’t want to be ‘Instagram famous,’ as my fellow millennials were calling it nowadays. I wanted to be New York/Paris Fashion Week famous. I wanted to be an ambassador for luxury brands and to hit their runways rocking clothes that cost more than most people made in a year. But in order to make it to that level, I had to build my lackluster portfolio, which brought me to my most recent job. Or, I should say, potential job. I still had to get past the “last step in the process,” per the email I’d received.
After showering, I dressed in a short-sleeved white button-up shirt with a pair of black tailored slacks and casual, but expensive loafers. Instead of hopping on the BART, I decided to take an Uber today. I wanted to look and smell my best for this thing. According to the email, there was going to be a mixer of sorts with one of the authors from the set, as well as their final choice for the female model.
My Uber, a sleek, black Nissan, arrived right on time and I was thankful the driver had the AC on. I was nervous about this meeting and was already sweating. No, this wasn’t a meeting with a high-end New York clothing brand, but it was just as important to me. I’d been completely ignorant to the existence of cover modeling before stumbling across the boxed set ad on Facebook. But after applying and getting moved along in the process, I did a lot of research and turns out it’s a pretty profitable industry, with plenty of opportunities to go around. Some of the cover models were even branching out to write books themselves, using their existing fan base to sell a fuck-ton of books and become NYT bestselling authors. I didn’t want to go that route, personally. I just wanted to use this opportunity for more exposure and, of course, I wanted the paycheck.
Traffic was heavy as usual, so it took us thirty minutes to go from my house in the Mission District to Nob Hill, a whopping five miles away. I got out at the corner of Powell Street and navigated through the crowded sidewalk. Nob Hill was one of many swanky areas in San Fran. The name, the old, but lavish cathedral-style architecture, the shopping venues and restaurants, all of it was a huge tourist draw, leading to a constant state of overcrowding in this area.
I found the Hilly Hill Café easily enough, despite never having been there, and went inside. After being out in the humid April weather for just a few minutes, I was sweating again. The cool, coffee-scented air welcomed me as I took in the homey café, noting that there was only a handful of people in here. I made eye contact with a woman sitting in a booth at the very back. She smiled and stood, quickly making her way over to me. Right away, I figured out that she was one of the authors from the boxed set. Okay, I didn’t exactly figure it out, the shirt she wore with her author name and logo gave it away.
“Hi,” she greeted me in a soft voice. She was very pretty and very young. The last part I hadn’t been expecting. “Are you Jase Reynolds?”
I thrust out my hand.
“Yes, nice to meet you…” I hesitated, not knowing how to address her. Paloma Johns was her author name, but maybe it wasn’t her real name. I’d read that a lot of authors used pen names.
“Paloma is fine,” she said with a laugh. “That’s my actual first name, but my author last name is kind of made up. My kids don’t need to know that Mommy writes smutty smut.” We both laughed as we shook hands.
She motioned for me to follow her back to the booth. It wasn’t until we were almost there that I noticed another person was already seated at the table. My eyes widened, seeing how fucking hot the girl was.Her skin was a rich dark brown. So dark, the light in the room seemed to be absorbed by it, giving her a goddess-like glow. She had shoulder-length hair that was styled in wild, sexy curls. And her face, her face was a work of art. Lips, full and bow-shaped, with a beauty mark just beside them. A cute button nose and almond-shaped eyes that were a glimmering black. Not to mention, she was wearing a fire-red halter dress that showcased her toned arms and ample cleavage.
Holy shit, she was gorgeous. Hot. Beautiful. Sexy. All of the above.
Paloma began to make the introductions and I was glad she was talking because it gave me a chance to pick my jaw up off the ground.
“Kelendria Towers, this is Jase Reynolds. Jase, this is Kelendria.”
Kelendria. Fuck, even her name was beautiful.
The woman I now knew to be Kelendria Towers slid gracefully out of the booth and extended her hand. I quickly accepted it, making an effort to keep from running my eyes up and down her body.
“You can call me Kelly,” she said, grinning and showing off teeth that were bright white, a stark contrast to her dark skin.
I smiled back. “Nice to meet you, Kelly.”
For a second, she and I just grinned at each other until I could feel the burn of another set of eyes. Turning my head, I found Paloma staring intently at us with a proud, wistful grin on her face; the kind a mother has when she watches her kid do something amazing. I gave her a quizzical look, which she ignored and took a seat. She sat squarely in the middle of the bench on her side of the booth, leaving me with no choice but to slide in beside Kelendria, I mean,Kelly.
A wave of silence fell over the table as Paloma once again gave me and Kelly that doe-eyed look.
Finally, she leaned forward, saying, “I suppose you’re both wondering what the purpose of this little mixer is, huh?”
