tore her eyes away and focused on the crowd. It was time to get them revved up. If the guy made any sort of move on her, the bouncers would be quick to kick him out on his ass. Harassment wasn’t tolerated at Risqué.
She danced and sang and made eye contact with as many people as she could. When the song ended she spun around and found the intense starer at the edge of her cage holding out a business card. She almost ignored him, but his words stopped her in her tracks.
“I’d like to offer you an audition,” he called out.
“An audition?” She took the card from his hand. It read Carl Raisen, Raisen Productions, and a phone number.
A producer wanted to offer her an audition? Just like that? She bent down and gave him her best Don’t bullshit me look. “An audition for what?”
Carl shoved his hands into his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’m doing a music video for a well-known rock band and I think you’d be perfect for the female part. It’s not a huge part, but if you do well, there could be more work in it for you.”
Joey wasn’t stupid. The world was full of creeps, but stories of supermodels discovered in shopping malls zipped through her head. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the break she’d been waiting for. “What band is it?”
“Give me a call next week to set up an appointment, and if you ace the audition, you can meet the band.” He looked her up and down one last time before giving her a wink and walking away.
She stood up slowly, still trying to absorb what had just happened. She folded the card in half and tucked it into her bra, right next to her pounding heart. Holy shit!
After searching the crowd, Joey saw Samair on the edge of the dance floor handing out her business card and pointing to her and Tara and Kelly. The girl was working it. Going after her dream.
Joey threw her head back and let out a rebel yell. They were going to make it, the two of them. She just knew it.
D o I get one too?” The husky voice in her ear sent tingles to all of Samair’s pleasure points. She turned away from the girls she’d been talking to and handed Val one of her new business cards. “You can have whatever you want, baby.”
“Isn’t that my line?” His lips curled up on one side.
“You won’t share?”
“Don’t pout, little girl. If you really want to give me what I want, I can guarantee it’s more than piece of cardboard.”
Her temperature kicked up a notch and she pointed to the phone number on the card. “Just call this number, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Custom costumes and lingerie.” A dark eyebrow winged upward. “You’re a designer?”
Pride whipped through her. “I am.”
He cupped her elbow and led her over to an empty space in the corner near the bar. “The card only has your name and phone number. You work for yourself?”
“I do now,” she said, casually leaning against the wall. “I just decided to start my own label last week. The day after I met you, actually.”
“Why’s that?”
Samair gazed at the man in front of her. He was close to ten years older than her, definitely tough and mature and über sexy. And there was real interest in his dark eyes.
“I used to work in a little boutique as a salesgirl while I went to school. It was great because I could take design classes and learn the business side of things from my boss. And at the same time, she let me do alterations for customers to make the clothing better suit their bodies. Everyone was happy.” She shrugged and flashed a casual smile. “But . . . things changed and the new boss was a complete control freak. She didn’t like me giving honest opinions to the customers, especially if it meant they might buy the less-expensive outfit and shit like that. So I quit.”
“And decided to start your own design business.” He nodded, his respect clear in his expression.
A big guy wearing a tight black T-shirt with Risqué embroidered on the sleeve
She danced and sang and made eye contact with as many people as she could. When the song ended she spun around and found the intense starer at the edge of her cage holding out a business card. She almost ignored him, but his words stopped her in her tracks.
“I’d like to offer you an audition,” he called out.
“An audition?” She took the card from his hand. It read Carl Raisen, Raisen Productions, and a phone number.
A producer wanted to offer her an audition? Just like that? She bent down and gave him her best Don’t bullshit me look. “An audition for what?”
Carl shoved his hands into his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’m doing a music video for a well-known rock band and I think you’d be perfect for the female part. It’s not a huge part, but if you do well, there could be more work in it for you.”
Joey wasn’t stupid. The world was full of creeps, but stories of supermodels discovered in shopping malls zipped through her head. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the break she’d been waiting for. “What band is it?”
“Give me a call next week to set up an appointment, and if you ace the audition, you can meet the band.” He looked her up and down one last time before giving her a wink and walking away.
She stood up slowly, still trying to absorb what had just happened. She folded the card in half and tucked it into her bra, right next to her pounding heart. Holy shit!
After searching the crowd, Joey saw Samair on the edge of the dance floor handing out her business card and pointing to her and Tara and Kelly. The girl was working it. Going after her dream.
Joey threw her head back and let out a rebel yell. They were going to make it, the two of them. She just knew it.
D o I get one too?” The husky voice in her ear sent tingles to all of Samair’s pleasure points. She turned away from the girls she’d been talking to and handed Val one of her new business cards. “You can have whatever you want, baby.”
“Isn’t that my line?” His lips curled up on one side.
“You won’t share?”
“Don’t pout, little girl. If you really want to give me what I want, I can guarantee it’s more than piece of cardboard.”
Her temperature kicked up a notch and she pointed to the phone number on the card. “Just call this number, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Custom costumes and lingerie.” A dark eyebrow winged upward. “You’re a designer?”
Pride whipped through her. “I am.”
He cupped her elbow and led her over to an empty space in the corner near the bar. “The card only has your name and phone number. You work for yourself?”
“I do now,” she said, casually leaning against the wall. “I just decided to start my own label last week. The day after I met you, actually.”
“Why’s that?”
Samair gazed at the man in front of her. He was close to ten years older than her, definitely tough and mature and über sexy. And there was real interest in his dark eyes.
“I used to work in a little boutique as a salesgirl while I went to school. It was great because I could take design classes and learn the business side of things from my boss. And at the same time, she let me do alterations for customers to make the clothing better suit their bodies. Everyone was happy.” She shrugged and flashed a casual smile. “But . . . things changed and the new boss was a complete control freak. She didn’t like me giving honest opinions to the customers, especially if it meant they might buy the less-expensive outfit and shit like that. So I quit.”
“And decided to start your own design business.” He nodded, his respect clear in his expression.
A big guy wearing a tight black T-shirt with Risqué embroidered on the sleeve
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