“A.J.’s orders,” Dwain says, which ends the conversation. I growl in frustration. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you the reigns back before you know it.”

Just the fact that he has to say that makes my insides knot. “Sure, whatever.”


All auditions will take place in the typical bedroom scenario. I try my hardest to push for the pool, but that’s another thing Dwain puts his foot down on. A.J. says the bedroom is generic enough to get a good read on everyone. Whatever. That’s why we won’t be able to get a good read—because no one is going to be willing to take risks.

Actually, every time I make a suggestion, Dwain tells me to stuff it. I’m also not allowed to be involved in the sign-up process or help out the set. So I end up sitting and fuming on a barstool in the studio kitchen, watching A.J.’s cronies take charge as the models slowly begin to trickle in.

And now I get why they won’t let me be a part of the sign-in process—they’re actually turning people away at the door. At first it’s for the obvious reasons—too pudgy, too gangly—but then the assistants from Amora start turning away more and more—people who are hot, people who could potentially be great models. And it finally gets me out of my seat. Infuriated, I push through the sample models and tap Dwain on the shoulder. “What the hell is going on?”

His lip pulls up into a sneer. “You, Miss McCulley, are out of line.”

I’ve been pushed around enough today. “Listen, Dwain. This is my fucking magazine, and I can break the contract whenever the hell I want.” Technically, this is the truth, although Amora will keep the rights for another two years. “Why are all of these people being turned away?”

“They don’t fit the East Park brand.”

I am seriously going to deck this guy.

I look at the models who have gotten through the gatekeepers. All tall and white, with that signature Abercrombie look. Actually, they look almost identical. I swear, even the guys and the girls look they could be from one creepy Mormon family.

“Hi, I’m here to audition.”

The voice strikes me as familiar, and when I turn to look, I watch Jaime hand his headshot to the assistant by the door. The assistant lets him walk through, and he spots me. I stare him down, and he immediately goes on the defense.

“Give me a chance, Brit.”

I grind my teeth. Dwain asks me if I know the guy, but I don’t respond. I study Jaime up and down before saying, “Well, at least you aren’t white.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Uhh… thanks?”

“Fine, I’ll let you have your twenty minutes.” I step toward him, keeping my chin in the air. “But, too be honest, I don’t think you’re even serious about the gig.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please, Britain. You think I’m just here to torture you?”

“No, I think you’re here to torture me and have a chance to pose with some gorgeous naked women.”

“I take my job pretty seriously, thank you.”

“Then prove it,” I state boldly, and march away.

One of the Amora assistants calls all EPE staff into the back room, but before I can head that way, a pretty brunette girl catches my eye. “Excuse me, Ma’am.”

I shudder involuntarily. “I’m not a Ma’am, but what do you want?”

She snaps her gum. “Are we gonna have to, like, fuck on camera right now, or what?”

“Oh my god,” I mutter, spinning on my heel without answering. Jaime’s laughter trickles across the room like liquid fire.


Brunette gum-snapper asked if she’d have to fuck on camera, and now this room is set up like a porno.

The sheets are red and satiny, and there’s a huge fuzzy heart pillow in the middle of the bed. Gag me. On top of it, the room is way darker than it needs to be, giving the whole space this gross seventies feel. I’m surprised they haven’t ripped out the flooring and put in shag carpet.

“What is going on with this lighting?” I say out loud to no one in particular. Not a soul responds to me, although there are a couple of women in dress suits glaring at me as they clench iPads in their hands. I walk over to a guy adjusting a light and say, “Hey, you, the lighting is way too dark in here. You’re going to make even the skinniest girl look lumpy, and all of the shadows really awkward.”

He waves his hand at me in dismissal. “Don’t talk to me, I just take orders.”

I groan, looking around for anyone that will listen. It takes a whole fifteen minutes for the word to finally get around to Dwain that Britain is unhappy, and I really think he hates me now.

I win on the lighting and get the Amora workers to amp it a bit, but unfortunately, Dwain won’t budge on the fuzzy red pillow that I find pedophilic and not sexy at all.

The chairs that we will watch the auditions from are lined up on the side of the wall like a jury. I sit in the very back corner, Delilah right next to me, and Adam next to her. The rest of the models fill up the back row. They all have their arms crossed and look either pissed, uncomfortable, or scared.

“This isn’t fun,” Delilah whispers to me. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m in trouble.”

“I know what you mean,” I answer.

“When you said we were going national, I didn’t think they’d be taking over like this.”

I didn’t either, did I? Maybe I didn’t care to even think about it. The money was so good that I subconsciously knew if they took over, it wouldn’t matter. Now, looking at my models and how petrified they all seem, not thinking about it was a mistake.

How can I fix this?

I lower my head and close my eyes, thinking quickly. Pulling a small notebook from my pocket and the pen from behind my ear, I write each sample model’s name on a separate sheet of paper. Then, starting with Delilah, I give them each a theme, and write, no matter what the photographer tells you, stick to this. I hand Delilah the stack and mutter, “Pass them down.”

She finds hers and passes the stack. She reads the paper, arches her eyebrow, and looks at me. “For real?” she says. “What’s the point?”

“I know what’s good for EPE,” I whisper, nodding to the associate ushering the first female model into the room. “They don’t.”

“I got you,” says Adam. He must have overheard me. I should probably whisper softer considering A.J’s cronies are sitting right in front of me.

“Miss McCulley, would you be so kind as to select a sample model for this young lady?”

Wow, first time I’ve been asked to do anything. It’s actually a bit shocking.

The girl is very slight in frame with no ass or boobs. She almost looks like she’s twelve. Knowing Amora Acquisitions, they’ll probably want to hire her. My mind is twisting perversely. Adam is our tallest, broadest guy. I’m thinking the juxtaposition will make for a great photo. Plus, I gave him hunter with his prey for the theme.

“All right, big guy. Go get ‘em.”

“Sweet.” Adam jumps to his feet and Delilah rolls her eyes, brushing red curls off her shoulders.

The girl is beautiful and doe-eyed and looks absolutely petrified. She fits Adam’s theme perfectly, which is kind of disgusting. She might even be shivering. When she sees Adam, she looks like she’s about to cry, which is funny considering how gorgeous Adam is.

The photographer, a tall, skinny, white, and incredibly city-chic-cliché looking guy, cocks his head to the side and says in a tenor voice, “Okay, I want you two to pose like both of you are made of the most delectable dessert and you want to eat each other up.”

I—without even attempting to hide my actions—slap my hand to my forehead.

Miguel, my model on the end, busts up laughing, and the Amora assistant in front of him shoots him a dirty look. Ella in the middle mutters, “Why don’t they just pose normally—like they want to fuck each other,” and that leaves all of my models in hysterics. I can’t help but crack a smile.

Dwain turns in his seat and barks, “Get them under control.” I shrug in response. This is way too much fun.

Adam catches my eye and winks at me. The girl crawls onto the bed and he follows her. As the photographer is finding his position, Adam slinks his arms around her waist and whispers something into her ear.

Whatever he says, it works. When the photographer begins, she crawls away and he grasps her foot, pulling her back to him. Her body glides against the satin sheets and he pins her hips to the mattress.

“Less aggressive, boy,” Dwain says.

Boy? He didn’t even take the time to learn my models’ names?

Adam doesn’t act like Dwain’s command fazes him at all. The way he arches his back makes him look like a cat, his hands stiff and clawed around the model’s hips. She twists her body around and it’s a beautiful shot that the photographer isn’t taking advantage of.

“Fucking idiot,” I whisper, and Delilah nudges me in the arm.

The Amora Acquisitions team write furiously on their iPads. None of them look very enthused. Adam wraps his arms around the models’ torso and pulls her up until they’re both kneeling and facing the camera, her back pressed to his chest. He drags his bared teeth across her earlobe, runs his hands up her ribcage, links his fingers beneath her bandeau, and tugs down until her breasts are exposed.

Leave it to Adam to be ballsy with a girl he’s never met before.

It’s like it doesn’t even cross his mind that there are twenty people watching him, half of them typing on their iPads like scientists at a research exhibit. Not hiding behind the lens makes me feel naked and exposed to the situation, an ache building between my legs. Everything that’s happening in this room is incredibly voyeuristic and weirdly fucking hot.

The female model releases a small gasp, and Adam whispers something else in her ear. I can tell by the way Delilah is so stiff that she’s not too happy. Considering how loose Adam always acts, it’s hard to remember that they’re constantly on-again off-again.

With stiff, crooked fingers, Adam runs his claw-like hands right over the girl’s breasts, and she closes her eyes and arches her back like she enjoys the sting of it. Another perfect shot, but the dumbass photographer is, again, shooting from the wrong angle. I ball my hands into fists. I wish I could use this, just like I used Dallas’s audition. The only difference is that I’m going to have to reshoot this entire session.

I grunt in frustration, but none of the Amora assistants seem to notice.

Even worse than shooting from the wrong angles is when the photographer decides to end early, even when the auditioning model is so willing to continue. He shouldn’t have, considering the next string of models either act like or express that they don’t want to take their clothes off. One of them, as Ella is hanging all over him and trying to portray the weightless theme that I gave her, blatantly says, “This is making me uncomfortable.”

“Hold up, hold up,” I yell as I stand. The photographer purses his lips and drops his camera, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with the model or with me. “Do you know what East Park Exposed is?”

The guy shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

“And this is making you uncomfortable? Neither of you are naked yet.”

“I don’t know, I just…”

“What do you think we do, Photoshop your nipples on?”

Delilah snickers.

I get another wave of nasty looks from the Amora crew and finally crack. “Stop looking at me like that! You know I’m right!”

After the slew of uncomfortable candidates, there’s a slew of generic candidates. My own professional models look like broken toy soldiers as they attempt to play sexy with them. Now I don’t know if it’s the photographer or simply a string of bad luck. Finally, a crew member calls number sixteen, and I smack Delilah on the knee.

“You’re up.”

Jaime walks into the room.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Delilah breathes.

Adam grunts uncomfortably next to her.

I grab her shoulder to gain her attention. “I need you to screw this up,” I mutter.

“What?” she hisses. “Are you fucking insane? He’s gorgeous.”

“I know him, and he’s an ass to work with. Just do as I say.”

She groans and stands, trudging to Jaime and holding out her hand. “I’m Delilah.”

“Jaime.”

Delilah gapes at him, and then she slowly turns toward me.

Oh, fuck.

I’d forgotten that I spilled my secrets to Delilah and Evan one night when the three of us were drunk at the house. We were talking about dumb high school perceptions and decisions, and what we would tell our teenage selves if we could.