Page 20 of Handsome Devil
Once we all had a fresh glass of Janelle’s wine in front of us, I made an utter asshole of myself while pretending to make nice with Devi, and Janelle completely missed all of it.
“How long have you been modeling, Ms. Sereda?”
“As I said, I’m not a model. I’m an agent.”
“Huh. Too bad the modeling gig didn’t work out.”
“I was never a model,” she ground out.
“Oh,” I said, like that made way more sense. “I guess we can’t all be models.” I smiled gratuitously at Janelle.
“There are very specific criteria we look for,” Janelle informed me gravely. “Devi doesn’t fit the mold, shall we say.”
“I have no interest in modeling,” Devi said evenly. “I consider myself a businesswoman. And there is much work to be done.”
And with that, the two of us actually got talking about business, while Janelle kept talking fluff. It was like there were two different conversations going on at once, and one of us was utterly unaware of it.
When I asked Devi how many models the agency had signed this year, she gave me solid numbers with a categorical breakdown. Fashion models, athletic models, influencers; emerging talent; models in development. Female and male.
When I asked her about the agency’s goals for next year, she extracted documentation from her purse to back up everything she said. She’d come prepared, like she was approaching a bank for a loan. Or, her new employer, and she meant to impress.
She presented me with the agency’s up-to-date business plan with a formal cover letter, endorsements from clients, and a summary of the entire team at the agency, along with business cards, model comp cards for some of their leading talent, and all of it in a slick folder for me to take with me.
“I’m always happy to answer questions,” she said. “Janelle and I know the business and the local scene inside-out.”
I figured she was being charitable about that. Clearly, she knew the business inside-out. Most of the time, Janelle looked like she could barely keep up, or worse, like she was surprised by the items Devi kept pulling out to show me. Did the woman even have a clue how to run a modeling agency? Or any business? From my brief conversation with her here, I was leaning toward a hard no.
Which begged the question: what the hell was really going on at that agency?
Janelle tried to cover her incompetency by making obnoxious jokes about Devi being “so overly organized, I can never find anything at the office.” She told irrelevant stories about famous people she knew. And she kept drinking. Liberally. Neither Devi or I had touched our wine.
This woman was a train wreck waiting to happen.
Simply put, I’d never hire her to work for me.
In stark contrast, Devi was exactly the kind of person I’d hire. She was articulate and quick thinking, specific and factual in everything she said, if not a little grandiose in just the right way. She was confident. Passionate about her work. I couldn’t faze her with a single question about the agency.
Just like in high school, she didn’t show a single chink in her armor.
And just like in high school, I found this particular trait irritating.
Because back then, I found Devi Sereda… interesting. Even though she hated me.
I could admit that to myself.
I wouldn’t have admitted it then—to myself or anyone else—with a gun to my head, though. I was a teenager with a fragile ego and a chip on my shoulder the size of the Lower Mainland.
Now?
Still had an ego. Still annoyingly fragile, at the worst of times. Slightly less of a chip on my shoulder, maybe.
And Devi Sereda was still interesting.
If this wasn’t a business meeting—and my sex life hadn’t just been splattered all over the web—I probably would’ve flirted with her. Asked her out. Taken her to dinner. Then somewhere more private, where I could peel off that dress and worship that gorgeous body until she whimpered my name. Or cursed me to hell.
Whatever it took to get her there.
Either way, it would be a pleasure.
