"Don't be nervous, sweetheart. Smile for me. Turn to your left, head towards me, hands behind your back. Good!"

I don't think I'd recovered from shock when Brandi pulled me into the studio after her. For our first day of work. How in the world had I ended up there? I remember going with her to her interview, and how the photographer fluttered over me. He made me nervous, but I couldn't leave. Brandi wouldn't be happy.

So I let the man fawn over me, pinch and poke, while I sent clear-as-day "help me" looks over his shoulder. Brandi looked smug, as if she'd planned it all. Planned for me to buy a dress and model it off while she had her interview...

I'd been tricked. Or I thought I had. But the company hired us both. The woman who owned it had nothing but good to say about me. Said I fit the bill perfectly, was a "smokin' hot sweetheart", and pleaded with me to try the job out. When I'd looked to Brandi for help, she'd looked just as eager for me to agree. My reasons for hesitation were real; I had no desire for a job in the modeling profession. It evoked bad emotions.

"Move a little closer to Brandi, Christelle. That's it, don't be shy. You got this. That's perfect, both of you stay right there."

Yet there I was, posing for the photographer the bet I could. I'd been dolled up; makeup, hair done, the works, given some clothes and thrown on set. Lucky for me, the photographer was a heck of a lot nicer than Lillian, and coaxed me into position instead of yelling. He knew I was scared to death, and tried to work with me. I liked him.

"All right, that's a wrap. Christelle?" When I looked at him, he crooked his finger at me, and walked away.

Brandi patted my back. "You did good. Meet you at the car?"

I nodded, ran my hands through my hair, and followed after the photographer. He led me to his equipment, and began packing his camera away. "How do you think you did, Christelle?"

How was I supposed to swear that? Was it trick? Maybe he was weeding me out- if I said well, he'd go in for the kill. He thought I did terrible.

"I... Not too well, sir."

He straightened. "Derek; I'm not that much older than you. I think you did great, considering your lack of experience. Just a few things to work on though."

He stepped right into my personal space, and put a finger under my chin, tipping my face up. When I moved back by instinct, he shook his head. "No, look at me. Look me in the eyes."

It took everything in me to listen to him, and not turn and bolt. I hated anyone in my space; only Neil had gotten permission to touch me that way. Derek's eyes were as bright a blue as Neil's were dark, navy, his shoulder-length blond hair a stark contrast to Neil's rich, dark brown, short locks. Wait, why on earth was I comparing him to Neil?

"Good... Good. Now relax your mouth, and part your lips just a little." I did, glanced away, and he reminded me to look at him. Then he smiled. "Perfect. Practice this look, I'll have you show me tomorrow. Look at other people, notice them, and they'll notice you. Despite what you think, you want them to."

I moved out of his reach. "No, I don't."

"Why not?"

I closed my mouth. He wasn't telling me I was beautiful. He wasn't complimenting me, trying to change my opinion of myself. He was asking me, why didn't I want people to see me.

"Because I know I'm not worth looking at." There was nothing more to say.

"I have an assignment for you. I want you to go home, and look at yourself in the mirror. I want you to pick one thing you like about yourself. Just one. Tomorrow, you'll tell me. And then you'll pick something else. We're going to fix your attitude, and you'll be super model. Don't even worry about it. Have a good night, Christelle."