Models and Super Spies Ch. 02

Chapter 2: First Assignments

"Daniel! I'm glad I could catch you before you headed off to your shoot."

"Ah, hello, Ms. Small." Even over the phone, Erin could imagine the African's wide, friendly smile. "Please thank Mr. Mishin once again for thinking of me for this shoot."

"You're one of his best male models, Daniel. You've always been on my short list."

"So, how can I help you?" There was nothing guarded about the way he said it. That was the great thing about Daniel, he was always up front with you.

"The model you will be working with is new. So I'd… like you to make her feel comfortable…" They'd had this discussion before. The African model wasn't just disarming with Erin, but with everyone, especially the female models he worked with. It's why he was the perfect candidate for the little task she had in mind as she thought of Alicia.

"I can do that, Ms. Small." No matter how many times Erin had asked the man to use her first name, Daniel always reverted back to "Ms. Small." Erin had stopped trying now. "Like the last time?"

The former model thought of the "last time." It had started as a swimsuit shoot on the beach with this young Spanish model that Mishin had recently signed, and ended with Daniel fucking her in the foamy surf. Erin still had the photos from that session.

"Um, no, not quite like last time. But… tease her a little."

"Got it!"

***

"You're being watched. You have three minutes to tell me how many are watching." Emily Lester and Trey Kennedy hadn't even ordered their lunches when she said it, as casually as if she'd been commenting on the weather. "Don't look around so obviously! It's important that they don't know that you know, understand? Gives you some leverage."

Now that she'd mentioned it, the man sitting in the corner kept giving them furtive glances every few seconds. He'd occasionally write something down in a journal that sat next to a half-empty glass of water.

On the second floor balcony, a suspicious looking character glanced down at them over the top of a menu that he didn't seem to put down.

Two men sitting by the window were also looking at their menus, although who does that without speaking for a full three minutes?

"Four," he said when she called time.

"Close." Emily had a wonderful smile. She'd taken him out to lunch with the pretense that she needed to go over some of the training he'd been doing the last few days. It appeared that this was yet another training exercise. "There are seven."

Trey didn't hide his surprise. "Seven?"

"You got the obvious ones. The man in the corner and on the balcony, I assume. And the two looking at their menus. That couple over there has been watching us from the moment they came in." She tossed her sassy blonde hair in the direction of a couple of business-looking types, then smiled back at me. "And of course, you missed your new trainer, although how could you overlook a girl like her?"

"Who?"

"Me," a husky voice whispered, close enough to ruffle the hairs inside his ear.

Trey jumped as the two women laughed. "Trey Kennedy, meet Elizabeth Hawkins. She'll be training you from here on out."

Trey couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the cute redhead until now, although she'd dressed the part for this restaurant of power-lunchers and corporate execs: a slim gray pant-suit that hugged her curves in a no-nonsense, sexy way.

"Hey, Emily. Long time." The two women exchanged a hug, although there wasn't much friendliness between the two of them. Ms. Hawkins turned to Trey and extended her hand.

Then he recognized her. She was the woman in the risqué pictures. She'd tried to infiltrate Mishin's operation and had failed.

Trey stood as he accepted her hand, surprised at how short the gray-eyed surveillance expert was. She couldn't have been an inch taller than 5'2", although she certainly didn't have the body typical of a shorter woman. Trey cursed himself as his eyes drifted down into her freckled cleavage, which spilled over the top of her low-cut blouse. When he forced himself to look back at Elizabeth's pixyish face, she was smirking.

"At least he knows the important things to notice," she quipped, drawing out another shared giggle.

"Liz is one of the best you'll ever work with. You're in good hands."

"You leaving? You haven't even had your lunch."

Emily nodded. "I need to get back to the office. Take care, you two. And Liz, don't kill him on his first day." The two women laughed one more time and then Emily was gone.

"I've worked with countless agents, Trey, and never killed one of them," the short woman said as she took the vacant seat. "But from what I've read, you need a lot of work."

"That bad huh?"

"Bad enough you've earned a trip to Hawaii."

"Hawaii?"

The redhead nodded. "C.L.O.A.K. has a special training facility there. Pack your swim suit, young man, you just won an all expense paid trip to the Aloha State."

"When?"

"We leave tomorrow morning."

"But… I have weekend plans."

Elizabeth gave him a faux-sympathetic frown. "That's terrible! Well, I can let Vincent Silva know you're not interested."

"No!" Not after this past hellish week of training. "It's just… how am I going to explain this vacation to my wife?"

She shrugged. "Tell her it's for business. Tell her it's for that promotion you've been vying for. I don't really care. We'll be gone for at least a week, so whatever it is you tell her, make it good. And Trey, no matter how sunny the sky is out there, this isn't a vacation." And on that ominous note, the waiter finally decided to grace their table.

***

Alicia's first photo shoot with Mishin Inc. came just three quick days after she'd signed the contract. Roy had called to schedule it, explaining that wardrobe and make up would be provided for her on-site. All she needed to do was show up in loose clothing that wouldn't leave lines. That was common practice on many shoots, particularly lingerie and bikini ones where lines were important not to show.

Alicia normally got up with Trey in the mornings, even when she had no jobs that day and no reason to be up so early. She liked spending time with him, even if it was just reading the paper and drinking coffee.

But not this week. She'd been avoiding him this week, still paralyzed with guilt at what she'd done. She knew she had to tell him; she just needed to figure out how. He'd been extremely busy at work as well, vying for some promotion he'd explained absently over a late dinner. He seemed to be under an incredible amount of stress and the last thing she needed to do was add to that. So she delayed, and that was fine for her.

She waited until she heard the front door close before pulling herself out of bed. She hated avoiding him, but until this was all over, it was the path of least resistance.

He'd made enough coffee for her and she fixed herself a cup as she paged through the LA Times, wearing her favorite pair of silk pajamas. The back of today's edition featured a full-page color ad for Le Petite Mort, Gabrielle Dubois' latest scent. And of course, like all her perfumes, the ad prominently featured Gabrielle herself in a long, clingy evening gown.

"I know your secret," Alicia said, setting her coffee down on the supermodel's printed cleavage. She was stunning even in the newsprint's poor ink quality, her characteristic coyness coming through in those pale blue eyes. They looked so good with her glossy, dark hair.

Alicia lingered on the French model's pouting lips. The image came unbidden: Gabrielle on her knees before Alex, his rigid cock sliding in and out of her mouth, glistening wet with her saliva. She was both repulsed and excited.

His bright blue eyes had drunk her up as he loomed over her. So possessive. So dominant. She'd never felt a man flex his will upon her so strongly. And yet she remembered thinking at the time how he was at her mercy. If only for a moment. As powerful as he was, it was her mouth that he was getting off on.

"Was it a hard decision for you?" Alicia asked the printed face. The thing she didn't want to voice – the terrible thought she didn't even want to think about – was that her answer was "no, it wasn't." At the time, it had been pretty easy.

And that scared the shit out of her.

Alicia ducked into the shower, her mind still dwelling on her "show of loyalty." She hated herself for doing what she did, and yet she kept thinking about how exciting it had been. Her emotions were a confused mess of self-loathing, disgust, and unquestionably thrilling eroticism.

She'd been beautiful since she was a little girl and she'd grown used to being looked at. Her long, golden hair and slender body had made her a permanent fixture in the "cool kids" group. She'd been the captain of the cheerleading team. She'd even dated the quarterback. Yet despite the stereotypes, she was never "that kind of girl." She never slept around, never had a one-night stand, and had never, ever done what she did last Monday.

As she soaped her body beneath the hot spray of the shower, a very wicked voice whispered, "But you enjoyed it…" It was an impish thing, that voice, one that had been with her since childhood. It was with her when she first learned to masturbate, and then later when she'd had her first cigarette, her first taste of alcohol, her first joint. It was the naughty voice that balanced out the good girl in her.

The luffah felt good as it glided along her nudity, the soapy scruff sending little electric jolts through her as she passed it over her nipples. They tightened into little points. She set it down, switching to her hands to spread the liquid soap across her curves.

She sighed with pleasure. This ritual had replaced the regular morning one she used to share with Trey. Her hands crept along her flat stomach, down into the juncture between her legs. She brushed across her swollen clit, which had emerged from her hooded sex.

"No," she sighed aloud. First she needed to take care of her necessities. She finished washing her body and moved on to her long hair. She forced herself to think of other things than getting off, like the upcoming photo shoot and what that might be. It wasn't a sunny day, so probably not a bikini shoot – they would have rescheduled that.

Maybe lingerie. Her heart skipped at the thought. She'd only done a couple lingerie shoots, and they always made her feel exposed and vulnerable. But they'd yielded some of her best shots.

Finished with her hair, she moved on to shaving her legs. The last time she'd done a lingerie shoot – something for a local boutique in LA – the photographer had her remove her bra to "put emphasis on the lacy boy-shorts" the client wanted to market. Alicia had been pretty skeptical, almost walking out. She would have, too, had she detected even a glimmer of sleaziness in the photographer's eye. Later on, after the proofs had been returned to her, she was glad she hadn't.

The tall model lathered up her mons, careful not to touch her excited little button, and slowly shaved herself clean. She had full, puffy labia that remained tight-lipped, even when her clit was fully engorged. She liked the clean lines of her pussy and had been shaving herself bare even before it had become all the rage in fashion.

At last, her preparation done, she leaned back on the cool tile wall, yanked the showerhead from its perch, and directed the hard spray directly across her cunt.

"Ngh!" she moaned, her mind blissfully empty but for the sensations of the pulsing nozzle and her playful fingers. That was the way it had always been. When she was with a man, she thought of the man. When she was with herself, she thought of nothing.

She arched her back away from the wall as she peaked, breasts out, rolling her head back along the tiles as she cried out to the ceiling. No one was home, so she let the orgasm tear from her throat. The hot water pushed the pleasure through her like the foamy surf washing down a wide, flat beachfront.

She came down slowly, pulling the showerhead away as the last of the orgasmic tremors passed through her. She flipped the pulsing water back to "spray" and fastened it back up on its clip. Her legs and arms felt rubbery, but also relaxed.

OK, now she could start the day.

***

Vincent waited patiently in the little sidewalk coffee shop. His heart was racing like a school boy's on the first day of class, just after he'd been assigned to sit next to the prettiest girl in the room. He'd gone over Alicia "Kennedy's" file countless times, obsessing over every little detail of her last five years, and still wasn't prepared for that face-to-face meeting he'd had just three short days before.

If anything, she'd grown even more beautiful. Her face had matured from the shy 19-year-old he'd met, fresh into LA with innocent dreams and lofty aspirations.

And you chose him over me… Vincent thought under his breath. The area was heavily mic'ed; he remembered, just before muttering it aloud. He had to stay on guard. For the rest of his life, he had to keep that up.

Vincent saw Alicia before she saw him. She looked much more confident than the girl he'd first met. In a loose, designer dress that showed off her long legs and a pair of oversized Dolce & Gabana shades, she sashayed right by him, pushing swiftly through the doors and into the coffee shop.

On the mornings of her shoots, Alicia had a routine. Vincent had been watching her for the past two weeks and she rarely strayed from it. She came here and purchased an espresso. She sat outside, read the latest issue of Hollywood Reporter, and drank half her coffee with a cigarette. The rest was tossed away.

Tailing her, arranging this meet, was necessary. Vincent would have preferred for her to call him, but she hadn't and since things were already set in motion and time was short, he had to risk it.

Alicia came outside with her little espresso mug in hand and scanned the tables behind her sunglasses. They'd filled every one of them with agents, leaving her no outs. She nearly turned to go back inside when she spotted Vincent, doing a double take.

Her glossy lips parted, but no sound came out. He couldn't read her without seeing her eyes, but did his best to look just as surprised as she must be feeling. He waved weakly as she finally uprooted herself and paced over to him.

"Are you following me?" she accused, sitting down without asking if she could. She had these beautiful cheekbones that looked even better now that her face had matured.

Vincent set the paper that he'd been pretending to read down. "I'm just as surprised as you."

"What are you doing here? Don't you live in the Hills?"

He shook his head. "Not anymore. I moved to Santa Monica when Karen and I…"

"Wife got the house?"

Vincent shrugged. "I didn't exactly make a great case for myself in court." She nodded at that. Good, he thought. If being self-depreciating was the way to her heart, then he was the next Jon Stewart. "You never called."

"You thought I would?" she snapped. Ouch, harsh.

"I don't know, I guess not." Her mouth softened. He wished he could see her behind those glasses. "You don't owe me a thing. I just thought that we could… I don't know, be friends?"

She laughed harshly. This really was a different woman. "That's right, I don't owe you. If anything, it's the other way around." Vincent faked a hurt look, glancing down at his cup of coffee. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Don't worry about it. I deserve it," he cut her off. They sat there awkwardly for a moment.

"Vince, really, I'm sorry." Alicia slipped her dark sunglasses up into her honey blonde hair. Her rich brown eyes were filled with compassion. "I shouldn't have said that." She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. Her touch was hot. He felt his arm tingle with excited familiarity.

His phone chirped, breaking the spell. Alicia suddenly realized who she was touching, yanking her hand back as though it burned her. But neither of them could deny that it was there, and that something had passed between them.

"Hello?" he answered his phone.

"We got it," the man answered. Vincent nodded, thinking of the photos his team must have captured of this little meeting.

"OK, I understand. I'll be right there." He hung up and sighed. "I'm sorry, Alicia, I need to get going. But… it was really good to see you." This meeting had gone better than he'd imagined it would.

The blonde nodded, still confused at her own emotions. "Um, yeah, me too. Have to go, I mean. Not… well, that, too." She cursed under her breath. "It was nice seeing you, Vincent."

"Call me if you ever want to talk. You still have my number?"

Alicia nodded, her brown eyes betraying the guilty look that she'd kept his card. Quickly, she slipped her large sunglasses back over her face and retrieved a cigarette.

"See you around, Vincent."

"You too, Alicia."

Vincent Silva walked away, hiding his smile.

***

"You've got to be kidding me," Alicia said flatly, looking from the photographer – at least she was a woman but this was still ridiculous – to Alexander Mishin, who'd come out to the shoot himself, to the tall male model.

"It's what the client wants," he said in that barely there Russian accent of his. Monday, he'd been seductive and domineering. Today, he was all business.

"I don't do nudes."

He clucked his tongue in disapproval. The photographer, an attractive Latina that could have been a model herself, looked uncomfortable. She'd most likely shown up thinking this would be a routine shoot, although for Alicia, it was anything but.

Daniel, the other model, had a blank expression on his dark face. He'd been there when she arrived, already dressed in a plush white robe that made his black skin look like midnight.

"That's not what your contract says," Alex replied darkly.

Alicia's mouth went dry. She hadn't read the contract. Certainly hadn't had her agent – former agent, she corrected – read it. What was in there? "And I really can't do them with… him…"

"Alicia, walk with me a moment."

Despite the cloudy day, the location was outdoors – poolside, in fact, in a rented Malibu villa that sat right on the ocean. A friend of hers used to love to come out to Malibu to sun on the beach. They'd walk it, daydreaming about one day being able to actually enter one of the large homes that dotted the coast. And now, here she was.

Alex walked her out the way she'd come, back through the house that was furnished with contemporary nick-knacks more expensive than anything they owned, most likely.

"Do you trust me?" he asked quietly.

Of course, Alicia didn't have an answer for that. Not one he'd like to hear, anyway. This man had forced her to blow him for a job; had made her parade naked down the runway. "Yes." It was the only answer she could give.

He nodded. "What do you see out there?" He pointed to the little roundabout that led into this villa. Three cars were parked out front: her old Toyota Camry, a sporty little Mazda, and a lipstick red Mercedes SLK – Alex's sports car, no doubt, although it seemed a little feminine for the young mogul.

"Um… three parked cars. The Pacific Coast Highway. I don't know. Traffic?" She couldn't quite suppress the attitude that crept into her voice. Did the man want her to admit her car was the shittiest? Was that his point?

"Give me your car keys."

"What?"

"Your car keys. Trust me." There was that demanding tone, tempered by his civilized accent. She did as she was told, as uncertain as she was. He handed her another set of keys, polished silver and emblazoned with the Mercedes symbol. "That's your new car."