Fractured
Page 81
Sinful. That was what she was.
Just what he needed.
Jaxxon had long ago noticed the long-legged, sandy-haired bloke who was sat in the far corner, alone. She had also noticed that his eyes seemed to follow her every movement. She was used to being stared at in this place, though she could never, for the life of her, fathom what it was that people thought was worth staring at. She blamed the big breasts, and the fact that she was usually the youngest female in here.
However, this bloke looked at her differently. Like he was studying her. Like she was some kind of weird artefact that needed to be carefully appraised. She didn’t like that. Although he was dressed as casually as all the other punters, there was something about him that suggested he somehow didn’t belong.
When his eyes met hers, Jaxxon raised a brow questioningly. Her philosophy had always been if you have something to say, say it. In response, he mimicked her movement. His expression seemed to be daring her to approach him and act on her agitation. She merely snorted. He was very much mistaken if he thought that a little staring would unnerve her – when you worked in a dodgy place like this, you had to learn to get used to it pretty quickly. Maybe he would have had a chance at unnerving her if he was dressed in leather like the submissives…Why were they even still here?
Throughout her entire shift, his gaze remained settled on her. Though it hadn’t made her nervous, it had made her downright irritated. Still, she had ignored the out-of-place ogler. No, not ogler. His gaze was studious. When he was the last punter to leave, Jaxxon had expected him to approach her. But he didn’t. He went to Joe. For a moment, Jaxxon wondered if she had gotten it wrong; if it had been Joe that he was concentrated on all along. Quickly, she discarded that notion. No, she had felt his gaze.
“Jaxxon,” called Joe. He didn’t speak again until she reached his side. “This punter here would like to speak to you.”
“Yeah, so?” It wasn’t exactly unusual for one of the oddballs drinking here to want to have a ‘chat’ with her – something they considered preliminary to the sex they also had planned. It came with the barmaid territory. It was a wonder she hadn’t succumbed to the urge to murder any of them.
“So he’s paying me one hundred to accommodate a ten minute talk with you, and I’m really fond of money so—”
“One hundred…to talk?”
“Just a verbal exchange, nothing more,” assured the stranger in a shockingly well-spoken voice. But his words weren’t comforting at all. What kind of person paid that kind of money for someone to talk to them? Why hadn’t the oddball just approached her himself?
Before Jaxxon could speak again, Joe added, “And seeing as your shift hasn’t technically finished yet, you can consider this a task from your employer.”
She scowled at Joe, but he simply smiled, and left them to have their private ‘verbal exchange’. The posh stranger instantly spoke. His voice was reassuring.
“I realise that this might be quite an unorthodox way to arrange a conversation with someone—”
“Oh really, you think so?”
He smiled. “I had the distinct feeling, after watching you closely tonight, that any attempt I made to engage in conversation with you wouldn’t get me very far.”
She nodded, conceding that.
“Plus, I wanted us to be able to speak privately, and I understood that it would need to be a place where you felt safe. I somehow couldn’t envision you inviting me to your home, especially at midnight.”
“You going to tell me who you are and what you want?” He handed her a business card which she read aloud. “Richie Moore. Moore’s Modelling Agency. Partner.” Jaxxon scrutinised him through narrowed, keen eyes. Maybe she could believe that an oddball recruiter might decide to approach her, thinking that they might get a shag in exchange for offering her a non-existent modelling job. But a partner of a modelling agency?
“You are wondering why the top of the food chain would bother personally with the hunt,” he guessed. “Please allow me to explain.” He perched himself on the stool beside him. “A close friend of mine runs a very successful cosmetic company, and he and I have come together on a project. A joint venture, you might say. A new range of cosmetics was designed between the two of us. A line that is dramatic and echoes a bold, yet carefree mind-set. A collection that will cater for both the everyday look, and the socialising evening. Now we are searching for the face that will set it off. When you open magazines, you have your sweet, open, angelic faces that look ridiculously happy, and you have those who have mastered the sexy, seductive, erotic look. In both mine and my partner’s opinion, neither are particularly representative of true life. After all, if all people were truly so happy or so sexy, there would be no need for cosmetics or other such things.”
She guessed that much was true, but she didn’t comment.
“Neither look echoes the bold product line. What he and I have been looking for is someone real. Someone truly representative of life as it really is. And, unfortunately, life has its fair share of pain, suffering, and tests.” It had therefore been Richie’s idea to look in areas like this where poverty and crime was prominent, where silver-spoon lifestyles were alien. Thank God he had. “I believe that you, Jaxxon, know a depth of pain that some may never experience. I have sat and observed tonight as many others who know pain were drawn to you, as if they look at you and see another wounded soul, and your strength is like a homing beacon to them.”
Homing beacon? This all sounded like psychological bollocks to her. Jaxxon gave him a sceptical look, but he ignored it.
“That kind of strength can only come from being accepting of what you have endured, and who you truly are. I like that you refuse to act as society expects you to act. You’re not civil if you do not believe the person you are speaking to deserves it, you’re not patient if you do not believe the person trying your patience is worthy of it. You’re true to yourself, you’re real. And that is what we need: someone who is bold and dramatic, just like the range itself.”
Richie gave her a moment to digest all that he had said. Anyone else may have become defensive during someone’s analysis of them, or argue with the conclusions of that analysis. But no, this young woman was totally accepting of who she was, and cared not what others thought. He deeply admired and respected her for it.
Just what he needed.
Jaxxon had long ago noticed the long-legged, sandy-haired bloke who was sat in the far corner, alone. She had also noticed that his eyes seemed to follow her every movement. She was used to being stared at in this place, though she could never, for the life of her, fathom what it was that people thought was worth staring at. She blamed the big breasts, and the fact that she was usually the youngest female in here.
However, this bloke looked at her differently. Like he was studying her. Like she was some kind of weird artefact that needed to be carefully appraised. She didn’t like that. Although he was dressed as casually as all the other punters, there was something about him that suggested he somehow didn’t belong.
When his eyes met hers, Jaxxon raised a brow questioningly. Her philosophy had always been if you have something to say, say it. In response, he mimicked her movement. His expression seemed to be daring her to approach him and act on her agitation. She merely snorted. He was very much mistaken if he thought that a little staring would unnerve her – when you worked in a dodgy place like this, you had to learn to get used to it pretty quickly. Maybe he would have had a chance at unnerving her if he was dressed in leather like the submissives…Why were they even still here?
Throughout her entire shift, his gaze remained settled on her. Though it hadn’t made her nervous, it had made her downright irritated. Still, she had ignored the out-of-place ogler. No, not ogler. His gaze was studious. When he was the last punter to leave, Jaxxon had expected him to approach her. But he didn’t. He went to Joe. For a moment, Jaxxon wondered if she had gotten it wrong; if it had been Joe that he was concentrated on all along. Quickly, she discarded that notion. No, she had felt his gaze.
“Jaxxon,” called Joe. He didn’t speak again until she reached his side. “This punter here would like to speak to you.”
“Yeah, so?” It wasn’t exactly unusual for one of the oddballs drinking here to want to have a ‘chat’ with her – something they considered preliminary to the sex they also had planned. It came with the barmaid territory. It was a wonder she hadn’t succumbed to the urge to murder any of them.
“So he’s paying me one hundred to accommodate a ten minute talk with you, and I’m really fond of money so—”
“One hundred…to talk?”
“Just a verbal exchange, nothing more,” assured the stranger in a shockingly well-spoken voice. But his words weren’t comforting at all. What kind of person paid that kind of money for someone to talk to them? Why hadn’t the oddball just approached her himself?
Before Jaxxon could speak again, Joe added, “And seeing as your shift hasn’t technically finished yet, you can consider this a task from your employer.”
She scowled at Joe, but he simply smiled, and left them to have their private ‘verbal exchange’. The posh stranger instantly spoke. His voice was reassuring.
“I realise that this might be quite an unorthodox way to arrange a conversation with someone—”
“Oh really, you think so?”
He smiled. “I had the distinct feeling, after watching you closely tonight, that any attempt I made to engage in conversation with you wouldn’t get me very far.”
She nodded, conceding that.
“Plus, I wanted us to be able to speak privately, and I understood that it would need to be a place where you felt safe. I somehow couldn’t envision you inviting me to your home, especially at midnight.”
“You going to tell me who you are and what you want?” He handed her a business card which she read aloud. “Richie Moore. Moore’s Modelling Agency. Partner.” Jaxxon scrutinised him through narrowed, keen eyes. Maybe she could believe that an oddball recruiter might decide to approach her, thinking that they might get a shag in exchange for offering her a non-existent modelling job. But a partner of a modelling agency?
“You are wondering why the top of the food chain would bother personally with the hunt,” he guessed. “Please allow me to explain.” He perched himself on the stool beside him. “A close friend of mine runs a very successful cosmetic company, and he and I have come together on a project. A joint venture, you might say. A new range of cosmetics was designed between the two of us. A line that is dramatic and echoes a bold, yet carefree mind-set. A collection that will cater for both the everyday look, and the socialising evening. Now we are searching for the face that will set it off. When you open magazines, you have your sweet, open, angelic faces that look ridiculously happy, and you have those who have mastered the sexy, seductive, erotic look. In both mine and my partner’s opinion, neither are particularly representative of true life. After all, if all people were truly so happy or so sexy, there would be no need for cosmetics or other such things.”
She guessed that much was true, but she didn’t comment.
“Neither look echoes the bold product line. What he and I have been looking for is someone real. Someone truly representative of life as it really is. And, unfortunately, life has its fair share of pain, suffering, and tests.” It had therefore been Richie’s idea to look in areas like this where poverty and crime was prominent, where silver-spoon lifestyles were alien. Thank God he had. “I believe that you, Jaxxon, know a depth of pain that some may never experience. I have sat and observed tonight as many others who know pain were drawn to you, as if they look at you and see another wounded soul, and your strength is like a homing beacon to them.”
Homing beacon? This all sounded like psychological bollocks to her. Jaxxon gave him a sceptical look, but he ignored it.
“That kind of strength can only come from being accepting of what you have endured, and who you truly are. I like that you refuse to act as society expects you to act. You’re not civil if you do not believe the person you are speaking to deserves it, you’re not patient if you do not believe the person trying your patience is worthy of it. You’re true to yourself, you’re real. And that is what we need: someone who is bold and dramatic, just like the range itself.”
Richie gave her a moment to digest all that he had said. Anyone else may have become defensive during someone’s analysis of them, or argue with the conclusions of that analysis. But no, this young woman was totally accepting of who she was, and cared not what others thought. He deeply admired and respected her for it.
