Page 40 of Strut

And that wasn’t going to happen.

I was ready.

* * *

The Berlini offices were housed in a non-descript, four-storey building not far from Madison Square Garden just south of the Garment District. I’d been to the offices before, but never the studio a few floors up, and I was thankful I’d allowed enough time to find my way.

Going with the label’s relaxed but stylish English country house aesthetic, I’d chosen a pair of their dark-brown, almost-black slacks teamed with matching leather loafers and a crisp white button-down left untucked. I’d topped those with a soft leather jacket and a simple silver wrist cuff. For once I was thankful for all those free clothes they’d handed their models at fashion week in lieu of payment.

The elevator ride seemed endless, with my stomach halfway up my throat and my heart hammering against my ribs. I was a fucking mess. When I exited at their floor, I took a few seconds in the hallway outside to calm the fuck down, shaking out my body as I took a few deep breaths. I could do this.

The receptionist showed me into a well-lit studio space and five people stood to greet me from a circle of chairs. Berlini’s creative director did the introductions, which included one of their designers, an art director, a casting director, and finally the photographer, Darcy Fenchurch. To say I was a bit overwhelmed was putting it mildly, and there was no escaping the croak in my voice or the embarrassing slide of my damp palms as we all shook hands.

Except for the casting director who I’d met at fashion week, I didn’t know any of the others, which meant they were seeing me in person for the first time as well. The heat of that scrutiny burned hot on my skin, most notably from Darcy Fenchurch.

The handsome photographer was a big man, at least six foot six, broad-shouldered, and muscular. He had long chestnut hair that fell in waves to his shoulders and intense hazel eyes. His solid grip on my hand lingered longer than the others, with a curious stare that had my cheeks burning.

I instantly panicked. Was my look wrong? Was I too tall, too pale, too thin? Christ, if he didn’t like me, I was done.

Stop it.I took a slow, deep breath.Stand tall, sit straight, be relaxed but not casual, confident but not cocky, smile and be real—whatever the fuck that meant, but it was a mantra that had served me well in the past. When every tiny bit of your anatomy and physical appearance was under the microscope and assessed alongside some checklist known only to the others in the room, it was never comfortable. I smiled and tried to look like I belonged there, that I wasn’t some upstart farm boy from New Zealand, thousands of miles from home.

“No need to be nervous.” The casting director flashed me a surprisingly kind smile. “Would you like coffee?”

Only if you want to watch me hurl it back at you.I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

“Well, let me know if you change your mind. Take a seat.” He waved me toward the only free chair in the circle. “I hope you can relax.” There was that smile again, and I was beginning to like this man. “You wouldn’t be here if we didn’t already think very highly of you. Berlini isn’t just about the look of the models we choose. We also want a work ethic and a personality that matches our brand and Kelvin Hartman speaks very highly of you in that regard.”

Kelvin went to the top of my Christmas list. “It was a pleasure to work with him. He’s very talented,” I said, not sure what the fuck else to say to that.

“He says the same of you. And our fashion week team said you were professional and reliable.” The casting director’s keen gaze swept over me head to toe and he nodded. “Yes, I can see why they like you. Would you like to take it from here?” He sat back and let the creative director take over.

“Is that your lookbook?” The angular-faced man indicated the folio resting on my thighs.

“Yes.” I handed it over and he passed it to his colleagues who began to flick through it.

Darcy made no move to join them, seemingly happy to keep his critical eyes on me, like he was judging some prize bull.Whatever.

“We wanted to meet you today for a couple of reasons,” the creative director continued. “We’re obviously interested in evaluating your suitability for an ad campaign we have planned, and to that end, Darcy will take some shots today so we can get a feel for how you might fit in with that vision.” He paused.

I wasn’t sure whether I should say something, then decided to just wait him out.

“But there is another reason you’re here.” He smiled and all those other eyes landed on me again. “I’m sure it’s no surprise that Berlini is looking for a fresh face for our men’s brand, and we’re wondering if that might possibly be you.”

Holy fucking shit.This was it. My heart thundered in my chest and it was all I could do not to fucking squeal. A swallowed squeak didn’t count, right? Oh, fucking hell, I’d just squeaked.

The art director grinned. “I take it the idea might appeal to you?”

I turned with a no doubt incredulous expression on my face. “Are you kidding? I’d be honoured just to get the chance.”

He seemed pleased with that answer. “That’s good to know.”

Darcy finally spoke. “As you may be aware, you aren’t the only model we’re considering. We’re also looking at Ray Oliver.”

Fuck.My heart plummeted. Ray Oliver. Tall, dark, experienced, swoon-worthy gorgeous, friendly, and very, very Berlini. My confidence took a dive and Darcy’s hazel eyes danced in amusement.

“I can see you’re familiar with Ray,” he said. “Then you’ll understand why we like him as well.”

“I do.” I hated to admit it. “He’s talented and a great guy. We’ve done a couple of shows together.”

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