Page 66 of With a Cherry On Top

I watch her, my heart in a vise-like grip. Does she truly feel that way? Like she’s nothing more than an object? As if her worth is confined solely to what the world can see?

Before I can say anything, the people in front of us get their food, and it’s our turn to order. I get two corn dogs and two bottles of water, handing over a few crumpled bills before stepping away from the stand. The scent of fried batter and grilled sausage lingers in the air as we settle on the curb with the food.

She watches her corn dog with a strange expression, twisting it between her fingers like it’s something foreign, and in the silence, my mind drifts.

Why does she model? She makes it sound like a punishment. And yet, when she talked about those stylists and thatVogueperson, there was passion, like she actually gives a shit about the industry.

“Come on, just ask me your question.”

“Hm?” I blink, pulled from my thoughts.

She studies the corn dog as if it might talk back to her. “You want to know why I’m on TOP, right? I obviously don’t need the money, and if I feel like an...objectwhen I model, why would I put myself through more of that online?”

“Because when you’re on TOP, it’s the only part of your life where you’re...on top.” I smirk, watching her lips part in surprise. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

She blinks. “No, it doesn’t. It takes someone who pays attention though.”

How could I not? She commands it. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. And to be honest, paying attention to her is one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. Every little movement, every word, it all pulls me in.

“So, um...” She brushes the moment away, balancing her food on her knees. “What’s your question then?”

I hesitate, not knowing where to start. “You must make a lot of money on TOP, right?”

She looks genuinely surprised as she leans back, her fingers digging into the dewy grass. “Ten thousand on a good month.”

Holy shit.

“And modeling . . . that must pay well too.”

“Depending on the show,” she says. “I can make anywhere from five to fifty grand for a single show or shoot. Before taxes.”

Holy shit?

I rest my forearms on my thighs. “So why...” I clear my throat, wary of offending her. “I know you said you’re happy with your life, but you’re old enough to get your own place. To choose what you want to eat.”

“Oh. You want to know why I still live with Beatrice.”

“Yes, I guess so.”

She shrugs. “She keeps the modeling money—that’s what we live off.”

Sothat’show they afford their lifestyle. Beatrice lives on Charlotte’s shoulders.

“Wait, so, technically . . .you’repaying me?”

“Hmm. Yeah, technically, I am.”

Great. Even more reasons for this to be wildly inappropriate.

“Plus, she’s my agent. All my connections in the modeling world are her connections first. If I left, I’d lose my job.”

“And youwantto keep modeling?”

“Until someone from TOP narcs on me.” She sits up and brushes the dirt off her hands. “I mean, what should I do instead? I don’t have a college degree. I’m not smart, or good atsomething. I’m no good for anything except putting my clothes on and taking them off. Performing for people who just want to see my body.”

The words feel like they shouldn’t belong to her, like they make no sense. But she says them like they’re a fact.

“Which is why I probably shouldn’t eat this.” She takes the untouched corn dog off her lap and offers a small, resigned smile. “Look, Beatrice can be a bit...I mean, I hate her half the time. But the bottom line is this is all I know how to do. And if I want to continue modeling, I have to follow her rules.”

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