The woman swallowed audibly. “Y-yes, ma’am. Very much.”
“Then keep your fucking mouth shut. This girl is already nothing but bones. If she didn’t have the look this client wanted, she wouldn’t be standing here right now, letting you torture her in that stupid, cheap-ass top.” The woman gulped again, but it was the guy in the suit coming through the dressing room door that suddenly had Mom’s attention. “Oh, fuck no,” she snarled and moved to stand in front of me. “Get out.”
I was in nothing but the top the woman had stopped sewing me into in an attempt to dodge my mother’s temper. I didn’t even have on panties. Normally, that wouldn’t bother me. I was comfortable in my own skin, and there were times, especially at fashion shows, when I had to run around backstage completely naked to get into my next outfit before rushing out onto the catwalk. But the only guys who saw me running around like that were usually gay.
This guy, with his five-thousand-dollar custom-made suit and gleaming gaze that skimmed over me like a predator, was definitely not gay. I’d only met him for five minutes when Mom and I first arrived for the photo shoot a little over two hours before. He was the client, and after shaking my hand, he’d left with his army of personal assistants trailing after him.
Now he was back, minus the assistants, it seemed.
“Shaw, get your clothes on. We’re leaving.”
“But—” I started to argue, but a single look at me over her shoulder had me shutting my mouth and snagging the robe hanging on the back of my makeup chair. Pulling it on, I grabbed my clothes I’d arrived in and went into the bathroom off to the side of the room to get dressed.
As I slid on my school uniform skirt, I heard Mom tearing into the client. They were both getting loud, the guy reminding my mother that I had a contract. When I tried to pull the top over my head, I nearly broke my neck because it was too tight. Sighing, I opened the bathroom door and walked out.
Seeing I was having trouble, Mom snatched a pair of scissors off the makeup table and cut the shirt down the back. “Hurry up,” she muttered before turning back to the dickhead who thought he was going to get anywhere threatening my mother with a lawsuit.
When I came back out from putting on my bra and shirt, Mom had her phone to her ear. “Yo, redhead.” I cringed inwardly while mentally pumping my fist in the air all at the same time, because I knew exactly who she was talking to.
Mom wasn’t one to run to someone else to handle something for her, but apparently this guy was still stressing “lawsuit” if I didn’t stay and finish the photo shoot. Her mouthing off to him didn’t seem to have fazed him, if the way he’d turned his creepy gaze on me again when I walked out in my school uniform was any indication.
“How many people do you have who can make something go viral for me?” Mom asked Aunt Emmie. “No, no. I just want people to know about the child predator who is trying to eye-fuck my daughter right now and crying breach of contract because I refuse to let Shaw stay and model the pervert’s cheap fucking clothes.”
“What?” Even from where I was standing, I could hear Jagger’s mom’s reaction and hoped she wasn’t in a meeting. Because if she was, I knew she was scaring the crap out of the poor souls. I pressed my lips together, fighting a grin as I grabbed my purse and Mom’s things.
Stepping behind Mom, I pulled my phone from her back pocket and swiped open the camera so I could record what was about to go down. From the way the client was suddenly sputtering, I figured it was about to get a whole lot more fun to watch, and my dad would want to see the aftermath of two of his favorite women making some pussy piss himself this beautiful Friday.
Just as the camera started rolling, I saw the client nearly swallow his tongue before he started protesting, “I’m not a predator. I’ll sue you for slander if you spread that around.”
“Hold on, Emmie,” Mom spoke into the phone before lifting her blue eyes to the guy in front of her. “Take about ten steps back, dickhead. You’re too fucking close to my kid.”