“There are plenty of successful actresses who have smaller breasts. Look, I’m not trying to talk you out of this, I just want you to be sure that it’s what you want before you go through with it.” I smile and she looks away.
It’s clear that she is torn about something, and I would do anything to help her. She suddenly looks up at me.
“If I were to go through with it, what would the cost be to go up two sizes?” I feel my heart sink a bit. I don’t know what’s wrong with me—here is a client coming from one of the wealthiest producers in Hollywood. I could quote her whatever I liked and he would be more than happy to pay, knowing that I’d produce a work of art that would turn heads everywhere she went from here on out.
But then, I don’t really want to do the surgery. I don’t want this girl to make herself look fake because her uncle thinks she should. I want to show her what it’s like to be appreciated for who she is—just how she is. She’s perfect. I reluctantly pick up another book and flip it open, naming her several quotes. I can’t help but smile when her eyes widen.
“Your uncle is going to pay for this, I assume?” I ask with a grin. She nods, though she is still white as a sheet.
“Good. Well, think it over and let me know what you decide. Let your uncle know that I cut him a good deal on this, too. I’ve recently raised my personal fee for such surgeries, and that alone adds several thousand dollars to the cost.” I smile once more, and she shakes her head. Suddenly, I realize she is still lying on the table under the towel, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel slightly embarrassed.
“You can get dressed,” I tell her—though I would much rather stand there and stare at her perfect body all day.
25
Chapter 4
Charli
I grab my tank and yank it over my head, embarrassed that I’d chosen such a skimpy top to wear. Of course I wore the hoodie over the top, but what must he think of me? Does he think that I normally run about with practically nothing on? Then again, this is Hollywood, and I haven’t exactly seen a lot of people concerned about the amount of skin they show in public.
“I hope that I was able to answer all your questions,” he says as he watches me put my clothing back on. I refuse to make eye contact with him as I zip up my hoodie once more—zipping it up high enough to hide any cleavage my bra created. There’s a part of me that thinks he is almost disappointed that I covered so much of myself, but then, I refuse to let myself think about that.
“Yes, thank you. I think that should be all that he needs to know,” I say. I still feel awkward discussing the size of my breasts with anyone, let alone my uncle or this gorgeous man in front of me, but I have no choice.
“Here, let me write a few things down for you that you can pass along. That way you’ll be certain to remember everything.” Dr. Carr smiles as he scribbles a few things down on a piece of paper in his notebook. He tears the page free and hands it to me, then he hands me a few more brochures.
“Just so you know for sure what you are going to be facing as far as aftercare goes. I know it can be difficult when you are in the middle of a project, and he might want you to get it done as soon as possible. Although once again I can’t help but say I don’t think this procedure is necessary for you. You’re perfect.” Dr. Carr clasps his hands behind his back and I blush despite my biggest efforts not to.
“Thank you,” I say again. I don’t know what else to say. The most attractive man I have ever seen in my life just told me that I have a perfect body—how would any girl respond to that?
I can’t help but be a little confused by his assessment. Why would he tell me something that would lose him money? Was he giving me his professional opinion—it’s his job to recognize beauty, after all—or was he being a little more personal?
He opens the door and points me down the hall, and I give him a small wave as I leave.
I can’t get him out of my mind the entire drive back to my apartment. I know I have to get down to the studio and meet with my uncle, but I’m going to take a minute to change into something a little less revealing first.
His black hair. His dark blue eyes. I think I might have even detected the bottom part of a tattoo when he rolled up his sleeves to examine me.
To examine me! The memory of that man with my breasts cupped in his hands is almost more than I can bear. I can feel a heat in my loins as I drive and I shake my head.
I’ve only ever been with one other man in my life—and he could hardly be considered a man. My boyfriend and I had slept together on prom night, and I had to admit, it was a huge letdown. I tried to excuse it as us both being eighteen and not knowing what we were doing, but ever since that night I’ve never really wanted to have sex with anyone in else. It just didn’t seem exciting after my disappointing experience.
I was too busy with my acting career to worry about boys in college, and now here I am, dreaming about the man who has given me a breast exam for surgery. Maybe it’s time for me to reassess my celibate lifestyle. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts of the doctor.
I have to find my uncle.
* * *
“And this is everything?”
“That’s everything he gave me besides this bit of advice. He doesn’t think I should go through with the surgery.”
“What? Why?” Uncle Harvey looks at me with raised eyebrows. I can’t tell if there is concern in his eyes or not, but I continue anyway.
“He says my body is perfect just the way I am. He doesn’t think that I need surgery to fix anything.” I smirk, but it fades when my uncle bursts into laughter.
“Well, that’s why he’s in that line of work, and I’m in this one. Excellent. I want you to give them a call and set an appointment right away. During recovery we can film some of the slower scenes. And you can use that time to work on your lines.” He beams as he turns on his heel and walks away, but I can’t help but call after him.
“I don’t think I really need to—”
“Remember the contract!” he shouts back. I sigh. There is no winning.
I wait until the next day to call.
The phone rings and rings, and I can’t help but think that the receptionist is sitting there, letting it ring off the hook as she stares blankly at the computer screen in front of her. When the answering machine picks up, I am tempted just to hang up and try again later.
On impulse, I decide to leave a message.
“This is Charli Sykes. I wanted to set an appointment for surgery, so if you could give me a call back as soon as you get this, I would very much appreciate it.” I leave my number and hang up, skeptical that the receptionist will ever call me back—she didn’t seem to be too fond of me when I was in the office. Now, it’s time to focus on the rest of the day.
It’s not until late in the afternoon when my phone finally rings. I look down, and not recognizing the number, answer. I’m surprised to hear Dr. Carr’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Hey, I got your message and was just giving you a call back,” he says.
“I thought that’s what you have a receptionist for.” Why am I teasing him?
“She’s out at lunch, and I didn’t want to leave you hanging. Anyway, there are a few more things I would like to discuss with you before we go ahead and set the date for the surgery, but I would prefer to discuss it over lunch rather than in the office.” He speaks casually, but my guard is up.
“Lunch?” I ask. It’s seems kind of strange for a plastic surgeon to discuss a procedure over lunch, but maybe that’s just the way people do things in this town.
“Sure, no doubt you’ll want to get away from all the stress of the set for an hour or two. Besides, you’re technically going to still be working.” He laughs at his little joke and I can’t help but smile in spite of myself. It wasn’t a date, after all, but I could always pretend.
“How about going down to Starsky’s?” he asks and I almost drop my phone. That is a five star restaurant, and one
of the most expensive ones in town at that. My lunch alone would cost me a week’s salary. I hesitate, not knowing how to answer.
“This is a client lunch, so I’ll pick up the tab,” he prompts. That is an offer I can’t refuse, and though I feel strange doing it, I hear myself accepting his invitation.
“Excellent. Then I will see you tomorrow at one if that works for you?”
“One o’clock works fine for me. See you then, and thank you.” I hang up the phone, ignoring the flutter in my stomach. I’ll probably never get used to the way they do things around here.
* * *
If you want to continue reading this story,
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About the Author
Mrs. Love writes about smart, sexy women and the hot alpha billionaires who love them. She has found her own happily ever after with her dream husband and adorable 4 year old.
Currently, Michelle is hard at work on the next book in the series, and trying to stay off the Internet.
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©Copyright 2020 by Scarlett King - All rights Reserved
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