Capturing Her Beauty: BBW Billionaire Sweet & Sexy Romance (BBW Romance Series Book 1)

by Lexy Timms

  “Don’t abandon the idea,” he said to me, ignoring Natalia’s insult. “You have it, Kayla. You’re special.”

  Ordinarily, words like that from Donnie T. would have made my entire week. Instead, I was busy burning holes into the back of Natalia’s head and feeling extremely flustered. She knew I was looking at her and I could feel the icy smile on her face. I stormed out without another word.

  I’ll admit, I was fuming. It had been a few months since a model had gotten under my skin and it was bringing up bad memories that I liked to pretend weren’t real. My anger didn’t help my suddenly declining self-esteem, which was helping convince me that Donnie had said all that stuff just to humiliate me in front of a real model. I didn’t think Donnie was that kind of man, but I didn’t really know him well enough to be certain.

  I thought about what Bethany said, about how the voices she’d been trying to quiet were getting louder and harder to avoid. I knew that it was probably because of my meeting with Donnie (or any other number of reasons), but I began to suspect that people were talking about me and not in a good way. Nobody was coming up to me and asking how the meeting went.

  I was used to climbing the ladder and not being given my share of kudos or congratulations, but the more I received that treatment, despite showing nothing but good work, the more I concluded that nearly all of my coworkers, and the people within the organization, were nothing but bitter, angry people.

  When I first got into the industry, skinny models loved to talk to me about my weight and passive-aggressively tell me that they thought I was repulsive. I usually just smiled and focused my attention elsewhere. After a while, most of them shut their mouths, because they realized that I could kick their skinny asses if I wanted to. I liked to think that I earned their respect over time, but in that particular moment, I began to suspect that they were all just spineless. Sometimes the insults were to my face (or near my face), but often, the shitty comments were made behind my back (or near my back). Shit-talkers dread the idea of confrontation, because that leads to escalation, which could lead to a fight that I would surely win.

  I’d never been in a physical fight with a model, only verbal, and even that was rare. I didn’t believe in creating a hostile work environment and I believed that all problems could be solved through talking and understanding.

  I tugged on my hair, feeling a dreadful wave heading in my direction. Natalia exited Donnie’s office and was heading toward the receptionist area. We weren’t making eye contact, but we were both looking at each other.

  Once she got to the receptionist desk, she began to quietly chatter with our receptionist and one of Donnie’s agents. They talked and laughed quietly amongst themselves, occasionally shooting looks over at me.

  I was being flown back into the past just as I was being given a key to the future. I refused to handle things in the same manner as I had before. I could no longer ignore what was wrong. Confrontation or not, I was going to address what bothered me, even if it was to a model who could easily flaunt her beauty and weight in my face. I exuded confidence, but I was ready to project it.

  I stood up and marched over to the receptionist area. All three of them became silent at once. They all stupidly turned to their phones like robots.

  “Hey, you,” I said to Natalia. “New girl? Hello.”

  Natalia looked up from her phone, forming her patented evil smile.

  “If you want to keep saying shit about me, keep up how you were doing it in Donnie’s office,” I said to her. “Don’t come out here and stick that bony spine out at me and gossip with people.”

  The agent, Adam, put his phone down. “Kayla, I—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Adam, I’m not talking to you,” I interjected. “You’re lucky that I’ve never pulled out any jokes about that fucking syphilis you got last year. Yeah, I know about that and you better be grateful that I haven’t told every single person in this building about it.” I turned to the receptionist. “Katie, you like it when people come over and talk to you, no matter what it’s about. I wish you’d be pickier about who your friends are, but… I can’t tell you who to be friends with.”

  I turned to face Natalia, who was now chewing on a peppermint like a horse.

  “I feel sorry for you, anyway,” I said to her. “If it were up to me, I would never hire a woman who looks like you. You’re not skinny, you’re sick. You’re nothing but bones. That peppermint is probably the most food you’ve had all week.”

  “Oh, really?” laughed Natalia. “That’s an original insult.”

  “I’m sure it’s better than whatever fat ones you and these idiots came up with,” I retorted. “Trust me, I’ve heard them all, you’re wasting your breath. And, they’re not even that funny. I haven’t even heard them and I guarantee you they’re not funny.”

  A few others around the building were shooting glances in our direction, but we refused to erupt into a massive scene. We didn’t have to yell to fight.

  “It’s fine,” said Natalia. “You work around all these pretty girls. It’s clearly made you an angry woman. You dislike girls that are skinnier than you.”

  “That’s not true,” I said.

  “You hate all the models here,” she said.

  “I don’t hate anyone,” I replied. “That takes too much energy. I don’t like you, though.”

  “Aw, too bad,” she said, crunching on her peppermint.

  “We all have issues, whether we’re skinny, big, or somewhere in the middle,” I said to her. “I may not be the typical body size for a professional model, but I bet you if we each walked out on a runway, people would still be talking about me. They wouldn’t even remember you. You’re just another skinny skank.”

  “That’s nice,” she said. “You know, I didn’t even insult you. Donnie T. asked me my professional opinion on whether I thought you could be a model. And, I said no. Sue me, can’t I have an opinion?”

  “You know what you were doing in there,” I said. “You were trying to cut me down. Just like so many other models before you. I’m not going to let you sit around here and talk shit about me for years and do nothing. It ends right now.”

  “So, you’re the speech police?” she asked. “I can’t say you wouldn’t be a good model? You’re not big, honey, you’re gigantic. You would break the runway in two.”

  Silence. A phone rang off in the distance.

  “At least people can see me,” I replied. “When are you going to go throw up that peppermint you ate?”

  “I’m healthy,” she said.

  “No, you’re hellishly close to dying of starvation,” I said. “I’m scared for you. You don’t have to order a burger and only eat the pickle.”

  “Well, you don’t have to go ordering two whole burgers, sweetie,” she said. “Maybe you should be throwing up some of your food.”

  “Or, maybe we could test out how real all your hair is right here, right now,” I said stepping toward her. “I’ll tear those fake extensions right out of your puny, malnourished, bitchy head. Everything about me is real, honey.”

  For the first time since we had met, I watched a genuine, contemplative look form on Natalia’s face.

  “You know why you can’t be a model?” she said. “Your skin is too thin. What if I said something about your weight? So, what?”

  “So, what? You’ll just continue to keep insulting me behind my back and making jokes at my expense, while I’m trying to work and actually earn my keep around here,” I said. “I am tired of working while others sit around, gossip, and somehow keep their jobs with no stress. But, I’m going to keep doing it. I’m going to keep being me. You’ll keep being you and you can do whatever you want. But, we’re all working together here. We should be a team. And, we’re all insecure about some things, aren’t we? Let’s just try to not be mean to each other. What good does it do?”

  I quickly turned to Adam and Katie:

  “I’m sorry for what I said about you, Adam, that was shitty of me,”
I apologized sincerely. “That was a really difficult thing that happened to you and I’m sorry you had to go through it. Katie, I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  Natalia and I looked at each other for a moment before she turned and stomped away. Adam followed suit and I was already afraid that my outburst was going to somehow reflect badly on my upcoming job.

  I texted Bethany, no longer stifling my tears:

  “We have to get our product into production. Photos will be developed soon. Hope things on your end are going well. I’m ready to fucking go. Talk soon.”

  Chapter 11

  Justin

  Kayla’s pictures were all developed and ready to go. My favorite photos were hanging on wires closest to my computer. I called her and told her that she could come and pick them up when she was ready. She told me that she would be over soon.

  She wasn’t lying. In less than an hour, I heard a car pull up on the street beside my apartment building. It parked, but its engine was still running. I wondered if the driver was writing out a text message.

  Sure enough, I received a text from Kayla: “I’m here.”

  I ran down to the street and let her in through the front gate. We walked to my two-bedroom on the first floor, something that I was suddenly self-conscious about.

  “You okay?” she asked me, picking up on my signals.

  “I’m just a little embarrassed, I guess,” I admitted. “You live in a house and I live in an apartment.”

  “So?” she asked. “What’s wrong with that? There are some nice pads in Queens that I would totally sell my house for if I could afford it.”

  “Yeah, but you actually own a home. I pay rent—”

  “Hey, my house isn’t that big,” she insisted. “Have you seen how small the living room and kitchen are? Only one person can fit at a time in my kitchen. Don’t be embarrassed. I’ll probably like your place better than mine.”

  “Yeah, it’s just a place to live while I get my name out there,” I threw out. “I also turned the extra bedroom into my darkroom that I use to develop my photos.”

  “Oh wow,” she said. “You work from home.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do!” I hadn’t ever thought of it like that.

  I let her in, allowing her to take in the bachelor pad. She didn’t seem too impressed, but she liked how I had the place organized.

  I wasn’t rushing to push her back out the door, but I wanted to “keep it professional,” so I made sure to hand her the photos as soon as she looked comfortable. I had placed them in a folder in the order of when they were taken.

  She was silent during her inspection of the photographs. It was hard to tell how she felt about them, but she was certainly receptive, because she flipped through and stared at each one of them for long stretches of time. She didn’t linger on one for too long, but she was speechless from the work.

  She looked at me, her eyes watering. “I love them.”

  “I’m really glad,” I said, relief flooding my body.

  “I honestly thought I was going to hate how I looked in most of these,” she admitted.

  “Do you hate how you look in any of them?”

  “…Not really,” she replied. “Certain angles of me are a little unflattering… but, everyone has unflattering angles, so I’m not too bent out over it.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  “I really love them,” she said, hugging the photos to her chest. “It’s almost a shame that I’m not going to keep them all. They’re really good!”

  “Do you know how exactly you’re going to use the photos?” I wondered. “What’re you going to do with them now that they… exist.”

  “Well, my friend Bethany thinks we should- Bethany’s my friend who’s going to help us market this,” I told him. “Bethany thinks that the best route to take is formulate our own company and get into the business by finding buyers independently until we’re big enough to stand up on our own.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked her.

  “I think so,” she said. “I don’t know, really. I think a lot of this is scary. I’m afraid that my good ideas will be bad and my bad ones will be good.”

  “At least management would know how to use you,” I commented. “Just do the opposite of what you do.”

  “Yeah, I don’t want that to happen,” she said. “Especially after the last few days I’ve had. I can’t quit until I’m ready to leave.”

  “I thought you said you were already ready to leave.”

  “I said that I wanted to leave, not that I was going to,” she corrected. “I’m waiting until it’s right and once I know it is, I’m going into business for myself. Beth says I can do it. You said I could too.”

  “That’s true, I did,” I agreed.

  “The problem is, I don’t know that much about starting up a business,” she confessed. “I’ve done little research on the matter.”

  “Well, how much do you know about business?” I asked her.

  “…I know nothing about business, really,” she elaborated. “I know about fashion. And food, maybe.”

  “Sounds like you could use a good CPA license,” I quipped.

  “Yeah, but that would require going to school, which—”

  She had her epiphany and stared at me.

  “—which you have! I remember that! That’s so awesome!”

  “Trust me, I know a lot about legitimizing a business,” I bragged. “I may not do that kind of stuff for a living, but I could figure it out in my sleep. I also know a few people who are active in it that could help you get started. They owe me a few favors.”

  “I’ll let you know,” she said with a smile. She put her folder of photos in her bag, arching slightly toward the front door.

  “Well, thanks for coming over to get those,” I said. “You saw how lost I got trying to find your place the first time—”

  “Justin, do you think it’d be okay if you showed me your darkroom?” she asked sheepishly. “I want to see more of your work.”

  My heart dropped. There were several photos of her strewn throughout the room and I felt sure that she would get the wrong impression if she walked in without me cleaning the room up a little first.

  “I’ve a lot of things out, it’s a mess in there,” I said dismissively.

  “Do you have photos of me out?” she wondered.

  I laughed unabashedly. I wanted to say something clever, but my wit was still hard to draw from whenever Kayla was near me.

  “Yeah, of course I do,” I said grinning.

  She smiled, inching up closer to me until I could feel her breath on my neck…

  “I’d like to see your darkroom… Please?”

  As if commanding me by force, I immediately left my post and guided her over to the spare bedroom, where I instructed her on how to move and behave inside.

  Once we were inside, she was back to looking bewildered. I’d forgotten just how many of her photos I had hanging around and laying on counters in full view. Out of context, I would have surely looked like a creepy stalker. She didn’t appear to be freaked out by the quantity of her image in my darkroom, which boded well. I was still eager to photograph her again.

  “You have a lot of pictures of me out,” she said.

  “You’ve been my subject many times in the last week or so,” I reminded her.

  “I don’t see any photos of the models from the day of our shoot,” she said.

  “I gave those photos to the Donnie T. Agency,” I said.

  “Well sure, those,” she said. “But, you didn’t, like… make any copies? You didn’t take pictures of any of them on your phone…?”

  “No and I don’t think I’ve ever taken a picture of a picture on my phone,” I said.

  “So, what do you think of me whenever you see these pictures?” she asked.

  “I think… you’re the most stunning woman that I’ve ever photographed. I feel special and important, because this is obviously something you don’t do. I c
an assume no one else has ever taken photos of you like this?”

  “You can assume that,” she confirmed.

  “So, I’m the first one that got to capture you,” I said. “When the day comes and people are begging to take your picture, I’ll get to tell others that I was the first.”

  “Is being first that important to you?” she asked.

  “You make it sound like I’m bragging,” I said, slightly insulted. “I’m telling you that you’re one of the most impressive women I’ve ever met, certainly among the most impressive that I’ve ever slept with.”

  “Aw, just ‘among the most impressive’?” she asked, winking slyly.

  “You should learn how to take a compliment, you might like it,” I said.

  “Let me ask you something and please be honest,” she began. “Have you ever looked at any of my photos while you were pleasuring yourself?”

  Before I could decide on an answer, she was already giving me a wide smile. She knew the answer and I couldn’t blame her for being perceptive.

  “I might have,” I admitted.

  “It’s okay if you have,” she said. “I actually masturbated to some of the photos on your website. The ones of yourself.”

  She took down two photos from their hanging spots. One photo was of her on the spiral staircase, but the one that kept her attention was the one hanging closest to my computer screen: the picture of her on the glass table staring intensely into the lens.

  “Did you stroke your big dick while looking at these pictures?” she asked softly.

  “Perhaps,” I said. I began to instinctively play with myself through my pants.

  She put the photos down and stood directly in front of me, moving her chest up and into my own. Her face was centimeters away from my own. I could taste her breath… it was sweet and intoxicating.

  “You really get off on me, huh?” she whispered.

  “More than you’ll probably believe, yeah.”

  She looked around the darkroom, searching for inspiration and ideas. I knew the look, because I had it often.

  Instinctively, I ran for my digital camera that was sitting near the computer. I turned it on, played with the focus…