by Sloan, C. T.
“No. Though I wouldn’t mind being in a movie.”
“Of course, who wouldn’t. I do think that there is some project that could fit your personality.” I look over at my boss. Though he is not paying attention with his eyes, I am sure that Mr. Peak is listening to every single word spoken at the table.
“Mr. Peak will have to approve any proposal made. After all, anything I do in public will bring attention to my boss’s business,” I explain.
“You have a smart girl,” Liam says to Mr. Peak. My boss puts his menu down and looks at me for a moment.
“Sarah can surprise you. Sometimes she gets out of line. Though, I have discovered various ways to bring her back into line,” Mr. Peak remarks as I feel his hand run up my leg.
I look at Liam as I slowly open my legs for my master. “Mr. Peak has trained me well. That means I am well disciplined,” I explain as my face begins to blush.
Liam has no idea what is going on. He continues to talk to me about various opportunities at his portfolio of cable networks. “I can start you off with something simple like a guest starring spot on one of our hour long dramas. From there, we can develop a show around your talents,” the media mogul explains as Mr. Peak runs his fingers up against my panties.
I begin to pant lightly as my boss rubs me under the table. I grab one of the napkins and hold it up to my face as I moan slightly.
“You seem to be excited with my proposal,” the media mogul proclaims.
“This is turning out to be one hell of a night,” I say breathlessly as Mr. Peak rubs me faster and faster. I take a drink of ice water and grab the table. Oh my God. I am going to fucking cum right here in the middle of the restaurant.
“Oh fuck,” I say as I look at Mr. Peak.
“Are you okay, Sarah?” Liam asks me.
Oh yeah, I’m fine as I look down and slam my hands on the table. A couple of people turn their heads and look in our direction. I don’t give a fuck right now. Mr. Peak is rubbing me out like there’s no tomorrow!
I look at Liam. He suddenly realizes what is going on. He begins to blush. Then he smiles and says, “Well then. It was a pleasure meeting you, Sarah. We will be in touch. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening.”
“Thank you, Liam,” I say as I grab a napkin and try to muzzle my orgasm.
My body stiffens up and then relaxes. I slide down on the chair and place my hands down by my side. The waiter arrives with a bottle of wine. Mr. Peak takes his glass and offers up a toast. “To the evening,” my boss says.
With whatever little energy I have left, I lift up my glass and join in the toast. “To an evening that couldn’t start out better.”
We toast. We drink. Indeed, this is already a hell of an evening.
***
Mr. Peak and I enjoy a nice long dinner with more than our share of the restaurant’s inventory of Chateau Latour Pauillac. We walk out of the establishment waiting for Mr. Peak’s Rolls-Royce when a couple of teenage girls stroll up to us.
“Oh my God! I thought it was you,” one of the teenage girls says to me. I have no idea what she means by that so I don’t say anything. All of a sudden, one of the other teenage girls opens her purse and pulls out her iPhone. “Can we take a photo with you?”
I can’t believe this. These are my fans. “Sure,” I tell the girl as I pose for a photo with the teens. It suddenly hits me that I am really becoming a celebrity. The girls take several photos with me. Then they begin to gush about my interview on CNN earlier that afternoon. “I just love the way you fucked up that anchor. You made her walk off her own show!” one of the teens says excitedly.
“Thank you,” I say. The girls run off shrieking about their celebrity sighting. I look over at Mr. Peak who appears to be rolling his eyes.
“Boy, you are really going to have a big head by the time this evening is over,” my boss remarks as he walks up to the Rolls-Royce. The driver opens the door for us while I bask in the afterglow of a great dinner, an unexpected orgasm and the adulation of a couple of fans.
We settle inside of the car. Just as everything seems to get perfect, I hear a smack on the door. Fuck! The paparazzi are out there taking photos. Mr. Peak shoots them a look. All of the photographers back off with the exception of one burly looking guy who slams his lens right up against the sedan’s right rear window. He flashes a photo, almost daring my boss to react. By the look on my boss’s face, that burly paprazzi looks like he has created a huge fucking problem. Mr. Peak barks at the driver, “Hold the car!”
My boss reaches for the door handle. I realize that my boss is about to detach that paparazzi’s head from his body. That is the last sort of publicity my boss needs. I gently place my hand over his arm and say, “Sir. Please allow me to handle the situation.”
My boss looks at me like a tiger poised to strike. “If that man takes another photo of me, I will paint the sidewalks with his intestines,” Mr. Peak fumes. I nervously nod because I know that my boss does not make empty threats.
I open the door and smile wide for the most aggressive photographer in the group.
“Hey babe. How long have you been fucking the rich guy?” the photographer asks.
“How much do you make a year?” I ask him.
“What?!” he says as he lowers the camera.
“Tell me. How much do you make a year.”
“I fucking make four hundred thousand a year taking photos of celebrities!” the photographer yells pridefully.
“How would you like to make twenty-five times that amount right now?” I ask him.
“Huh?” the photographer says.
I walk up to the man and put my arm around him. Then I pull his head close to my lips. “You see my boss right there? If you take another photo of him, he will be forced to pay you ten million dollars. Do you know why my boss will be forced to pay you ten million dollars? It’s because my boss will turn you into a quadriplegic. You will never walk again. You will never be able to use your arms again. You will have to piss and shit into a colostomy bag for the rest of your days. Your body will be dead from the neck down,” I explain in a cold monotone voice.
The paparazzi is frozen. He can’t even move right now. His eyes are trained directly at my boss who is looking through that man’s body. I calmly walk over to the Rolls-Royce. When I open the door, the burly photographer takes a step back and looks away. No one even comes close to taking another photo of Mr. Peak. Mission accomplished.
Mr. Peak seems rather impressed. He doesn’t say anything. However, I can tell by the look on his face that he is satisfied with the way I diffused the situation. As the Rolls-Royce speeds back to the townhouse, I rest my head on Mr. Peak’s shoulder and say, “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Sir.” He rewards me by putting his massive arm around me. As an added bonus, he gently squeezes my breasts.
***
I wake up to the sun hitting me in the face. My entire body feels refreshed. The room is flooded with light. I pick up my phone and check the time. It’s a little past 11 a.m. Wow. What time did we finally get to sleep last night? Mr. Peak got back at around midnight. We drank and fucked around a little more. We probably didn’t shut our eyes until around 5 a.m. Naturally, the big boss is already back at the office.
As I get out of bed and put on a robe, I hear a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Forgive me for intruding on you, Miss Sulamari,” the house butler announces through the bedroom door.
“That’s okay, Gabe. What’s up?”
“At around 10 a.m., I had received a call from the Juliette Agency.”
“Really?”
“They are quite anxious to have you return their phone call.”
I jump up and down. The Juliette Agency is the most exclusive modeling firm in the world! I can’t believe this is happening to me.
I quickly hop out of the robe and put on a silver dress with a white ruffled skirt. When I run out of the bedroom, Gabe says, “I have a car waiting fo
r you outside, Miss Sulamari.”
“Thanks, Gabe!”
I take the elevator downstairs. My mind races with anticipation. I nearly trip twice while putting on my heels during my run to the townhome’s front door. I hurry outside to find the Rolls-Royce ready to send me on my way.
We head down to Soho. I turn on the rear mounted TV and find the morning news talking about little ole me again. The news anchors discuss my now infamous CNN interview. As it turns out Lenna Thomson had to issue an on air apology about her behavior. The morning anchors continue to lavish praise on my ability to “play the New York media like a Stradivarius.”
Damn, this non-stop ego trip is going to cause my head to swell right through the ceiling of this car. We arrive at the Soho offices of the Juliette Agency. The door opens. I am met by a stunning brunette. “Miss Sulamari. My name is Janice. I am so glad that you agreed to meet us!” she tells me as I am escorted out of the car and into the twelve story building.
Janice is really beautiful. She looks as though she was once a model herself. As we catch a reflection of each other in the lobby mirror, I realize that I am certainly not model material. I consider myself reasonably attractive. But I am certain not one of these six foot swans with perfect tits and a perfect ass. Fame is certainly the skeleton key to opportunity!
We arrive at the top floor of the building. The door opens and an entire room full of, mostly women in impeccably dressed attire - applaud my presence. Damn, it looks like the entire modeling agency is here to meet me.
An attractive and familiar looking woman - in her 50s - walks up to me. Oh my God, it is Julilette Romaine herself! The CEO of the damn modeling agency is here to meet me. The modeling agency legend extends her hand and says, “Sarah. We are honored to have you meet us.”
I am taken to a large glass conference room overlooking Soho. The women sort of look at me like a piece of meat. Being a hot property can really make you feel like some sort of prey out in the Serengeti.
Juliette wastes no time making me feel like a queen. I am seated at the head of the table while a glass of sparkling water is placed in front of me.
“Before we start with the meeting, we first have to applaud you for what you did to J.T. Marcos,” Juliette proclaims. The room burst with applause. Damn, that film director really had a problem with women.
The CEO goes on to explain, “I know three models who were physically abused by that piece of shit. And rumors were that he had raped more than a couple of actresses.” Juliette then leans in and smiles. “Tell me. How did you get your boyfriend to fuck him up like that?”
Oh wow, if they only knew the truth. Well, this is not the time to be forthright. Let’s face it, one big component of fame is to build your own mystique. I smile and take a drink of water. The entire room is anxiously waiting for an answer on how I supposedly sicced Mr. Peak on that director. After letting the room fill with silence for a good ten seconds, I say, “Inside every man is a wild tiger. When a girl knows how to tame and train that tiger, she can unleash that animalistic power at will.”
The women look at me like the wise Sage of feminist power. Considering that I am the youngest girl in the room, this is beginning to freak me out. Nevertheless, everyone seems to be in awe of me.
Juliette begins to walk around the massive table as she calmy launches into her pitch. “You already know many of our most famous models. Just about all of them were discovered on the streets or in night clubs. Today all of them have stellar careers in modeling, acting and other enterprises. That means, we know how to cultivate talent.” Juliette sits down next to me and takes my hand. “I will personally make sure you will become the biggest name in fashion and modeling. Companies will kill to have you work for them. You will be adored by the entire world.”
Damn, she is good. I look around the room. All of these people are waiting for me to say “yes.” The most famous woman in the modeling world looks at me with a ferocity that frightens me. She is seducing me with things that not even Mr. Peak could offer.
An assistant hands the agency legend a leather bound portfolio. Juliette opens the leather bound portfolio. Inside is a check. There are lots of zeros on that check. I grab the check and look at the amount - five hundred thousand dollars. Even Mr. Peak would not want me to turn down this opportunity.
“Where’s the pen?” I ask. The entire room explodes with applause and activity. Several women stand up and begin to make calls. Someone takes a photo of me with Juliette. Another woman walks into the conference room with a cart full of champagne.
“We are so glad to have you in the family!” Juliette says as she gives me a hug. All these attractive women begin to hug me and hand me glasses of champagne. I almost want to cry. I’ve spent my entire life being unspectacular in every way possible - average grades, average looks and average ambition. Now, all these sophisticated New York girls huddle around me like I’m the queen bee.
Before I know it, Juliette is talking about booking me gigs. “You’ll be shooting a spread for Chloe. They are already dying to get you in their Fall Collection ad campaign,” Juliette tells me. Oh my goodness, things are moving so fast.
I look down at my phone and notice about a dozen messages from Mr. Peak’s office. Uh oh. I call Mr. Peak’s managing director.
“Hello, Elliot.”
“Sarah. Where are you?!”
“I’m, uh, doing some business.”
“Mr. Peak is looking for you. You have to get down here. Mr. Peak doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Yeah, tell me about it.
***
I take the car over to Mr. Peak’s office at Columbus Circle. After thinking about it for a while, I decide to not tell Mr. Peak about my new modeling career. He will most likely be thermonuclear that I was out of the townhouse when he called for me. All I can say is, life is not boring when you are Mr. Peak’s gal!
As soon as I get out of the car, Mr. Peak’s New York managing director grabs me and rushes inside of the building.
“Where were you?! He’s pissed.”
“I signed on to a modeling agency!” I blurted out. Damn, I just couldn’t help myself. I’m so excited my mouth betrayed me.
We hurry into the elevator. The managing director gets on his phone and says, “Please tell Mr. Peak that Miss Sulamari is on her way up.”
We get to the forty-second floor. The managing director rushes me past the trading floor, down the hall and over to Mr. Peak’s gigantic corner office. My broad-shouldered boss is pacing the floor like a caged bull.
“Thank you, Elliot,” Mr. Peak says as the managing director makes a quit exit.
Mr. Peak walks over to me and picks me up. He carries me across the room and sits me right on top of his desk. My boss rips open my shirt and grabs my breasts. He begins to kiss my neck. I spread my legs apart. Mr. Peaks begins to rub me just the way I like it.
My boss runs his hand into my underwear and begins to finger me. I lie back onto the table and moan like a virgin. Fuck. He is so nice with his hands. He stares at my face as I begin to pant. I grab each end of the table and scream my approval.
As Mr. Peak fingers me, he chokes me with his other hand. “You don’t know how to pick up your phone, Sarah?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Peak,” I say as my boss fingers me so nice and fast that I cum like a teen on prom night.
Mr. Peak slides his fingers from my underwear and pushes me off of the table. I fall to the ground in a puddle of ecstasy. My boss strolls over to his personal bar and takes a celebratory drink of Chardonnay. I crawl across the room and beg Mr. Peak for a drink. He lifts me up and hands me a glass. “Thank you, Sir,” I tell my boss as I take a cool sip of the white wine.
“So do you enjoy being famous?” my boss asks me.
I smile a little and can’t help be honest. “I do indeed love it, Sir.”
“There is a lot of upside - money, adoration, attention, approval from the masses,” my boss explains.
“Yes, a lot of upsi
de, Mr. Peak,” I concur as I take another sip of the wine.
My boss walks up to his desk, grabs a large white envelope and tosses it in my direction. I drop the wine glass as the envelope hits me in the chest. “Welcome to the downside of fame, Sarah,” Mr. Peak says as the envelope lands at my feet.
I look at the envelope. What the hell can be in there? What downside is waiting for me? I don’t want to pick up that envelope. I don’t want to know that my great life can be shattered. Everything is too perfect right now.
As much as I don’t want to know the downside, I must always obey my boss. I bend over and pick up the envelope. I open it. Inside are large 8 x 11 photos of me walking around New York City. There are more photos of me back in L.A. before I worked at the Peak Fund. I start to get scared. I look inside the envelope and find more of photos of me as a teenager in Thousand Oaks, California. Good God. What the fuck is all this?!
