envelope taunted her, peeking as it did out of the top of her tote bag, which was now nestled under the desk near her feet. Lila powered up the computer and plugged her headset into the phone, all the while telling herself that it was just another piece of mail, nothing special at all.
That, of course, was a lie. The return address— The Tannin Agency —made it all too clear that her entire destiny had been typed, signed, and stuffed into that slim white envelope. And she was such a spineless wimp she couldn’t even gather the courage to slide her finger under the flap, open the envelope, and pull the contents out.
It had arrived in last night’s mail, and she’d almost ripped it open right in front of the mailboxes. But then she’d stopped, because if it was bad news, what was she going to do then? The Tannin Agency was her last hope. Every other modeling agency in the city had already slammed the door in her face, albeit more politely than that. But to Lila, the familiar mantra of “you’re a beautiful woman who’s sure to find representation elsewhere” might as well be “go away, kid, you bother me.” After all, the end result was surely the same.
Just get it over with. She turned and eyed it again. Still there. Still taunting. Damn.
And then, before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned over, the cord on the headset stretching tight as she snatched the envelope out of her bag. Breathing deep, as if she’d just done something quite wicked and gotten away with it, she sat up straight and held it in front of her, staring at her name—Delilah Jean Burnett—the black letters a stark contrast to the blinding white of the paper itself.
A little devil perched on her shoulder urged her to do it, do it, do it. She recognized the voice. It was the same little devil that had encouraged her to leave Alabama for New York to try her hand at modeling despite her father’s staunch objections. A minister’s daughter, he’d said, doesn’t prance around half naked, wearing clothes designed to tempt and tease a man.
“It’s advertising,” she’d said. “And if the men can’t control themselves, then that’s just too bad for them.” Those were the strongest words she’d ever spoken to her daddy. But he was being unreasonable. After all, it wasn’t as if she was planning to model nude. That really would be wicked, and Lila could just picture her mother spinning in her grave, trying to shield herself from the horror of having a harlot for a daughter.
And if Lila every once in a while had secret fantasies about taking off her clothes and posing nude for the camera, well, those were just fantasies, right? It wasn’t as if she’d actually do something that wild. And the fantasies didn’t even include magazines or billboards or anything like that. God forbid she was plastered all over the planet in her altogether! Not even in her imagination would she go that far.
But to undress for a single photographer? Maybe even a boyfriend? She shivered slightly at the thought, the undeniable pleasure sizzling over her skin like water on a hot skillet.
Bad, Lila. You’re a very naughty girl.
She lifted her chin a little, because maybe she was. And maybe that kind of thinking proved she wasn’t the perfect little princess her daddy always made her out to be. New York was right for her, and she was right for it. At least so far. She may not have made her mark yet, but the Big City still hadn’t eaten her alive. Not yet, anyway.
She traced her finger along the edge of the envelope, thinking about that. The Tannin Agency had been her last hope. If the letter inside said no, then maybe New York really had just smacked her behind, but good.
Quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, she edged a fingernail under the flap. One, two, three.
Nothing.
Okay, no problem. Just try again.
One, two, three.
But her finger wouldn’t move.
Damn it all!
Frustrated, she tossed the envelope aside, glaring hard at