Alright, this is IMPORTANT: I'm going to be in Malaysia for 3 weeks so I can't update while I'm there (this is all saved on my desktop computer). When I return, I promise you guys 2 or 3 chapters. I'll be back around July 5th-ish. Sorry, not my idea.
Oh, and sorry for not updating Saturday, I was busy most of the day and Sunday I was at a party.
Chp 3, Fang's POV
"Well, Maxine, was it?" I smirked. "How much do you value your job right now?" I cold see in her eyes, a flash a fear, but it quickly hardened into resolve.
"My name is Maximum," she said slowly, as if I was dim (though I pretended to be, I'm really a borderline genius), "and I plan on keeping my job, thank you very much." She was acting tough. Hm.
"You know," I drawled out slowly, "if one were to tell your boss what you did, he'd have you fired like that." I snapped my fingers for emphasis.
Maximum crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. "Anne loves me. She wouldn't fire me, just postpone my inevitable promotion." Her head was held high, a cold stubbornness clear in her warm brown eyes.
"Cocky, aren't we?" I mocked. The side of her mouth curled into something that could pass for a smile.
"As confident as I may be, I'm still not half as arrogant as you. Not to mention self-centered, snobby, and narcissist." Damn, this girl was tough. And she wasn't backing down. I almost smiled, despite my reputation of being a silent, emotionless rock. I only smiled for the cameras, and even then Jeb had a hard time getting me to grin.
"Is that what you think of models?" I asked, leaning forward and down a little. She wasn't short, but I still had a good half a foot on her. I breathed the words in her ear, making her shiver. Suddenly, the breath whooshed out of me at once, and I backed up, doubling over and holding my stomach.
Maximum was examining her knuckles calmly. "Yes," she replied shortly. I looked at her in amazement. She was probably a year or two younger than me, clearly beautiful, defiance dancing in her chocolate-brown eyes, no ring on her finger, was she single? She wasn't dazzled by me or Dylan, when most girls were trying to tear off our clothes (and Dylan would surely remove theirs, too).
"You know, we're not all like that," I managed to get out, straightening up. She punched hard, even I had to admit. That blow left me slightly winded, something I wasn't used to. Then again, nobody dared touch a famous male model with an 8-pack. Just saying.
Maximum put her hands on her hips. "Care to prove me wrong?" she challenged. I stared into her eyes. They were brown, the shade reminding me of some chocolates I'd once eaten in Paris. They had been so delicious, Gazzy had a ton of them and had to throw up later.
I leaned in so my lips brushed her ear. I ignored the shiver that went through my body at our proximity. "I think I will, Maximum," I murmured before turning around and leaving the room with her standing there, a look of shock on her face. Silently, I laughed at her dumbfounded expression.
Max's POV
I shook off the blush that had snuck onto my face when Nicholas decided to invade my personal space, trying to regain my composure. I picked up my notepad and pen that lay forgotten on the floor. I exited the small, plush room, only to practically run into an African-American girl. She looked about my age, maybe a year or two older. She wore plenty of makeup, but unlike on Brigid, it looked flattering on her and was delicately applied with an experienced hand.
As I registered this, I was bombarded by what I like to call a word salad. "ZOMG, I'm so sorry, I didn't think there was anyone in there, Fang just left it. I'm Monique, I'm the clothing and fashion designer here at HMA. Wow, you're really pretty, has anyone ever told you that? Like, your hair isn't quite blonde, but it's not brown either! And it's wavy, not straight or curly! I wish I had hair like that sometimes," the girl spluttered out. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself! My name is Monique Williams, but everyone calls me Nudge because they have to nudge me to make me be quiet. They all say I talk too much. Wait a minute, OMG, you must be her!" I blinked. What?
"Um, hi. I'm Maximum Ride," That was as far as I got before I was being dragged down the carpeted hallway into a room filled with clothes. Literally. From floor to ceiling, which was about twenty feet high, there were racks upon racks of dresses, suits, shirts, pants, skirts. You name the kind of clothing, I swear it was there. A whole quarter of the room was dedicated for "Accessories".
"You have a great body, I want to try this new dress I made. Of course, I don't have the body for it and Angel's too young, but it would fit you perfectly!" Nudge babbled. She moved swiftly with practiced ease through the room, narrowly avoiding boxes of nail polish and makeup scattered hazardously around the room. "This is my workshop," Nudge called to me over her shoulder. "I usually stay in here, designing new clothes for the models! It's so sad that Angel is the only female model right now. And she's only 13, so her curves haven't come in yet, so she can't wear most of the dresses!"
I almost collide with her again when she stops suddenly. She reached into one of the racks and pulled out a dress. Even I, who dislikes wearing dresses generally, gasped. It was sparkling silver and went to about mid-thigh. It had one strap, I noted, before I was shoved into a somewhat hidden dressing room, dress in hand, and with matching silver heels thrown at me.
Okay, hold up. I was beyond confused. I mean, it's not every day you run into someone and they scream "you must be her!" and then force you to wear a dress. Come on, is this normal? No, I don't think so. But I guess my brain wasn't working quite right and I slipped into the dress, which creepishly fit perfectly. In the back of my mind, I vaguely wondered why, but my brain was still in a bit of a fog.
As I emerged from the dressing room, trying hard not to stumble in the three-inch heels Nudge threw at me, Nudge squealed so loudly I quickly pressed my palms to my ears in an effort to block the high-pitched noise coming from Nudge's mouth.
"Shut up!" I cried out. Nudge closed her mouth, blushing slightly. Her embarrassment seemed to last only for a second because before I realized what was happening, she sat me down in front of a vanity mirror and started pulling out wicked-looking metal things.
"What the firetruck are those?" I demanded. Nudge stared at me like I just grew wings out of my back (A/N: ha ha).
Nudge waved one of the metal things in front of my face. "This is a curling iron," she said slowly. "And this is a hair straightener. This is a hairdryer." I blinked. The hunk of shiny metal looked nothing like my hairdryer at home. Nudge glanced down at it and unfolded it. It was a collapsable hairdryer. Of course.
"Let's make you gorgeous! Course, you already are gorgeous, that's why you're here! But seriously, are you even wearing any makeup? No matter, it's easier when you're not." Suddenly, Nudge started applying foundation, I believe it's called, to my face. I found it better not to argue with someone holding a burning-hot metal wand in one hand, so I sat still and suffered through the process.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind the occasional skirt and the touch of makeup. It's just that I don't pay much attention to what I wear. I don't care that much, honestly. And my sister, Ella, has tied me to a chair a couple times and forced me to let her do my makeup (for Prom and my first date).
So I allowed Nudge to do what she wanted, partly because of how seriously she took the whole thing. Is this what they always do to reporters? I can see why Brigid wanted this, 'd make her look the age she claims she is.
About half an hour later, Nudge let me look in the vanity, which had been covered until this point. I sucked in a breath quickly, staring in awe at my new face. I don't know what she did. With a careful hand, she made me look absolutely gorgeous. I stood up and hugged Nudge, who was equally pleased.
"This is my best work yet," Nudge was simpering. "Oh gods, I can't cry, my makeup isn't waterproof!" She fanned her face and hopped around, squealing. Then I was yanked to my feet. I tried to regain my balance as I stumbled around for a second(hey, don't laugh, I don't wear heels very much).
"We have to show the others! OMG, they'll love you! 'Course, they would anyways, but still! OMG, come on, what was your name again? Maximum? That's a perfect model name! It's original, it's creative, not to mention sexy." Nudge grinned at me. She led the way to a large, plush room. Several people were lounging around, and they all looked up and gaped.
There was a bar on the North side of the room. A tall, pale guy with strawberry blonde hair was standing behind it. He was the only one not staring. Wait, scratch that. He was looking at my forehead. I remembered my notes. James Griffiths. Blind. Of course. He wasn't the bartender, he was a model. That explains the unfocused look in his cloudy eyes, not to add that he was quite attractive. In fact, everyone in the room was very attractive.
My eyes shifted over to a younger version of James. He was a young teen, platinum blonde with blue tips on the edges of his spiked-up hair. He had bright blue eyes and he hadn't quite lost all his baby fat, giving him a young look. He had the same nose and the high cheekbones that James had, testifying they were siblings.
Sitting in an armchair a ways away with the Griffiths was a girl, maybe 12 years old. Like the others, she had a halo of blonde hair that encircled her pre-pubescent face. She had blue eyes like the younger Griffiths boy, but hers were slightly more aquamarine than his. What was her name again? She reminds me of an angel... Of course. Her name is Angel something... Hagen-Daz? Whatever.
On the couch was Nicholas, that arrogant sonuva- wait, not in front of the kids. I almost blushed as I recalled our earlier encounter. Me calling him an arrogant fuck, him threatening to have me fired, me punching him, then him telling me he'll prove me wrong about models.
Nicholas was staring at me, open-mouthed, his near-black eyes widened. I strutted over to him and he scrambled up so we were face-to-face. I ran a finger down his chest, absently tracing his defined muscles. He gulped at our proximity. Ha. I leaned in close and closed his mouth with my finger.
"You'll catch flies that way, Walker," I noted. Then I pushed him lightly away and walked back to Nudge. She, along with James and his brother, were trying (unsuccessfully) to smother their laughs. Even Angel Guthrie-Hog was holding back a smile. Nicholas' cheeks colored in embarrassment.
Suddenly, Mr. Jeb Batchelder burst into the room, Dylan strolling in leisurely behind. Jeb scanned the room. His eyes instantly locked onto me, something that was becoming more and more common of late. "What is going on here?"
"Sir, this is Maximum, the new model," Nudge announced.
Wait, what?
Yup, you guessed it! Probably. So, R&R, what do I need to do? ~Hellisa
