CHAPTER ELEVEN

But Giorgio still found himself thinking about that crazy encounter and why he kept feeling as if they'd met before. It bothered him so much that he even brought it up when Rhonda finally entered his office with the model portfolios he had requested.

"She's the one that barged into my office. She's the one that interrupted me. Yet I'm the nasty one? I'm the one that treats people like dirt? Who does she think she is?

"A woman that tells the truth?" Rhonda asked him.

Giorgio looked at his long-time secretary. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Anyway," she said, not about to get fired over that foolishness, "these are the portfolios you wanted." She placed them on his desk. "Claudio said none are strong enough contenders for HOJ, and they aren't as strong as the first crop I gave to you. But they're the next best that showed up. He's having the final casting call as we speak. He says if he can't find enough models there, then we may have to consider scrapping the fresh face approach and go with the pros."

"That's not his decision to make."

"Didn't say it was," said Rhonda. "But that's the reality of it." Then she left out of his office, closing the door behind her.

He skimmed through the pictures of the various models in their various portfolios, and if they were the cream of the crop, the cream was sour. None of them would do.

He then turned on his desk monitor that connected to his ballroom to see what the latest crop looked like. It was another huge turnout, and he leaned back in his chair and watched as numerous ladies and gents were parading themselves in front of Claudio and his team. But as he watched them, he was not impressed with any of them. A few had the look, but they didn't have the body. A few had the body, but they didn't have the look. Nobody had the total package he required to ever be considered as one of his in-house models. Nobody had what it took.

Then he looked over against the wall where several models were waiting to walk. But what struck him was one of the two African-Americans seated against that wall. Both appeared to be well into their thirties. One of the two, the taller one, certainly had the body of a model. A very impressive body. But her looks weren't strong enough at all.

But then something hit him. And he leaned into the monitor. Because he suddenly realized that the other one, the shorter one, was that same woman that had barged into his office. The one that stood toe-to-toe with him as if she was his equal.

Now he was confused. Was all that talk about looking for the non-existent contracts department a ruse? Was she really just a model trying to get a leg up on her competition by coming straight to the source just as he originally thought?

But somehow he doubted if that was true.

It was in her demeanor. She sat against that wall as if she was flustered. As if she'd just come back from a funeral. He knew that feeling because he felt it when she unceremoniously left his office. But why would a woman looking for the contracts department suddenly end up at his go-see?

He zoomed in the camera closer to her. Maybe she had what it took after all. She had the face. Man did she have the face. Giorgio was staring unblinkingly at that face. But when he bothered to look down the length of her, he knew her body wouldn't do. She wore a non-descript black, form-fitting dress that was well above her shapely knees and that complimented her particular figure. And it was a great figure. One that turned him on unlike any of the others did. But she was all wrong for his clothing line. Straight and skinny was still the preferred look at most fashion houses, and his was no exception. She wouldn't look good in his clothes at all.

But then why was he still staring at her?

Why couldn't he take his eyes away from that face?

Why was he getting such a massive hard-on just looking at her ???

But as he stared, he began to get that odd feeling of endearment again. As if she wasn't just a booty call, but something far more meaningful. But that only happened once in his entire life. That only happened. . .

And when he thought about that night nine years ago in Beverly Hills, his heart nearly stopped. And he couldn't believe it. Was that her? Was that Vivian?"

He zoomed in even closer. And as soon as he saw her eyes, those huge green eyes, he knew it was her. He knew it! Why didn't he recognize her in the office? Was his temper that blinding?

Because when it clicked, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who she was, it hit like a sledgehammer. He had to lean back in his chair. Because she was the one! He remembered her now. She was the young lady at that party in Beverly Hills. The woman he took to his hotel room that night. She was best fuck he'd ever had before or since. It was her. It was her.

But what was she doing at a go-see? Was she a model too? Why would a model be looking for the "contracts" department when she knew she was attending a casting call? Something wasn't adding up.

But when she pulled her cellphone out of her jacket pocket, and she read a text, he had no shame about zooming in to read that text. Hey babe. Miss you. Call me. She didn't call whoever it was. She put the phone away. But that simple text put it all into context for Giorgio.

He was soon to marry Penelope.

She had her situation going with her husband or boyfriend or whomever sent her that text.

Trying to rekindle something that didn't even work nine years ago would be a fool's folly. And he knew it.

But when she stood up and made her way over to Claudio, his curiosity piqued again. And he watched her as she began having a conversation with his creative director.

As Giorgio watched her, he remembered little things. Like the way her body felt beneath him. Like the sweet taste he felt in his mouth when he kissed her. Like the way she made him feel.

Although he couldn't hear what she and Claudio were talking about, he could see Claudio staring at her as if she had a fuse loose. Which she might have had!

In his office, she never showed any signs of recognizing him. He certainly hadn't recognized her. He thought about her for a long time after their night together. But he never really pursued it. He knew he was doing her a favor by staying away from her.

Claudio was talking to her now, explaining whatever he needed to tell her, and she went and sat down against the wall. She didn't seem to like what he told her. And then it was her friend who stood up and began doing her catwalk.

But Giorgio still couldn't take his eyes off of the woman from his past.

He zoomed in even closer: at her face. He remembered her magnificent dark green eyes that even nine years ago looked like the color of thick grass on an autumn day. But more than the striking color of those eyes against her chestnut skin was the look in those eyes. As if she'd been there, done that, and was tired of going back again. Or tired of going backwards. He couldn't determine which. And although she smiled whenever her taller friend glanced over at her, Giorgio could see the weariness all over her face. As if she was still hopeful, but hope had not been kind. As if she was still full of life, but life had been kicking her butt. As if her confrontation with him had depressed her mood the way it inexplicably depressed him too.

But whatever was going on with her, he could still see the fight in her. She wasn't giving up. She was determined to press her way through despite disappointments, including what Claudio had apparently said to her, and how even he had treated her. Despite the dismal odds that she would ever go any further than where she'd already gone. But she was still pressing on. He liked that.

Not that he liked her . He didn't. She had too much mouth and too many opinions for them to ever get along. But he liked the way she was bouncing back. He liked that spunk in her.

As the models continued to walk and turn and twist around into the various contortions Claudio's staff made them do, Claudio buzzed in just as the taller friend continued her catwalk. Giogio pressed his desk intercom button. "Yes?"

"Are you watching?"

"I am."

"Anybody appealing to you?"

Giorgio was still staring at the black woman with those big green eyes. He still found something unsettling about her just as he did nine years ago. "What did she want?" he asked his creative director.

But Claudio was confused. "What did who want?"

"The black girl. The short one."

Claudio grinned. "Oh her! Her name is Vivian Ellis. And believe it or not she claims to own a cleaning service and wanted me to hire her."

Even Giorgio had to frown at that. "To clean?"

Giorgio could see on the monitor where Claudio was grinning and nodding his head. "She comes to a casting call to ask if we need maid service. It's crazy."

Crazy to Claudio, but intriguing to Giorgio. Because he remembered she had some sort of company. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her we already have in-house maids. We did everything in-house. We didn't need her ridiculous service."

Giorgio didn't like his apparent tone toward her, but he wasn't about to intervene.

Except he did. "Why isn't she walking?" he asked Claudio.

"Too short for one thing. Too old for another thing. Too fat for a third thing. Which translates to too many things. That's why she's not walking."

"She's not fat," Giorgio found himself saying.

"You know what I mean, Boss. She's model-fat is what I mean. She's not skinny enough for what we need. But I did ask her why she wasn't walking just to see if she knew, like we all know, she was not model material. At least not in the tradition of the skinny models we employ. She said she came to support her friend apparently. She's not interested in any modeling gigs, just cleaning gigs. I told her good because we aren't interested in her either," Claudio added with a laugh.

Giorgio didn't like the fact that he was laughing at her. That was a woman he once made love to. He'd made love to hundreds (if not thousands) of women in his day. But making love to her meant something to him. Even back then, he remembered it meant something. "Don't be disrespectful," he said, and ended the conversation.

But he kept staring at that one particular woman in that space filled with women. At that Vivian Ellis. Until it became obscene even to him. And inexplicable. So inexplicable that he turned off the monitor and decided to get to work on the stack of papers piling up on his desk.

But he couldn't get her off of his mind. All she wanted was a cleaning job. Not as a maid herself: he saw her as too bossy to let somebody else boss her around. He figured she probably owned some little mom and pop company that was barely afloat. And she needed to go big or go home. For her to come to HOJ and ask for a cleaning contract reeked of desperation in and of itself. She was probably on the brink of losing it all.

When he could easily help her out if that was the case.

He resisted it for several minutes. Why should he help her the way she spoke to him? Forget their past, she was brutal to him.

But then he remembered her at that party. And how all of her friends had run away, looking out for themselves, but she was looking out for that fallen young lady. He remembered that. He respected that.

He pressed the intercom button again.

Claudio answered."Yes?"

"She's still there?"

"Who's still here?"

"Vivian Ellis. The cleaning lady."

"Oh! Her. Yes, she's still here." Giorgio could hear the confusion in his voice. "Why?"

"Did she name her business?"

"Yeah. But I forgot what it was. V and something Cleaning Service. I assumed the V stood for Vivian."

"Put her under contract," Giorgio said.

He could see Claudio's face frown. "But I already told you she's too short and old, Boss. And not nearly skinny enough."

"Not for modeling."

"Then what kind of contract are you talking about?"

"A cleaning contract. Under her business name."

"Wait. Let me get this straight. You want me to hire her as a cleaner ?"

Giorgio exhaled. It sounded crazy to him too. "Yes."

"Where?"

"Here. At headquarters. Give her ten floors. Let the Housekeeping Supervisor pick which ten they would rather give up, and give them to her company. Take that load off of our in-house staff."

"Yes, sir. But might I ask why?"

"No," Giorgio said and ended the conversation. He'd said enough already. But he felt compelled. And whenever he felt that way, be it with his designs or where he would go for vacation, he acted upon it. With haste.

They had a history. A good one nine years ago. A horrific one an hour ago. So that couldn't be the only reason he was helping her.

But truthfully? He just didn't know.