“I can basically press any number zero through nine.” She felt her cheeks heating up, but she had to try to redeem herself.

He hummed appreciatively, his crooked smile making her chest swell. “Like a phone number?”

Across the room, someone barked “Cobra!” The guy’s eyes narrowed as he focused on someone over her head, then nodded. His gaze slid back to Gen. “That’s me.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Cobra jogged off, leaving her breathless in his wake. She watched him go in the mirror, gaze soldering to the two cobra tattoos arcing across each shoulder blade and down the sides of his back. This guy had a theme. Jas leaned forward. “You do understand he was hitting on you, correct?”

She groaned, her eyes fluttering shut. Jas let a cloud of hairspray rip. When the air cleared, Gen frowned at her reflection.

“He was too hot,” she muttered. “I couldn’t think.”

“That’s the problem with this place,” Jas mumbled, groping for one more bobby pin. “Too many perfect specimens.”

“You mean here? The gym?”

“SoCal, hon.” Jas pressed one more bobby pin into place, securing the hairdo, before she stepped back. “You’re new here, right?”

Gen huffed. New wasn’t strong enough. She was something else. “Basically.”

“What do you think?” Jas jerked her chin toward Gen’s hair. A sweeping, gorgeous, Oscar-worthy style had been fashioned out of her thick and normally lifeless auburn hair. Not that she’d ever seen the Oscars, of course, but everyone sure talked about it here in LA. An elegant tendril hung to the side of her face, while the rest of her hair had been teased up and around, to culminate in a long, spiraling braid that hung over her shoulder. Workout chic, or something like it.

“It looks great,” Gen said, fingering the strange pattern of the braid. “Can I get you to do my hair every day?”

Jas laughed, squeezing her shoulder before shooing her away. “You couldn’t afford me, hon.”

Gen pushed out of the chair, the backs of her thighs suctioning off the leather as she stood. “Do I need to tip you, or…?”

Jas waved her off. “Just go get your picture taken, babe. And get that guy’s number, okay?”

Gen nodded, looking toward the mock photo studios that had been set up. Get a guy’s number. Also an item on her list. And dammit, that’s what this escape from home was about.

Completing the list, come hell or high anxiety.

Three different muted backdrops in shades of cream and gray. One photographer who barked commands from underneath a pencil-thin mustache. She checked her breasts—still covered, for the most part.

Across the room, Cobra talked with Travis and some other employees who she’d been introduced to. But their names? Heck if she could remember. They needed name tags, but where would they put them? Over their nipples?

“Genevieve.” Amara strutted up to her, her caramel skin gleaming like she’d been coated with Vaseline. Finally, a familiar face. Her first non-hometown–related acquaintance since coming to LA. She’d met Amara when responding to a help-wanted ad for her domestic violence shelter, one of many jobs she’d applied for and not gotten. But she and Amara had hit it off in the interview, to the point that Amara wanted to help her find something.

And here she was.

Half-naked and spinning like a top.

“Where do I go now?” She hugged herself, trying to hide some of the exposed skin.

“We’re going to do a group shot before the individuals,” Amara said.

“Oh.” Gen almost ran a hand through her expensive style before she remembered. “I was hoping you would tell me back to the locker room, so I could put clothes on.”

Amara’s laugh rippled through her. “You don’t like playing dress up?”

“This isn’t dressing at all. It’s nudity.”

Amara swatted her arm. “But you said you wanted to get outside your comfort zone.

“Well, here I am.” Gen sucked in a breath, assessing the room once more. The lights had grown brighter, somehow, since getting her hair done. The scrutiny that hair and makeup invited, in this room crawling with undiscovered models. “Five million miles away from my comfort zone.”