Page 20 of Devanté
CHAPTER FIVE
Eight years later…
“Turn this way, Devanté. Good. Perfect, babe.” The familiar sound of clicks and beeps sounded when I hit my favorite angles. Annie Yu, the photographer almost had all the shots she needed for my spread in GQ. I was being named fashion’s most enterprising model. It made sense that I’d have to shoot for the feature but it had been so long since I did a full day of shooting that I was out of practice.
Jill Scott played on the speakers attached to the tent not too far away from where I was shooting on the pier. My assistant, Molly knew exactly what I wanted to hear. I wasn’t one of the younger models who liked listening to all the meaningless rap from people whose names didn’t make sense.
At 28 years old, I was considered a vet in the modeling game. It was true. I’d been a high fashion model for nearly ten years and I made it look effortless. Even though I never made much of a splash on the big screen, I loved what I did. My goals shifted as I got older and my ambitions turned toward business instead of acting.
When I wrapped for the day, Molly met me with a small white towel embroidered with my initials. I wiped the sweat from my brow and shed the suit jacket from wardrobe. Walking under the wardrobe tent gave me little shade from the furious sun. Molly rushed to a small refrigerator sitting on top of a six-foot-long table.
“Water,” she said as if she were checking it off her list. I cracked the top and chugged it then started coming out of my clothes. “I never asked why you always listen to Jill Scott,” Molly said while I changed from the Armani suit used for the shoot into the t-shirt and denim shorts I wore. She’d seen me disrobe so many times that my body was as ordinary as a street sign to her. All the other women in the vicinity stopped to admire while I changed. I was used to it.
“Reminds me of my mom. She listened to it all the time when I was younger. I’m a connoisseur of nineties and early two-thousands music.”
“You’re barely old enough to remember nineties music. You were five in ninety-seven.”
“So? That’s still classic. You had Nas, Maxwell, KC and Jojo, Erykah Badu, 112. I mean I could go on and on.”
“Don’t. Please.” She laughed a little and checked her phone. “We gotta wrap here. You have to be in Beverly Hills in twenty to meet with the CEO and design team for Shaw Luxury Cases. We can make it if we leave in thirty seconds. I’ll start saying your goodbyes now.” I nodded and pulled my black baseball cap down over my eyes while I made my way to the chauffeured Lincoln waiting for me.
When I did shoots, I liked to get in and out as quickly as possible. I noticed people would suck you into hour-long conversations about nothing. I’d learned to be protective over my energy because not everyone deserved it. I met too many people day after day to allow everyone easy access to me.
Molly got in the car beside me in the backseat and sighed. “Three seconds to spare.” She actually had a stopwatch running to time herself. That’s how anal she was and that’s why she made the big bucks. She kept my life running smoothly.
“So, what’s up with Shaw Luxury Cases? You think it’s a worthwhile venture?” I was looking for something solid to invest my time in. My image was valuable so whenever I sponsored a brand, I liked to make sure it would fit into my lifestyle.
I didn’t have time for sponsorships from video games because that wasn’t my style. Something like Shaw Luxury Cases sounded interesting though. I wasn’t sold on partnering with them yet so the CEO wanted to coax me over to their side and show me some pieces he thought would interest me.
“I think so. They’ve been featured in Vogue plus they have over seven million IG followers and nearly the same amount on Twitter so we know they have eyes.” She scrolled up on her screen a few times then handed it to me so I could look at their Instagram feed.
I looked it over then handed it back. I’d seen their products before and they looked good. I just wanted to know what they needed my image for. What made me different from the fresher faces in the modeling world?
We pulled up to the gray brick and glass building in Beverly Hills with exactly three minutes to get to the CEO’s office. Molly’s fingers flew over her phone’s screen as we walked toward the opening doors.
“They’re ready for you,” she said, flicking her gaze toward me. “Be nice, D. This deal could be very lucrative for you.”
“I’ll be nice,” I said before I walked into the conference room.
“I know you. I need a promise.” Worry creased the space between her delicate brows.
“I promise, Molly,” I sighed. She knew I was quick to take an offer off the table if I didn’t like the vibe of the room. It’s one of the reasons I liked in-person meetings more than phone or video meetings. I liked to gauge the energy coming from each person involved in the deal.
When I walked in, I was greeted by a tall, white-haired man wearing an impeccable suit. He shook my hand and smiled warmly at me and Molly. He must have been the CEO. The team of young men and women around him, all different races and shapes, were the design team. I already loved the diversity I saw.
“Mr. Morgan, so nice to meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you.” I took a seat and rested my ankle on my knee.
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Shaw.” I looked behind him at the design team and greeted them with a hello and a smile.
“Are you at all familiar with Shaw Luxury Cases?” He got right down to business, pulling up product shots on his iPad. I swiped through slides of briefcases, laptop cases, phone cases, and wallets. Each item was quality leather with steel accents that looked like the epitome of luxury.
I nodded my head, impressed by the line of cases. “I’m familiar with your brand, Mr. Shaw. I think you all produce fantastic pieces and high-quality workmanship.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Shaw smiled then put his iPad to sleep.
“Before you go into your pitch though…I was wondering if I could ask what made you pick me? You could have had Simon Fernandez. He’s ten years younger than me and he’s hitting the runways hard this year.”
“That’s true but you represent something different,” Shaw said quietly. “I can’t take the credit for choosing you as our choice for ambassador. That was my lead creative director Adaego Abimbola. I’ll let her take the floor.” He smiled over his shoulder at a tall, slender woman with rich dark skin as beautiful as my own. We could have been siblings. Her lips were painted deep plum and when she smiled her teeth were stark white in contrast.
