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A pair of large brown eyes fell on the sign across the street: John Casablancas, Modeling and Career Center. He pulled the cigarette away from his lips as smoke billowed above his dark curls.
Albert had recently moved to the East Village, he had even passed the building ahead of him, never once drawing the connection. He couldn't recall the number of times he'd passed it—that name—Casablancas.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before letting the fag between his fingers drop to the pavement.
Across the busy intersection inside the complex, Janae sat in the lobby, staring at a wall. This wasn't an ordinary wall—this wall in particular was filled with photos of gorgeous women. Some were headshots, but most were full body shots, all in yellow bikinis.
Janae thought about approaching the scantily clad decor for further inspection, but was too embarrassed of getting caught. The wall was intriguing; a floating transparent holder holding what Janae presumed to be business cards under each of the models' photographs.
She stood from the chair, folding her arms as she paced the floor looking for something to keep busy. Janae tried to ignore the receptionist behind the desk who had been staring daggers at her since she walked inside the building.
Low and behold set a table with a dozen magazines. Janae took the one on top, smiling quizzically at the sticker on the front: Turn to Page 12 to Read About One of Our Success Stories
Janae chuckled, the sound only escaping past her throat in a 'hmph.'
She made her way back to her seat, avoiding the burning eyes of the receptionist. Flipping through the pages seeming to be interested in what she read, Janae could still feel the receptionist's gaze. She pictured a judgmental scowl etched on her face—staring.
She started to say something, to ask the woman behind the desk if she had a problem. But to Janae's surprise, the disgruntled employee wasn't looking at Janae, she was looking through the window behind her—at someone else.
Janae glanced over her shoulder, immediately doing a double take when seeing a familiar mess of dark curly hair.
He stood before the glass doors, seemingly conflicted. His brown eyes cautiously glanced back and forth along the sidewalk as if contemplating.
Janae smiled wide, giggling quietly to herself before moving her eyes back to the open magazine in her lap.
"What a pervert." The sound of the receptionist's voice had Janae's attention. "Men do this all the time—they stand outside the doors waiting for a model to come out and try to get her number. It's disgusting."
Janae couldn't help but to laugh. She knew the young man standing outside the Casablancas modeling enterprise, it was Al—they shared the same apartment building. Although he seemed to be a genuinely nice person, she wouldn't doubt him to be doing such a thing.
