Chapter Text
Rey found her agent, Poe Dameron, at his usual booth at his favorite delicatessen late Wednesday morning. She pushed past the long line queued at the hostess stand, ignoring accusations of cutting, and marched straight up to the good-for-nothing bum just as a waitress set down a pastrami on rye the size of an adult human head.
She slapped a letter-sized envelope on the table, said, “You’re fired,” and turned on her heel to exit.
“Rey, get back here.”
She kept walking. Nothing Poe could say or do, short of I was wrong, and I will fix this stood to change her mind. She reached the door and was about to step into the freezing January wind when her phone sounded the arrival of a text.
Come back and I’ll explain.
Rey cinched her coat, holding the collar to her throat, and waited. People in line glared. “You in or you out, lady?” somebody barked. Lady. Not Rey. The stares were born of annoyance, not recognition. She’d hired Poe to help change that, and he wasn’t doing his job.
Her phone rang now. Poe.
Sighing, she cut back through the line to more outrage and slumped into the bench opposite Poe. “This better be the best damn reason in the world. Like, somebody died or is dying.”
Poe gestured to Mount Sandwich in front of him. “Help me eat this?”
“Ugh no.” Rey’s body was her livelihood. She stared down the monstrosity as the sodium count alone spun large numbers in her head. “Just tell me why you’re not doing your job so I can fire you again and leave.”
“I am doing my job. I got two national magazine spreads and a shampoo commercial lined up. Five figures each,” Poe said. “You’re also shortlisted to be the new face of Kanata.” He referred to a popular fragrance whose previous spokesperson retired from the business. “Your damn face is going up in Times Square. Rey Skye is soon to be a household name on the level of Cindy and Gisele. Don’t tell me I’m not doing my job.”
“I want Organa Intimates.”
Poe was blunt. “They don’t want you.”
The heat of her anger crept up her neck. Poe must have seen her ready to boil over and he pushed aside his lunch.
“Let me rephrase that,” he said, calmer. “They’re not scouting the agencies looking for legit models for their show. As long as you’ve been in this business, you should know how Organa operates. They’ve always recruited from the ‘private sector.’” Poe made air quotes. “It’s their M.O. Sexy underthings for the people.”
“I’m aware of that,” Rey said. “I’m the people, too. I’m also an Organa customer. It stands to reason I have as much a chance at a spot in their show as anybody else. How do they know they don't want me unless they see me?”
The annual Organa Intimates show, coming on its third year, was one of the most anticipated of fashion events. Every year it was held in a different location and date, to correspond with the show’s theme. Since the late Leia Organa’s twin sons had taken charge, the company saw massive success, no doubt in part due to these televised runway shows.
Well, that and the way their marketing appealed to the public. Sexy underthings for the people, indeed. Organa Intimates made their lingerie available in every size. The diversity of models in their catalog and social media reflected their core values. Surely, she also belonged, right?
Rey knew from insider buzz that this year’s theme, Butterflies, drew from a new collection designed by the brothers themselves. The show, to air on the first day of Spring, would preview the second generation of this line, scheduled to hit stores in the summer.
Rey wanted in that show. She wanted to be an Organa Butterfly.
“They’ve used professional models in the past,” she pointed out. “With Phasma retired and out, there has to be room for me, Poe.”
Poe picked at his sandwich. “They’re not talking to agents, Rey. You can fire me, go to another agency and they’ll tell you the same thing,” he said. “Why don't you let me secure work from companies who will hire you? I think you’ll be happier for it.”
Rey refused to let this go. Since signing with Dameron, her cache had steadily risen. She had to give him some credit. Like he said, she was on the cusp of supermodel status. Inclusion in the Organa catalog, and the show, stood to push her onto the precipice. There must be a way.
Poe watched her, no doubt seeing the gears cranking. “You’re not going to back down, are you? Look, the only shot you have is to sell yourself,” he said. “You’ve seen their website, you know where the form is. Fill it out and good luck.”
“What? The same Google form everybody and her sister is using?” Rey shook her head. “Does anybody actually read those entries?”
“They do, Rey. The brothers go through every form. They’re quite thorough in that regard.” Poe brought up the call for models on his phone and showed her form. “From the looks of things, you have less than twenty-fours to submit your interest. Fill it out and good luck.
“Now,” he added, tugging his plate back in front of him, “last call to split this.”
Rey took back the letter officially meant to separate herself from Dameron and got up from her seat, nauseated at the thought of one bite. “Try not to choke.”
“I love you, too, Rey. Call you next week.”
***
Wednesday morning at six, Ben Solo’s phone alarm sounded a sad piano melody that slowly drew him from a wild, sex-induced dream. He reached out and slapped around his nightstand until he hit the right button and drifted back into sleep. The reprieve was short.
Movement from the other side of the bed jostled him back to consciousness. He turned on his side, facing away with his eyes closed, and waited. He heard no footsteps, just near quiet sounds of hands gathering up clothes and shoes. A mild curse after stubbing a body part on a corner of the dresser or bed frame. Rustling fabric, a zipper closing, keys jangling. She was sneaking out without saying goodbye.
Probably for the best. She wasn’t a planned interlude and it would appear rude of him to check the email from her delivery service for a reminder of her name.
Footfalls faded into the distance and he waited for the front door to snick open and shut, allowing him to fully awake. He wasn’t expecting a third party to interrupt said interlude’s walk of shame.
“Well, hello there. What’s your name, and why didn’t Ben call me over last night to play?”
Ben cringed and opened his eyes. His brother was talking loud on purpose. He wanted Ben to hear this.
The woman’s voice was inaudible to him. Whatever she said, the response came as, “You’re not leaving on my account, I hope? Stay for breakfast. Maybe more than that.”
Agitated sounds and apologies followed, then more entreaties. Then a door slammed.
Ben sat up as his twin brother Kylo filled the doorway. He held a drink holder with two coffees and a brown paper sack. Grin wider than the span of the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge.
“Tell. Me. Everything. You glorious son of a bitch.”
“I should never have given you a key.” Ben reached for his glasses and put them on. “Why are you here so screamingly early, unless you’re leaving one party and on your way to the next and stopped to give me grief?”
“You know why, unless your tumble with Miss Uber Eats caused a lapse in memory. She left her insulated bag here, by the way.” Kylo set the food down in Ben’s lap, removed his coat and shoes, and crawled onto the side of the bed the interlude had vacated. “We should call her back to come get it.”
More like Miss Take. “We should leave her the hell alone.” He should have accepted last night’s delivery with a simple thank you and closed the door on her. He should have thanked her and cut communication short when the woman, on recognizing him, had gushed about how much she loved her Butterfly negligee. He should never have invited her in to see his sketches.
But he was lonely, and she was a stunning blonde who bore more than a passing resemblance to a memory that wouldn’t fade. Gwennie’s gone, he had to remind himself. Forget about her.
Kylo took one of the coffees and opened the bag. “I don’t see the problem. You had some well-earned, no-strings fun last night and I’m proud of you,” he said when Ben vented his feelings. “I am finally rubbing off on you. Next time call, though.”
“What are we eating?” Ben removed the lid on his cup. Jamaican Blue Mountain, black. Bring me back to life so I can tolerate this man.
“Bagels and lox from Maz and Daughters. I tried to get one of the daughters to join us but Maz threw me out.” Kylo removed the foil from his sandwich. “I think I’m banned for life now. You’ll have to get us food from there going forward.”
“You failed to bring a woman here and failed to get Miss Uber Eats to stay. Maybe I’m the one rubbing off on you.” Ben set aside his breakfast and got out of bed. “Move all this to the media room, please? I need to shower and dress.”
“You’re rather cranky for a guy who got laid last night,” Kylo called.
Ben poked his head out of his bathroom. “You’re rather eager to get to work for a guy who’s let me do all the heavy lifting the last five years.”
Kylo crossed his legs and put his arms behind his head. “I’m here to help now, aren’t I? Choosing the new Butterflies is a serious business. I can’t have you shouldering the burden of looking at sexy model pictures all morning.”
Ben cranked on the shower. “Thank you for carving the time into your busy schedule.” Somewhere between sloth and lust. And more lust.
“You’re welcome,” Kylo called over the rush of running water.