"Turn this way." Click. Click. Click. 

She looks my way, and I huff in annoyance. 

"The other way," I say in an irritated tone. She twirls her hair in an attempt to flirt with me and smiles seductively. I huff at her as she gazes upon me once again. 

"Look up," I say. She looks up and continues to smile. "Stop smiling, it's bad for the ad." Click. Click. Click.  

"Are you single, Mr. Ramos?" she casually asks as she continues to look my way. 

"Look towards the window, and don't smile," I say, ignoring the question. Click. Click. She sighs and looks down after I capture the first two shots. 

"I have to use the bathroom," she says and gets up from her place on the satin couch. 

"Very well," I reply, and begin pinching the bridge of my nose. I sit my camera down on a table and feel through my jacket for my pack of cigarettes. I sigh again and walk outside preparing to gun my stick. 

"Models, what a pain," a voice from behind me echoes through the hallway. I look over to see the models' manager, Kate Bernstein. I chuckle lightly with the cigarette in my mouth. 

"You're one to talk, you used to be one of them," I retort. 

"Yes, but I learned quickly, Miss Jenna may be beautiful but she has no brains to survive in this industry," Kate says as she slowly walks up to me with arms crossed. Her light brown hair is up in a nice bun, and she wears her smart suits very well. 

"Then why bother with her at all?" I ask. She looks over to me with a wicked smile, her red lips curl up devilishly. 

"To milk her for all she's worth," Kate says so coldly, it almost gave me chills. Although, nothing fazes me anymore, something about her response made me uneasy and almost pity Jenna. 

"What about you, heart breaker? When will you come model for me? You would make an absolutely ideal addition to my company, unlike most of my models, you know how to manage your way around this industry," Kate says as she swipes my cigarette from my hand and takes a puff. 

"I'm flattered," I reply, trying to keep my cool. I am graced with my mother's looks and my father's strong body, yet I never wanted to be exploited. I know how corrupt this industry is and I only want to stick to photography. It just seems safer and less of a hassle. "I'm afraid I must decline, I have no interest in modeling therefore, I would make a terrible model." 

"Hmm," Kate takes another puff and hands my cigarette back to me, "Very well, when you do decide, you know where to find me." 

Yeah, duly noted. 

Kate begins walking back to the studio. I can hear her heals clicking against the floor. All I could think about was poor Jenna being exploited so horribly without a thought. 

"Oh, and Jackie?" Kate says, relying on the echoes in the hallway to carry her voice, "Don't lead my model on, make sure she knows she can't have you." 

I chuckle at her request, taking the last puff of my cigarette and putting it out. Seems to me that Ms. Kate Bernstein knows all about my past. The loner and unobtainable heart breaker. Jacque Ramos. 

I proceed my way back to the studio and prepare myself to turn down Jenna Swanson. A beauty indeed, but definitely not my type. 

I've been alone too long, I suppose. Don't really know what I want anymore. I'm surrounded and chased by beautiful women almost everyday, but none of them seem to have more than beauty. I believe I have become numb to women in general. I await, however, for the woman who will finally move me. I foolishly still desire the love of a lifetime. 

"Thank you again, Mr. Ramos," Kate says as she drapes a coat over her crying model, "I will be seeing you again." 

I nod and wave goodbye to them. I let out a relieved sigh after Kate shuts the door behind her, and let my long hair down from its ponytail. I recline into my lounge chair and try to relax. Before I finally drift off into sleep, I suddenly envisioned a beautiful girl with doughy, sad eyes. She looked at me with a smile, and raised her left hand to her right shoulder, as if to cover her body. She seemed ashamed, irrevocable and timid. My heart felt something I hadn't felt in years; an adrenaline rush surging through my entire body. She looked down and whispered something underneath her breath. 

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

"Hello?" I ask, seeing a private number on my caller ID. 

"Hello, is this Mr. Jacque Ramos?" an older woman's voice asks. I rub my eyes with my fingertips and raise myself up from my chair. 

"Yes it is, may I ask who is calling?" 

"Yes," she replies, and sounds like she is distracted by something or someone, "No, the other one." I feel a dread coming on, she sounds like a WASP. "I'm sorry about that, yes, my name is Elizabeth Blanche, I was calling in the hopes that I may book you for a photography session." 

Elizabeth Blanche? 

Hell if I know. 

"I'm sorry Ms. Blanche, I don't do family photographs or portraits, I work for advertisement companies, my rates are very high," I respond, a little annoyed. 

"Yes, I am fully aware of who you are Mr. Ramos," Elizabeth snaps back, "I heard you are the best at capturing a models uniqueness; your work is strikingly beautiful and you came highly recommended to me by Mrs. Mandy Richardson." 

"Mrs. Richardson?" I recall the meanest yet richest client I ever had, "So, what are you looking for Ms. Blanche?" 

"I would like you to photograph my daughter Natalie," she says coolly, "She is striving to be a model, and I know you can help her make that happen." Why doesn't she call me instead? Seems strange to me that a mother would call in place of a daughter who wishes to be a model. 

"Very well," I finally reply, "My starting rates go from-" 

"Money is not an issue for me, Mr. Ramos, I can pay whatever amount you want, you can discuss rates with my business manager." Damn WASP. 

"Well then Ms. Blanche, I suppose that just leaves scheduling," I say a little too spitefully, "I am available anytime after 3 pm next Monday." 

"Yes, I know it is, just place it over there!" I hear Elizabeth speaking to someone else, completely ignoring me. I may not be made out of money like her, but I still know how to treat people well. 

"Ms. Blanche-" 

"Mrs. Blanche," Elizabeth corrects me, "My husband is Henry Blanche, I failed to mention it before." 

Figures. 

"Mrs. Blanche," I try my best not to seem too irritated, "I am a very busy man, I don't have time for nonsense." Elizabeth begins to move to a quieter location from what I can hear. 

"Yes yes, of course," Elizabeth says like she is shooing off a bee, "Forgive me if I offended you Mr. Ramos, I was preparing for the shoot tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow?" I ask quizzically, "No, no, no, I said anytime after 3 next Monday." 

"I know what an inconvenience this is for you, I already discussed it with my business manager, and he agreed $10,000 would be sufficient." 

"Ten thousand? For a photo shoot?" I say completely dumbfounded. That's the most ridiculous amount I would ever receive for a single shoot. 

"Well, it seemed appropriate, seeing how it's last minute and everything, and I know you may need to cancel your other appointments," She says it so precariously, I begin to feel conflicted, "It will be a great honor to have you photograph my daughter tomorrow, please consider my offer." 

I tap my fingers against my kitchen counter and bite my lip in contemplation. It seems like a scam, and I'm not sure how I feel about all this. Sure, I make a really decent living off my work already, but never this much. 

"Give me a minute," I say and set my phone to mute. I quickly look up Henry Blanche on my phone and immediately see him listed in Forbes magazine, the BBB, and various sites that talk about Henry Blanche. How have I never heard of this millionaire? Then I stumble upon his family portrait and subconsciously tap it. 

An older gentleman, I assume is Henry Blanche, stands proudly next to his family. The woman, I also assume, Elizabeth sits gracefully on a throne like chair. Her sandy blonde hair is slightly disheveled and curled. Her blue eyes stare blankly into the camera. Though she may be old, she is very pretty. Their two sons look like twins, but one is sitting on Elizabeth's lap and looks a little younger than the one sitting next to the daughter. My heart drops after I lay my eyes on the daughter. There was something about her eyes that drew me to her. A sad secret that couldn't be hidden by her baby doll face. Even though her face was remarkably innocent, something in her eyes I had never seen in a model before in my life thus far. Her creamy skin and rosy cheeks made her look so much like a prized doll. Her large lashes made her eyes pop and her ashy brown hair complimented her heart shaped lips. Her bangs added to her child like look, and a blush began heating my face. How can I possibly be attracted to a child? What the hell is wrong with me? I take my phone off mute. 

"Mrs. Blanche, how old is your daughter?" I ask almost shouting and out of breath. 

"Well, I usually like to make people guess her age because they always get it wrong, but you haven't seen her yet have you?" 

"U-um, no ma'am, I have not," I try to lie. I've always been a terrible liar though. "I need to know just in case, you know, if she's a minor, I may need you to uh, fill out some forms." 

"Well, in that case she's twenty three," Elizabeth replies, and a huge weight is lifted off my chest. I almost thought I had suddenly developed a pedophilia out of the blue and scared myself near death. "Is everything alright, Mr. Ramos?" 

"Y-yes," I reply trying to pull myself out of a trance, "I'll take the job, just allow me time to reschedule my other client for tomorrow, call me back in about an hour." 

"Of course, thank you Mr. Ramos, I look forward to seeing you," and with that she hung up the phone. The only thing that motivates me to take this job is this girl. The money didn't seem important anymore. Much like the mystery behind the Mona Lisa smile and the mesmerizing gaze of the Girl with a Pearl Earring, I want to find out the Baby Doll's secret. No matter what pictures I found of her, even her smile seemed off, and no one cared to notice. So, in this instance, I am determined to find out the reason behind her sad eyes, no matter what it may cost me.