Objectified: E3 - "compensation"

I couldn't stop thinking about her eyes.

Vi had watched me as I kissed Sophia outside The Standard. Watched without blinking, without pretending not to. Something had shifted in that moment--the first time she'd acknowledged me without being forced to. The first time she hadn't looked away first.

It wasn't attraction I'd seen in her gaze. Not curiosity, not jealousy. Something colder, more calculating. Assessment.

Good. Let her assess. Let her wonder.

The Dior shoot came and went. Two days of watching Vi transform into the ethereal creature they wanted to sell perfume, while I captured behind-the-scenes footage. She was impeccably professional, never acknowledging our conversation at the Bulgari event, never addressing me directly. But I caught her watching me several times--when I reviewed footage with Marco, when I directed the lighting techs with growing authority, when I had lunch with Sophia who had "happened to stop by" the set.

When the shoot wrapped, Marco invited the team for drinks. Vi declined, of course, but Sophia joined us, along with several other assistants and the digital tech. I sat between them at the crowded bar, playing the humble talent being mentored by the master, letting Marco sing my praises to anyone who would listen.

"Danny has what can't be taught," he told the group, three scotches in and growing expansive. "The technical shit, anyone can learn. But the eye? The instinct? You're born with it or you're not."

Sophia beamed beside me as if Marco were praising her by proxy. Her hand rested possessively on my thigh under the table, inching higher as the night progressed. I let her believe what she needed to believe--that she was special, that she was helping my ascent, that the connection was real.

In truth, things with Sophia were progressing exactly as planned. She'd become an effective billboard for my skills--both professional and otherwise. The whispers had spread; I'd caught other models watching me with new interest at the Dior shoot. Wondering if what they'd heard was true. Wondering if they could find out for themselves.

None of them interested me. Only one did.

---

A week later, I received a text from Sophia at nearly midnight.

*WHERE ARE YOU? COME TO HAZE. VIP SECTION WAITING*

I didn't respond immediately, letting her anticipation build. HAZE was one of the most exclusive clubs in the city--a converted warehouse in Chelsea with a strict door policy and astronomical bottle service prices. The kind of place where celebrities mingled with models and Wall Street types, everyone pretending they were too cool to care about the others.

After twenty minutes, I texted back: *Working. Deadline.*

Her response came instantly: *PLEEEEASE. BORING WITHOUT YOU. ELISE IS HERE.*

Elise. That was interesting. I knew from industry gossip that Elise Chen was one of Vi's few actual friends. Not just colleagues who air-kissed and fake-smiled, but someone Vi occasionally let into her carefully guarded personal space.

I waited another ten minutes, then replied: *Fine. 30 min.*

It was almost one AM when I arrived at HAZE. The line stretched down the block, but I walked directly to the doorman, gave Sophia's name, and was immediately ushered inside. The club was a cavernous space of exposed brick and industrial beams, transformed by strategic lighting and sound design into something both exclusive and primal. Bodies moved on the dance floor, the music a physical presence that vibrated in my chest.

I made my way to the VIP section--elevated platforms with private tables overlooking the dance floor, each separated by gauzy curtains that could be drawn for privacy. Sophia's table was one of the best, offering a view of both the DJ booth and the main bar.

She squealed when she saw me, jumping up to throw her arms around my neck. "You came!" Her words were slightly slurred, her pupils dilated--alcohol, maybe something more.

"I said I would." I kissed her lightly, cataloging who else was at the table. Elise was there, as promised, along with two men in expensive suits--finance bros, from the look of them--and another model I recognized from castings but hadn't worked with.

"Everyone, this is Danny," Sophia announced proudly. "The photographer I told you about."

"Marco Visconti's protégé," one of the finance guys said, extending his hand. "Sophia hasn't shut up about you. I'm Reed. That's Jason."

I shook their hands, noting the ostentatious watches, the practiced smiles. Trust fund babies playing at being masters of the universe.

"Elise." I nodded to her as I took a seat beside Sophia.

"Danny." Elise's smile was guarded but curious. "Sophia said you were working late. What project keeps a fashion photographer up at midnight?"

A test. Seeing if Sophia's claims about me had substance.

"Personal work," I said. "Black and white series on urban isolation. Film, not digital."

Elise nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Ambitious."

"What are we drinking?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Champagne!" Sophia declared, gesturing extravagantly at several bottles chilling in ice buckets. "Jason's expense account is paying."

Jason grinned. "Perks of managing rich people's money. They don't look too closely at where it goes."

I accepted a glass from Sophia, scanning the club as I sipped. The dance floor was packed, writhing bodies illuminated by pulses of blue and purple light. The bar was three deep with people vying for the bartenders' attention.

That's when I saw her.

Vi, dressed in a short black dress with the HAZE logo subtly embroidered at the hem, carrying a tray of drinks through the crowd. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, her makeup more dramatic than I'd ever seen it on set. She moved with practiced efficiency, navigating the press of bodies without spilling a drop.

Viridiana Reyes, high fashion model with a PhD, was working bottle service at a nightclub.

"Is that--" I began, unable to mask my surprise.

"Vi? Yeah." Sophia followed my gaze, her expression turning smug. "Shocking, right? Ice Queen slumming it with the common folk."

"Why would she--"

"Need the money?" Sophia laughed. "God no. She owns a stake in the place. Some investment thing with that banker she's not-dating." She made air quotes around "not-dating." "She works like, one night a month. Says it 'keeps her grounded' or some bullshit."

I watched as Vi delivered drinks to a table across the room, her expression professionally pleasant but distant. The men at the table openly ogled her as she set down their order, one of them saying something that made the others laugh. Vi's smile never faltered, but I saw her spine stiffen slightly before she turned away.

"Should we order something else?" I asked casually. "I'm not really a champagne guy."

"Ooh, yes!" Sophia clapped her hands. "Let's get tequila. The good stuff."

"Don't they have dedicated servers for VIP?" I asked, as if I didn't already know the answer.

"Just press that button." Elise pointed to a small device on the table. "Someone will come."

I pressed it, then returned to my conversation with the group, though my awareness remained fixed on Vi. I watched from my periphery as a manager approached her, spoke briefly, then gestured toward our table. Vi nodded, finished delivering her current order, then made her way toward the VIP section.

She ascended the steps to our platform, tray balanced expertly on one hand. Her professional smile was in place until the exact moment she recognized who was at the table. For a split second, her composure cracked--eyes widening slightly, lips parting in surprise. Then the mask returned, though perhaps not as perfectly as before.

"Good evening," she said, her voice pitched to carry over the music. "How can I help you?"

Sophia giggled, clearly delighted by the reversal of their usual dynamic. "Vi! I didn't know you were working tonight!"

"Sophia." Vi's smile remained fixed. "What a pleasant surprise."

Her gaze moved to me, and I saw the calculation happening behind her eyes. The infamous photographer's assistant, now sitting at one of the most expensive tables in the club, surrounded by beautiful people. Another piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit.

"We need tequila," Sophia declared. "Don Julio 1942. Two bottles."

Vi nodded. "Of course. Anything else?"

"Limes, salt," Reed added. "And maybe some mixers?"

"Certainly." Vi's gaze returned to me. "And for you, sir?"

The "sir" was deliberate--establishing distance, formality. Playing the professional server while reminding me of the usual hierarchy between us.

"Macallan 25," I said. "Neat."

Her eyebrow arched slightly--the scotch was over $250 a pour. "Right away."

As she turned to leave, I added, "And Vi? Make sure it's actually the 25, not the 18 they try to pass off when they think someone won't know the difference."

She paused, looking back at me with an unreadable expression. "Of course."

The others at the table exchanged glances, impressed by my apparent insider knowledge. I'd never actually tried Macallan 25--couldn't justify the expense on an assistant's declared income--but I knew enough about high-end spirits to bluff effectively.

"You two know each other?" Jason asked after Vi had gone.

"We've worked together," I said simply.

"Danny is Marco Visconti's second shooter now," Sophia explained, her hand squeezing my thigh possessively. "He just did the new Dior campaign with Vi."

"Second shooter to Marco Visconti?" Reed whistled. "That's a fast rise."

I shrugged modestly. "Right place, right time."

The conversation shifted to fashion industry gossip, but I remained distantly aware of Vi's movements through the club. She returned fifteen minutes later with our order, expertly arranging bottles, glasses, and accoutrements on the table.

"Will there be anything else?" she asked, her professional smile firmly in place.

"This is perfect," I said, examining the scotch she placed before me. I took a deliberate sip, holding her gaze over the rim of the glass. "Excellent. Thank you."

Something flickered in her eyes--annoyance, perhaps, that I hadn't given her the opportunity to serve me the wrong scotch. Or maybe she was simply irritated at being forced to serve someone she considered beneath her.

"Vi, you should join us when you're done!" Sophia said, already pouring tequila shots. "It's so weird seeing you work here."

"I'm afraid I'm on until closing," Vi replied. "But thank you for the invitation."

"Next time, then," I said, raising my glass slightly in her direction.

She nodded without commitment and moved away, her professional mask back in place. But as she descended the steps from our platform, I saw her glance back once, her expression thoughtful.

The night progressed as nightclub nights tend to--more drinks, louder music, conversations that veered between superficial and overly intimate as inhibitions lowered. Sophia grew increasingly tactile, practically in my lap by the third round of shots. Elise maintained her composure longer, nursing her drinks slowly, her gaze sharp as she observed the dynamics around her.

Throughout, I monitored Vi's movements through the club. She was efficient, professional, never lingering at any table longer than necessary. I noticed that male patrons often tried to engage her--touching her arm, leaning in to speak directly in her ear, making requests that seemed designed to keep her at their tables. She deflected expertly, maintaining the illusion of friendly service while creating distance.

Around 2 AM, I excused myself to use the restroom. The main ones on the club floor had lines stretching into the hallway, so I headed toward the back, where I knew the VIP restrooms would be less crowded. As I passed a door marked "Staff Only," I noticed it was slightly ajar.

I paused, listening. Female voices, one of them Vi's.

"--don't see why you're so worked up," someone was saying. "He's hot, but not worth breaking your rule over."

"I'm not 'worked up,'" Vi's voice replied, cool and collected as always. "I'm simply saying there's something off about him. One month he's adjusting lights, the next he's Marco's second and drinking Macallan 25 in VIP?"

"Maybe he's just good at his job," the other voice suggested. "Or good in bed. From what Sophia's been saying--"

"Please," Vi interrupted. "Sophia would think a mannequin was a sex god if it had the right connections."

The other woman laughed. "Fair. But seriously, what do you care? It's not like you to notice anyone below, you know, actual photographer status."

A pause. "I don't care. It's just... odd."

"If you say so." The sound of a locker closing. "I need to get back out there. Table 12 is running low on vodka."

I stepped back quickly, continuing down the hallway as if heading to the restroom. A moment later, a blonde in the same uniform as Vi emerged from the staff room. She glanced at me, then away, hurrying back toward the main floor.

I waited, but Vi didn't emerge. After using the actual restroom, I passed by the staff door again. It was closed now, but as I neared, it opened. Vi stepped out, nearly colliding with me.

"Excuse me," she said automatically, then registered who I was. Her expression cooled. "This area is for staff only, Mr. Marshall."

"I was looking for the restroom," I said, gesturing down the hall. "VIP perk, apparently."

She studied me, her gaze assessing. "Of course. Enjoying your evening?"

"It has its moments." I made no move to continue past her. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Yes, Sophia mentioned her surprise." Vi's tone was carefully neutral. "Though I'm not sure why. Many models supplement their income with other work."

"With a PhD and your booking rate? Somehow I doubt this is about money."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You seem to know a lot about me."

I shrugged. "The industry talks. You're somewhat of a legend."

"And you?" she asked, folding her arms. "What does the industry say about you, Mr. Marshall?"

"Danny," I corrected. "And I imagine they say I'm ambitious. Talented. Perhaps opportunistic."

"Opportunistic." She repeated the word, tasting it. "Yes, I can see that."

"Is ambition a crime now?"

"Not at all. But rapid ascents often lead to swift falls." Her smile was cold. "Especially when built on... unstable foundations."

I stepped closer, just enough to make her aware of my physical presence without being inappropriate. "Are you questioning my qualifications, Ms. Reyes?"

"Vi," she corrected, mimicking my earlier tone. "And I'm merely making an observation. This industry chews up and spits out dozens like you every year. People who think talent is enough."

"And what else is required, in your expert opinion?"

"Strategy." She held my gaze unflinchingly. "Connections. Understanding the game beneath the game."

"Perhaps I understand it better than you think."

Something shifted in her expression--not quite respect, but a new awareness. She was reevaluating whatever assumptions she'd made about me.

"Perhaps," she conceded. "We'll see, won't we?"

Before I could respond, another server appeared at the end of the hallway. "Vi, André's looking for you. Table 8 wants to order magnums."

Vi nodded to her colleague, then turned back to me. "Duty calls. Enjoy your Macallan, Danny. I made sure it was actually the 25."

She brushed past me, her shoulder barely touching mine, the scent of her perfume--something expensive and subtle--lingering in her wake. I watched her walk away, her posture perfect, her movements graceful even in the ridiculous heels they made the servers wear.

When I returned to the table, Sophia was visibly drunk, draped over Elise who looked increasingly uncomfortable. The finance bros had disappeared, replaced by a group of models I vaguely recognized from castings. The additional bottles we'd ordered were nearly empty.

"Danny!" Sophia exclaimed when she saw me. "Where'd you go? We missed you!"

"Just exploring," I said, reclaiming my seat beside her. She immediately crawled into my lap, her arms around my neck.

"Hmm, exploring," she repeated, her words slurring slightly. "Find anything interesting?"

"Perhaps," I said, accepting the drink someone handed me. Over Sophia's shoulder, I caught Elise watching me, her expression speculative.

The night continued, the club growing more crowded, the music more insistent. Vi appeared occasionally, delivering fresh bottles with professional efficiency, never lingering at our table longer than necessary. Each time, her eyes would meet mine briefly, that same unreadable assessment in her gaze.

Around 3:30 AM, as the club began to thin out, Sophia leaned in close to my ear. "Let's get out of here," she said, her hand sliding up my thigh. "I want you to fuck me like you did at The Standard."

I had other plans. "Soon," I promised. "I need to make a call first. Reception's better outside."

She pouted but nodded, turning back to her conversation with the other models. I slipped away from the table, but instead of heading toward the exit, I moved deeper into the club, toward the staff areas I'd seen earlier.

The "Staff Only" door was now unguarded, the hallway beyond dimly lit. I moved quietly, listening. Most of the staff would be focused on last call and closing procedures. I tried a door at random--locked. The next opened to a small office, empty. The third revealed what I was looking for--a staff changing area, rows of lockers along one wall, a few chairs scattered around.

And there, checking her phone by a locker, was the blonde server I'd seen speaking with Vi earlier. She looked up in surprise when the door opened.

"Sorry," she said automatically. "Staff only back here. Restrooms are--" She stopped, recognition dawning. "Oh, you're from the VIP table. Sophia's... friend."

"Danny," I supplied, closing the door behind me.

She hesitated, clearly uncertain about my presence but not immediately alarmed. Pretty, in a conventional way--blue eyes, full lips, curves accentuated by the tight uniform. Her nametag read "Jenna."

"Jenna," I said, moving further into the room. "I was actually looking for you."

Her eyebrows rose. "Me? Why?"

"I overheard you earlier. Talking with Vi."

A flicker of wariness crossed her features. "Okay..."

"You work together often?"

"Sometimes." She eyed me cautiously. "Look, I should really get back out--"

"She doesn't like me much," I interrupted, leaning against a locker. "Vi. I'm curious why."

Jenna relaxed slightly, interpreting this as simple gossip. "Vi doesn't like most people, so don't take it personally. She's... selective."

"About her friends? Or her lovers?"

Jenna laughed. "Both. But especially lovers. I've worked here two years and never seen her leave with anyone."

"Not even the banker? Xavier?"

"That's... complicated." Jenna glanced at the door, then back to me. "Look, I should really--"

I moved closer, into her personal space. "Do you find me attractive, Jenna?"

Her breath caught, pupils dilating slightly. "I--what?"

"Simple question." I reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her skin. "Do you find me attractive?"

"Yes," she admitted, her cheeks flushing. "But this is inappropriate. I'm working."

"The club's closing," I pointed out. "And Sophia's too drunk to notice I'm gone for a little while."

Jenna bit her lip, clearly tempted but hesitant. "I could get fired."

"For what? Taking a break?"

My hand moved to her waist, drawing her closer. She didn't resist.

"This is crazy," she whispered, even as her body leaned into mine.

"The best things usually are." I bent to kiss her, a slow, deliberate claiming.

She responded instantly, her arms wrapping around my neck, her body pressing against mine. This wasn't about desire--at least, not for me. It was about positioning. About creating a situation.