Honkers Under the Holly (The Cocky Kingmans)

2. A Model Dilemma

A MODEL DILEMMA

T he incessant honking pierced through my dreams, dragging me back to consciousness. I blinked, disoriented, as sunlight streamed through the blurry curtains. What time was it?

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “I’m coming, Sir Honksalot. Keep your feathers on.”

As if on cue, another honk echoed through the apartment, followed by an aggravated groan from the next room. Right. My roommates. Who were probably plotting goose-icide at this very moment. None of us were early risers, but thank goodness Honksalot had woken me up before noon. I had an appointment at the agency this afternoon.

I padded into the living room to find Sir Honksalot parading around his cushion fort, head held high like he owned the place. Which, given the events of last night, he kind of did.

“Good morning, Your Honkness,” I said, scooping him up. He nuzzled into my neck, surprisingly affectionate for a bird I’d known less than twenty-four hours. “Let’s get you some brunch before the natives revolt.”

I rummaged through the lackluster fridge contents looking for a meal to prepare for both Sir Honksalots and me. Our choices were salad or salad. Sigh. What did everyone have against carbs? “Kale or cabbage, buddy?”

The goose eyed the salad suspiciously before deigning to take a bite. As he munched, I leaned against the counter. I’d much rather be hanging out with Mac again than what I had to do today. Mac’s strong arms holding my rescue goose... and me. Kissing like that one last night. The hours we spent talking...

Sir Honksalot flung a piece of kale at my face. He was way more excited about greens than I was.

His potential solution was as intriguing as it was vague. What could a sports agent’s client possibly do with a goose? Start a water polo team?

I shook my head. “We can’t pin all our hopes on a guy we just met, Honksy. No matter how impressive his... problem-solving skills are.”

Sir Honksalot made a soft snuffling sound, almost as if he was agreeing with me... or he was just enjoying his food. I really needed to make some friends who weren’t of the avian variety.

“But it’s not like I know what I’m going to do with you. You got any ideas?” I asked him, stroking his feathers.

He responded with one loud honk, then turning his attention back to his breakfast.

A door slammed, jolting us both from our breakfast. My roommate Zoe stormed into the kitchen, her face a thundercloud.

“Sara Jayne,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “Why is there a goose eating my organic kale?”

I glanced down. Sir Honksalot had his beak buried in the bowl of fancy greens. “Um... he has expensive organic taste?”

Zoe was not amused. “This isn’t funny, Sara Jayne. That bird has to go. Do you know how much noise he made this morning while we were all trying to sleep? I have a big shoot today, and I’m gonna look like the marshmallow man sat on my face.”

“I’m sorry, Zoe. I’ll find him a new home, I promise. I just need a little time.” Or for a particularly sexy sports agent to come to our rescue, again.

She crossed her arms. “There are plenty of models, who are actually working and can pay their rent on time who would love to take your half of that room. You have until Friday. After that, it’s you or the goose.”

As Zoe stomped out, I slumped against the counter. “Ooph. I think we’re both in the doghouse. Or goose-house, as the case may be.”

I glanced at the clock. Zoe wasn’t wrong about me not working. I was hoping my meeting with the Elite One agency owner today would change that. One could not live on Oktoberfest tips alone. Especially since this was the last week. “Okay, Your Honkness, change of plans. You’re coming with me to my room while I get ready. Tessa’s away on assignment, so you’ll have the place to yourself while I’m at the agency.”

Sir Honksalot seemed perfectly content with this arrangement, especially when I turned on some music. Classic Whitney Houston played, and he began to bob his head in time with the music, his whole body swaying.

“Oh my god,” I laughed. “You really are something else, but I can’t blame you. We all wanna dance with somebody.”

The agency was bustling when I arrived, models and photographers rushing about in controlled chaos. I made my way to Magda’s office, my portfolio clutched tightly to my chest. She’d had me do some new shoots in hopes of attracting new interest.

I was really hoping that the fact she’d called me to a meeting that this was it. My chance to finally book a real job.

Magda looked up as I entered, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of my appearance. “Ah, Sara Jayne. Come in and close the door, please.”

I perched on the edge of the chair across from her desk, trying to project confidence I didn’t feel. “Thank you for seeing me, Magda. I have those new photos?—”

“Sara Jayne,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “Yes, I’ve seen them, and they’re good. But we need to discuss your progress. Or rather, the lack thereof.”

My heart sank right through my stomach and dropped to the floor. This wasn’t about a new job. “Okay. What can I do?”

Magda sighed, taking off her glasses. “It’s been six months since we signed you. In that time, you’ve booked exactly two jobs. Both local, both low-paying. We need to strategize.”

“I’ve been doing everything my agent asks,” I offered, but she understood that. I didn’t know what else to do. “I’ve been to every casting call, every?—”

“I know,” Magda cut in. “Your work ethic isn’t the issue. The fact is, the plus-size market is... challenging. Especially here in L.A. We might need to consider some alternative markets.”

I tensed, sensing where this was going. She didn’t mean back to Germany. “What kind of alternative markets?”

Magda hesitated, then said, “We’ve had some interest from weight loss companies. They’re always looking for ‘before’ models, and?—”

“No,” I said firmly, cutting her off. “Absolutely not. I won’t do weight loss ads.”

“Sara Jayne, be reasonable. It could be a good opportunity to be seen.”

“April De la Reine has never settled, never let the industry dictate her career, even through seven pregnancies,” I said, my voice rising. “And I won’t either. I’m here to be a fashion model, not to perpetuate harmful stereotypes.”

Magda held up her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I understand. And between you and me, I respect your stance. I’m a fan of April’s work too. Not just in modeling, but in body positivity. Lord knows our industry could use some of that.” She leaned back in her chair, considering me. “But we need to do something to boost your visibility. Have you considered social media?”

I blinked, thrown by the change in direction. “Social media?”

“Yes. There’s this up-and-coming thing called InstaSnap. It’s all the rage with the younger crowd, and since it’s amazing pictures and videos, it’s perfect for our industry. If you could build a following there, showcase your personality along with your modeling... it could open up a lot of doors.”

I nodded slowly, bringing things together, everything whirling in my mind. “I could do that. Sir Honks—I mean, I have some ideas that could be interesting.”

Magda raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment about my near slip. “Good. Work on that. In the meantime, I’ll keep pushing for fashion bookings and look into some networking opportunities for you.”

She paused, thinking for a moment, then added, “Actually, my husband and I are having a holiday party next week at my estate. You haven’t been out yet, but we do a lot of photoshoots there and I like to entertain.”

She gave me a once up and down look as if evaluating what she wanted to say next. “Why don’t you come? It could be good for you to meet some potential clients and industry people in a more relaxed setting. Of course, there are Jones’s football buddies too, so you might bring a date if you don’t want them all over you.”

Holy Hagebuttenmark . An invitation to one of Magda’s parties was usually reserved for models at the agency at the top of their game. If she wanted me to come, she must really believe in my potential. I was blown away by the offer.

“Thank you, yes. I’ll be there. Thank you.” I sounded like a fool, but I couldn’t get over the invite. Maybe I really could get my foot in the door and get some jobs. And if I could get jobs it meant other little girls around the world who ‘had a pretty face’ or ‘would be so pretty if they’d just lose a few pounds’ might just feel seen too.

I left Magda’s office, my head was spinning with everything we’d discussed. An InstaSnap account. A holiday party. But still no solid bookings.

My phone buzzed with a text. It was from Mac.

Can’t stop thinking about last night. And this morning. And Sir Honksalot’s dance moves. Coffee later? I might have some news about our feathered friend.

A smile spread across my face as I typed my reply.

Me too. Pick a place where we can talk about unconventional pet care without people thinking we’re crazy.

Challenge accepted. How about the cat cafe near the pier? If they can handle cats, they can handle talk of a rap-loving goose.

I laughed out loud, earning curious looks from the other people in the elevator. I didn’t care. For the first time in months, I felt a glimmer of hope. And not just for my career, but my love life too. It had been as stale as my booking prospects ever since I came to the United States. American men were just not the same as German ones.

I practically skipped the entire way home, my mind buzzing with possibilities. Maybe I could feature Sir Honksalot in my InstaSnap posts. A plus-size model with a rescue goose? That had to be a unique angle, right?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost missed the commotion coming from my apartment as I approached the door. Frowning, I quickened my pace and fumbled with my keys.

I swung the door open and was greeted by a scene of utter chaos. Feathers floated through the air like snow. The contents of my closet seemed to have exploded across the living room. And there, in the middle of it all, stood Sir Honksalot, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

In his beak dangled the mangled remains of what had once been my favorite pair of Jimmy Choo pumps.

“Sir Honksalot,” I gasped, horrified. “What have you done?”

He dropped the shoe and let out a triumphant honk, as if to say, “I’ve redecorated. You’re welcome.”

I sank to my knees, surveying the damage. I was so lucky the rest of the girls weren’t home. How had he even gotten out of my room? As I picked up a tattered blouse, a glint of metal caught my eye. There, hidden beneath a pile of destroyed clothing, was a bent hairpin.

“You picked the lock?” I asked incredulously. “With a hairpin? Should I have named you Goosedini?”

Sir Honksalot just waddled over and nestled against my leg, looking up at me with what I swore was a mischievous glint in his eyes. He was so cuddly and I couldn’t stay mad at him.

I sighed, giving his feathers a gentle stroke. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that? Now, what am I going to wear for my coffee date with Mac?”

As if in response, Sir Honksalot waddled over to the chaos and pulled out a simple, yet elegant sundress I’d forgotten I owned. It had survived the goose massacre unscathed.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you my stylist now, too? Fine, I’ll wear it. But this doesn’t get you off the hook for the shoes, mister.”

I made Honksy a new couch cushion fort and began the daunting task of cleaning up. It was mostly clutter, and I got most of it swept up and all but my clothes put away by the time my phone buzzed again. Another text from Mac.

Great call with my client. Might have that solution for our feathered friend. Can’t wait to tell you over coffee. See you soon.

I looked at Sir Honksalot, who was now contentedly preening himself amidst the wreckage of my wardrobe. There was no way I could leave him here alone again. Not if I wanted to have any clothes left, or roommates.

“Looks like you’re coming with me, Your Honkness,” I sighed, eyeing him warily as I changed into the sundress he’d “picked out” for me. “Let’s hope this cat cafe is open-minded about their clientele.”

I managed to fashion a makeshift carrier out of a large tote bag, lining it with a soft blanket. Sir Honksalot, surprisingly, seemed quite content with this arrangement, settling in with only minimal fuss.

As I approached the cafe, I could see Mac through the window, already seated at a table sipping on a mug of something with, oh my, was that a plate of glazed Lebkuchen in the shape of cats? My heart did a little flip. Had he ordered those for me?

No, no. Couldn’t be. Anyone would order gingery-goodness shaped cat cookies in a cat cafe. This was about Sir Honksalot. He was just being a really nice guy.

That I definitely had an enormous crush on.

The bell above the door jingled as I entered and Mac looked up. His grin went wide, then shifted to confusion as he noticed the large, oddly shaped bag I was carrying with a feathered head sticking out the top.

“Sara Jayne, you look... um, really beautiful, drool-worthy honestly,” he said, standing to greet me. Then, glancing at my bag, “Is that...?”

I nodded, setting the bag gently on an empty chair. “I couldn’t leave him alone after what he did to my closet. I hope that’s okay?”

Mac laughed, his eyes twinkling. “Of course. Though I’m not sure how the cats will feel about it.”

As if on cue, Sir Honksalot let out a honk like he was also saying hello. Several nearby cats perked up their ears, looking around in confusion.

“Maybe we should move to a table outside,” Mac suggested, already gathering his things, and the plate of cookies. “Give His Honkness some privacy.”

Once we were settled in a spot on their deck area, I carefully let Sir Honksalot out of the bag. He looked around with interest, seemingly unfazed by the feline presence inside the cafe.

“So,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual, like this was just business. Because if I didn’t I was going to do something impulsive, like kiss him again. “You mentioned you might have a solution to my pet problem?”

Mac nodded, leaning in conspiratorially. “Okay, hear me out. Remember Tommy, my slightly inebriated client from Oktoberfest?”

I nodded. “Of course. But I’m not sure I like where I think you’re going with this.”

“I swear he’s actually a good guy. He’s just kind of let the money go to his head. He’s in a little of a wild child phase.” He broke off a bit of one of the cookies and dropped it for Honksy. The goose hustle toward the treat. But the moment he sniffed at it, he turned up his nose at it. “Well, I convinced him he needs to improve his image if he wants to stay with the team. And I had this crazy idea—what if he became the proud owner of a slightly quirky pet goose?”

My eyes widened. “You mean Sir Honksalot?”

“Exactly,” Mac grinned. “Plus, we’d set Tommy up with a shiny new InstaSnap account to document his adventures with his unique pet, and get him to hire a professional pet wrangler to help him. It could be great PR for him and a home for loosey goosy here.”

I took a cookie from the plate and took a bite mostly to hide the stupid happy smile breaking out on my face. He’d thought of everything, and I didn’t think it was because he was a huge goose lover. “That’s... actually kind of brilliant. And weirdly coincidental. My agent just told me I need to start an InstaSnap account too.”

Mac’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s perfect. We could collaborate on content. The sexy plus-size model and the football player, united by their love for a dancing goose. It’s social media gold.”

Tommy, the beer-guzzling football player was not the one I wanted to be united in love with. Not... that I was in love. Lust, though? Yes, absolutely.

As excited as I was about the idea, a small worry nagged at me. “But what about Sir Honksalot? Is Tommy ready for full-time pet ownership, even with a pet wrangler?”

Mac’s smile faltered slightly. “That’s the thing. I’m not entirely sure he is. I was hoping maybe we could work out some kind of... joint custody?”

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Joint custody? You mean, between you and me?”

Mac’s cheeks reddened slightly. “Well, no. But I’d be, uh, the custody liaison, if you’re okay with that. And, you know, it would give us a reason to keep seeing each other regularly.”

Oh, we didn’t need a reason beyond this delicious attraction between us, but the fact that he wanted one, had manufactured this whole scenario, gave me all the warm tinglies in my belly.

“I’d like that,” I said softly. Then, just to play along, I added, “For Sir Honksalot’s sake, of course.”

“Of course,” Mac agreed, a twinkle in his eye.

Our new shared custody goose must have been very excited about this arrangement because he flapped his wings and jumped right up on my back. Which sent me tumbling forward, knocking over the cookies, our drinks, the table, and everything.

But that dang bird wasn’t done. When Mac and I stood trying to avoid the destruction, Sir Honksalot came at Mac, and knocked him right into me. We went down, in a tangle of limbs, me right on my ass, and Mac... well, he ended up face first in my lap.

Then, as if nothing happened, Sir Honksalot waddled over to the cookie crumbs and started pecking at them, like they were a reward for a job well done.

Mac slowly raised his head, his eyes following the line of my exposed thigh. He eventually ran out of leg and managed to look up at me. The way his eyes twinkled at me had my panties immediately on fire.

He licked his lips and grinned up at me. “Well, wasn’t that a wild ride?”

Why did I have a feeling that was less of a question and more of a promise? I sure hoped so.