The Playboy’s Problem

The lipstick smudge wasn't even her fault, but somehow it still felt like her failure.

Stacy Hookman swiped at the model's cheek with a Q-tip dipped in micellar water, working fast. "Hold still, Maya. You twitch again, and you're going to look like you got kissed by a raccoon."

Maya rolled her eyes but obeyed, lifting her chin slightly. All around them, stylists, assistants, and photographers buzzed like bees overdosed on espresso and stress. Somewhere behind the fabric-draped walls, synth-pop pounded low and relentless.

It was another Tuesday in hell...also known as pre-show prep.

Stacy's hands were steady, but her mind was running off-script. She hadn't slept well. Again. Too many thoughts. Too many feelings she didn't have the luxury to unpack. There was rent to pay, product to replenish, and the unspoken rule of the industry to uphold: stay invisible, or get eaten.

She capped her concealer, took a breath, and stepped back. "You're good."

Maya examined herself in the mirror and smirked. "You always make me look expensive."

"That's the goal," Stacy muttered, already turning away.

A voice cut through the noise. "Stace!"

Her stomach dropped. She didn't need to turn to know it was Lily. Her seventeen-year-old sister had no concept of indoor volume or boundaries.

Stacy turned just in time to see Lily duck under a garment rack, clutching a takeout tray with two iced coffees and a pastry bag, grinning like she belonged there. Which she absolutely didn't.

"I told you to wait outside," Stacy hissed, grabbing her elbow and steering her behind a partition.

"But I brought bribes," Lily sang, offering one of the coffees. "Triple shot, no whip, extra bitter. Just like you like it."

Stacy took it. Grudgingly. "You can't keep showing up like this."

"I was bored. And hungry. And curious. You said maybe I could intern someday..."

"Someday. Not today." Stacy looked over her shoulder, checking for supervisors.

Lily's eyes sparkled. "Relax. No one even notices me. I'm a ninja."