"The Wachowskis booked you on the spot? How the hell did you pull that off?" Ari's voice was still buzzing with excitement.
"I showed them what I can do."
"…That's it?"
"That's it."
Ari took a deep breath.
"Alright, I'll chase the contract. Also, Marc Platt got back to us—the director is Bille Woodruff. He's shot a ton of music videos, so he knows how to handle dance. Jessica Alba already signed the letter of intent. As soon as her schedule clears, we lock her in."
"And Fast 2?"
"Neal's still arm-wrestling Universal. We'll wait till they finish jerking each other around."
"Cool. Talk later."
Raphael hung up. Before he could even shift the car into drive, his phone rang again—Philip, right on cue.
"CK locked in the shoot dates."
Raphael raised an eyebrow. "When? Where?"
"Two weeks. New York."
"How long is the shoot?"
"Three days."
Raphael blinked. "Three days? For a global CK campaign… you sure that's all they need?"
"For anyone else, maybe!"
Philip's voice dripped with pure swagger. "I told their marketing director that Raphael Lee doesn't waste time. Three-sixty flawless face, perfect camera instinct, and a body that makes women from eight to eighty scream at their TVs—three days is plenty."
He paused for dramatic effect. "My exact words: 'Give him three days and he'll shoot enough material to cover your next three years of campaigns. You'll save enough budget to hire another B-lister.'"
Raphael's mouth curved into a smirk.
"They bought that?"
"Hell yes they did!"
Philip laughed, loud and proud. "Main reason? They saw your Tonight Show clip and the Empire cover. That photographer Chloe actually wrote CK a personal recommendation letter. Said you were 'born to be hunted by the camera.'"
"…When did she write that?"
"Last week. She reached out to them herself."
Philip sounded genuinely stunned. "Raph, do you get how huge that is? A top photographer going out of her way to pitch you to a brand—that shit barely happens once a year in this town."
Raphael thought of the quiet young photographer with the razor-sharp eyes.
He remembered what she said after the last shot.
"You're a man with a story."
He smiled.
"Three days it is."
"Then it's locked. You fly out the 23rd, shoot the 27th through the 29th. Oh—and make sure those abs are popping. CK wants 'breathable' and raw underwear shots. None of that stiff bodybuilder flex bullshit."
Raphael rolled his eyes.
"I've been working out for nineteen years."
"I know, but a little extra water-cut never hurts."
Philip chuckled. "Gotta run. I'll ride the contract details like a hawk."
Raphael hung up, a flicker of curiosity hitting him.
This would be his first real commercial shoot. He wondered how different it would feel from a movie set.
---
One week later, New York.
The second Raphael stepped out of the JFK terminal, his ride was waiting.
A middle-aged guy in a crisp black suit held a sign that read "Raphael Lee." He looked dead serious, like he was on a secret-service detail.
"Mr. Lee, I'm your driver from Calvin Klein."
The man took his luggage. "Mr. Philip made it very clear you don't travel with an assistant. We respect your privacy."
Raphael gave a short nod and slid into the back of the waiting black SUV.
The car cut through Midtown, then pulled up in front of a towering glass building.
Calvin Klein Global Headquarters.
The moment Raphael walked into the lobby, a tall, sharp blonde in a tailored suit strode straight over.
"Raphael Lee? I'm Lisa, CK's Advertising Director."
She shook his hand with a polished smile. "Welcome to New York. Everything's ready. The director and your co-stars are waiting upstairs."
Raphael followed her into the elevator.
"The director is Mel Dinatale."
Lisa hit the button for the 23rd floor. "He's been with us over a decade—did Mark Wahlberg and Kate Moss. Master at that raw, breathable aesthetic. That's exactly what your manager Philip emphasized."
Raphael just nodded.
He trusted Philip's taste.
The elevator chimed.
The conference-room doors opened and the first thing Raphael saw was a man with signature silver hair, fifties, crisp white shirt and black trousers, studying a storyboard.
Mel Dinatale.
He looked up, eyes locking on Raphael for two full seconds.
"You're here."
He stood, walked over, and didn't offer a handshake. Instead he slowly circled Raphael like he was inspecting a racehorse.
"Jacket off."
Raphael raised an eyebrow but shrugged the blazer off, tossing it over a chair.
Dinatale stared another few seconds.
"Shoulder line is gorgeous. Collarbone exposure is perfect."
He nodded at Lisa. "For the denim line we can lean heavy on upper-body framing. For the underwear—"
He paused.
"Can't see what I'm working with while he's still wearing pants. We'll figure it out in the test shoot."
Lisa smiled and nodded.
Dinatale finally turned back to Raphael and stuck out his hand.
"Mel Dinatale. For the next three days, your ass is mine."
Raphael shook it firmly.
"Raphael Lee."
"I know exactly who you are."
Dinatale waved a hand. "Street racer. Skywalker kid. Saw your tape—that shopping-cart bit? Not bad."
He looked at Lisa.
"Where are the girls?"
Lisa hit the intercom.
"Send them in."
The second the door opened, Raphael got the full visual overload.
First in was a blonde, nearly six feet tall, legs for days, walking like a panther stalking territory.
Gisele Bündchen.
Second was a deep-brunette with a face so flawless it was almost demonic—lazy, intoxicating sex appeal, faint smirk on her lips.
Alessandra Ambrosio.
Two Brazilian goddesses.
Raphael's gaze swept over both.
Gisele—future Victoria's Secret pillar, highest-paid supermodel on the planet.
Her bone structure was strong, almost masculine—powerful beauty.
Alessandra—another future VS legend. Legs weren't her strongest suit (average by Angel standards), but that face? Lethal. Eyes that hooked you and refused to let go.
"Gisele partners on the underwear line," Lisa introduced. "Alessandra on denim. Both longtime friends of the house, so no need for long intros."
Dinatale nodded, then looked straight at Raphael.
"What do you think?"
Raphael blinked.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you."
Dinatale crossed his arms. "You get final say. CK tradition—the global face approves his co-stars. Assuming you've got a good enough reason to convince Lisa and me."
Raphael stayed quiet for three seconds.
His eyes moved between the two women, brain running the math.
Gisele—body perfect, but that face? He honestly couldn't get into it. Too rugged for his taste.
Alessandra—legs average, but that face was god-tier. Perfect for extreme close-ups.
CK underwear lived on intense, intimate close-ups. Face mattered more than legs.
But there was a third option.
He remembered the house party at Neal Moritz's a month ago—the girl with the feral wolf eyes who had backed him into a corner.
Adriana Lima.
Her legs were longer than Ambrosio's. Her face was way prettier than Gisele's. Her whole aura was the perfect hybrid—Gisele's dominant power mixed with Ambrosio's suffocating sex appeal.
Plus… they'd already fucked.
No, not because of that.
Raphael corrected himself instantly.
Because of her camera presence.
On the VS runway, Lima's walk was the most aggressive, hostile thing on the stage. That "I'm the hottest bitch in the room" energy was exactly what a CK underwear campaign needed.
"I need to make a call," he said flatly.
Lisa pointed to the quiet corner.
Raphael dialed Philip and gave him the rundown.
"Lima?"
Philip sounded surprised. "Her current rate is half a tier below Gisele. But visually… yeah, she matches your face way better. You absolutely sure?"
"Dead sure."
"Done. I'll make the call."
Half an hour later Philip rang back.
"It's handled. Lima's schedule is wide open, she can fly in tomorrow. CK signed off on the swap—but you're gonna have to deal with Gisele yourself."
Raphael hung up and walked back to the table.
"Made your decision?" Lisa asked.
"I have."
Raphael looked her dead in the eye. "For the denim line, I'm pairing with Adriana Lima."
Lisa's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up.
"Lima?" She clearly hadn't seen that coming.
"Yeah."
"And the underwear line?"
Raphael shifted his gaze to Ambrosio.
"Alessandra Ambrosio. Underwear line."
Ambrosio's eyes lit up instantly.
For a model, underwear was the money shot—flattered her strengths, hid her flaws. She knew it.
Dinatale gave a slow, stoic nod.
"Good eye."
He agreed. "Ambrosio's face is significantly better for extreme close-ups."
Only Gisele Bündchen's face completely dropped.
"Wait a second."
Her voice turned ice-cold. "So I'm just being swapped out?"
Lisa tried damage control. "Gisele, this is just—"
"I don't need the bullshit excuse."
Gisele cut her off, eyes locking on Raphael like twin lasers. "I want to know exactly why."
Raphael met her furious glare without blinking. His voice stayed flat.
"Personal aesthetic preference."
Gisele froze.
"Excuse me?"
Raphael spoke every syllable clearly. "I said—it's purely my personal aesthetic preference. I like a different look."
The air in the conference room turned to concrete for three full seconds.
Then Gisele smiled.
Not a happy smile. A dark, lethal, "you just fucked with the wrong woman" smile.
"Great. Personal aesthetic. I'll remember that."
Gisele lost her fucking mind.
She spun on her heel and stormed out.
Her stilettos hammered the hardwood like gunshots.
The heavy door slammed shut with a deafening crash.
Lisa let out a heavy sigh and gave Raphael a helpless look.
"You know she's dating Leo right now, right?"
Raphael shrugged, careless.
"I know."
"And you're not worried?"
Raphael gave her the look that said, Why the fuck would I be?
Leonardo DiCaprio.
Jack from Titanic. Ultimate teen-heartthrob. Hollywood's golden boy.
Big fucking deal.
Raphael wasn't chasing Oscars or shooting sad indie films. Leo's clout meant exactly nothing to him.
Dinatale let out a low, raspy chuckle from across the room.
"Kid… I like you."