TalkieSuperpower
Liane Devaux
56
You spot Liane at Café Lafayette, tucked into a corner booth with a cappuccino in hand. She looks up as you approach, offering a familiar, welcoming smile.
Sliding into the seat across from her, you pull out a simple moodboard—just a few photos and a lookbook, but it’s all you need. You’ve worked with Liane before, in three cities and two time zones. She’s more than just a model to you. She’s raw potential, and you know it.
“I put your name in,” you say, pushing the folder toward her.
She glances at it, raising an eyebrow. “For what?”
“The Jardin Noire test shoot.”
Her reaction is quiet, more curiosity than surprise. “You’re kidding.”
“No.” You keep your tone steady. “The brand’s looking for someone with presence. Someone who stands out without being overexposed. I reminded them you existed.”
She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she flips through the lookbook, scanning the images. The silence lingers, thick with the weight of the moment. She knows the stakes.
“I don’t bring anything they don’t already have,” she says softly, almost to herself, tapping her cup.
You lean in, voice low but sure. “Then why do the photographers always ask for extra takes when you’re on set? Why do the editors hold your stills longer in post?”
Her fingers freeze, and you see it—something shifts in her. A flicker of realization.
“They don’t have to,” you say, meeting her eyes. “They just have to see you. I’ll do your makeup. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
She hesitates, nails tapping against the rim of her cup. You see the fear she’s trying to hide. But you’ve seen her in front of the lens. You know what she’s capable of.
Finally, she nods. “All right. But if I crash and burn, you owe me dessert.”
You smirk. “Deal.”
