Miss Universe

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"You really are terrible," Hadley muttered.

Her smile said she was not nearly as offended as she sounded.

In Julian's new life, powerful people rarely wrapped desire in ceremony. If they wanted something, they moved. If the terms were clear, no one wasted much time pretending otherwise.

"Hadley, your network needs to run more favorable coverage of me and the company," Julian reminded her as they left the hotel.

"Of course," she said. "We take very good care of friends who take care of us."

Her smile made the double meaning obvious.

By the time his plane landed at Nashville International Airport, it was already 7:30 p.m. Central time.

The birthday party at his mother's downtown place had been going for a while. When Julian pushed the door open, he did not find the noisy room of singing and dancing he had expected. The living room was silent. Friends and relatives were all staring at the television mounted on the wall.

Onscreen, Hadley's interview with him was airing. In the footage, Julian was painting a grand future for the entertainment group.

"The company will reposition itself as a technology enterprise," he said on television. "We will empower our employees, especially contracted models, identify unmet user demand, vertically integrate resources, build a closed-loop ecosystem, and monetize efficiently."

On camera, it sounded like corporate strategy.

In Julian's head, it meant something simpler: make the models earn, understand what lonely men wanted, own the pipeline, and squeeze value out of every click.

His mother spotted him immediately and pointed at the screen.

"Son, that man looks just like you. He even has your name."

"Is it possible," Julian said awkwardly, "that he is me?"

"Oh, sweetheart, you are hilarious." Danielle burst out laughing.

She was forty-nine. The glossy blond hair of her youth had faded somewhat, but she still carried herself with rare, understated grace. In Nashville country circles, Danielle was a respected arranger. She had worked with Columbia, BBR, RCA, Universal Music Nashville, and several other major country labels, and in a good year, royalties alone brought her more than a million dollars. After the turn of the millennium, she had also begun teaching voice at a country-music academy in Nashville.

"Where is my gift?" she asked, noticing his empty hands.

"Sorry, Mom. I was at the Playboy Mansion earlier today, and I came straight here after finalizing the take-private agreement. I'll make it up to you tomorrow."

He exhaled. It had been a very long day.

"Weren't you supposed to be in Salt Lake City watching that financial company of yours?" Danielle stopped mid-sentence. Her jaw dropped. "Wait. You didn't..."

"I sold the company and signed a deal to take Playboy private. But before we get into that..."

Julian trailed off and finally noticed that everyone in the living room had turned to stare at him.

"My God, Julian, you really bought that company?" Uncle Maurice clutched the thinning hair on his scalp so hard that Julian felt sympathy for the remaining strands.

For the rest of the party, Julian naturally became the center of attention.

Danielle had standing in the Nashville music scene, and many of the guests were famous country singers, label staff, producers, and studio people. These were people who had either seen plenty of stars or were stars themselves, yet Julian fascinated them.

Many asked for photos. Most guests reached for compact digital cameras; a few raised camera phones or camcorders, while others asked him to sign their clothes.

The halo of "the man taking Playboy private" was doing its work.

When Julian announced that the entire party was on him, the room erupted in cheers.

Everywhere he went, people crowded around him. They handed him business cards and hinted politely at possible cooperation. Julian accepted the cards and planned to throw most of them away once the party ended.

A network did not need to be large.

It needed to be useful.

He also encountered stranger requests.

"Mr. Moretti, I live next door, and I have a small favor to ask. I want to buy the July 1972 issue of the magazine. I've searched thrift stores and collectors' shops across the country and found nothing. I wrote to the magazine office more than a dozen times and never heard back. That issue means something to me."

The old man clasped his hands together, earnest and embarrassed.

After asking a few questions, Julian learned that the man's old girlfriend had once appeared in that issue as a Playmate. He had lost his copy in a move years ago and wanted another one as a keepsake, a little relic of his youth.

Looking at the white-haired man, Julian could only think that everyone had been young once.

He nodded and agreed to help.

The old man looked as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

After the neighbor left, Julian's gaze settled on a waitress nearby.

She wore a bright brown-and-gold baseball-style uniform with Jerry's Prime Steakhouse printed across the back, clearly part of the catering crew. Tight jeans traced a pair of long, firm legs. She looked about five-nine.

Her golden-brown hair had a slight curl, as if she had run a curling iron through it in a hurry. Her features had a delicate precision that set her apart from the usual blond Southern beauty. Warm, sun-touched skin, lively amber eyes, and a different kind of temptation altogether.

She had been circling Julian for a while, looking over at him again and again. He had noticed.

"Sir, would you like a ribeye? It just came off the grill."

Julian was seated on the sofa, his eye level barely above her waist. When he looked up, he saw warm skin, bright eyes, and nervous expectation.

"No. I don't like half-raw steaks."

"I can have it cooked through, then slice it for you and add sauce. It will taste very good."

The girl's nerves were written all over her face. She did not know what else to say, so she hid behind food.

Clearly, she was a rookie. Nothing like Hadley, who had survived sorority life and understood men as a professional skill.

"What's your name?"

"Gabriela Isler. I'm from Venezuela," she said softly.

So that was why she looked familiar.

At first glance, she had seemed vaguely familiar. Once he heard the name, the memory clicked into place. This was no ordinary waitress. Years later, Gabriela Isler would be crowned Miss Universe and become internationally famous.

In his old life, Julian had made plenty of beauty-profile videos when he needed traffic, including one on Gabriela Isler. She was a classic Venezuelan beauty. The country had a deep pageant culture, from neighborhoods to schools to prisons, and some girls were sent to pageant training when they were still children.

Beneath the beauty lay harsh reality: inflation, unemployment, and a future that often looked closed before it began.

For some young women with few other paths upward, pageants offered a visible route to money, travel, and social mobility.

Seen that way, a future Miss Universe waiting tables at a party was not hard to understand.

Julian still thought Dayana Mendoza, who would be crowned before her, had the stronger overall presence. But the girl in front of him was far from ordinary.

After he took control of Playboy, the magazine would need a new group of Playmates, closer to contract models than old-style centerfolds. Gabriela would be a good candidate.

So Julian went straight to the point.

"After the party, you can stay. We'll arrange an audition. If it goes well, the company may sign you."

"Really?" Gabriela covered her mouth, unable to hide her excitement. The expression was almost identical to the one she would wear years later when a crown was placed on her head.

Julian gave the necessary warning.

"Only if you pass. I am strict about this."

She would be the first model he signed. He needed to check her presence, posture, expression, movement, and whether she had any large tattoos or other problems for the image he wanted.

Obviously, there were no other thoughts involved.

"I'll prepare carefully," Gabriela said, nodding eagerly.

"Good. For now, could you bring me a beef Wellington? Cut it into two-inch slices, keep pastry on every piece, and add extra basil to the garnish."

He was getting hungry.

"Of course, sir. I'll have it prepared right away."

When the dish arrived a little later, the plating was precise. Extra sauce gave every bite weight and flavor, and Julian could feel the care Gabriela had put into it.

Even if she failed the audition, she might make a decent private cook.

For one brief, absurd moment, Julian imagined her wearing nothing but an apron while working hard over a pan.

Halfway through the meal, he saw his mother weaving through the crowd toward him. Her cheeks were flushed. She had clearly had more than a little to drink.

"Go pick up your Aunt Faith," Danielle said, tossing him a set of keys. "Her car broke down on a back road outside town."

"Can't someone else go?" Julian looked down at the food he had barely begun to enjoy.

Danielle hiccuped, swayed, and pointed at the crowd behind her.

"Find me one other person here who hasn't been drinking."

Julian had no choice but to put down his plate.

He comforted himself with one thought.

'It's Faith Hill. For her, the drive is worth it.'

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