Make her feel bad so you can fuck her

You caught yourself staring at her tattoos, and Amara immediately grew self-conscious, arms crossing over her midriff.

“It would help if you showed me more of your body,” you said in a flat, neutral tone.

“What do you mean?” she asked, brow creasing.

“Don’t worry,” you reassured her. “We shoot a lot of beach scenes. I need actresses who can wear bikinis without hesitation. Your ink is unique, and we don’t see many women like you, so I just need to confirm there’s nothing… inappropriate. Strip to your underwear. It’s basically the same as a swimsuit.”

“Um, okay… that makes sense,” Amara murmured. She sounded unsure, but she peeled off her shirt quickly enough. Her pants took longer; you glanced at your watch and let the silence stretch until she fumbled the belt loose. Embarrassment flashed across her face, but you kept your expression professional.

Once she stood in just bra and panties, you studied her openly. The tattoos were bold, intricate, impossible to hide under the show’s signature red one-piece.

You exhaled. “I’m sorry, Amara. Your confidence and enthusiasm are solid, but the ink would pull focus. We need someone with clean skin to blend with the ensemble.”

Tears welled instantly; her voice cracked. “I understand, but isn’t there anything I can do?” You allowed a small, private smile—she was exactly where you wanted her. “All right, turn around for me,” you said, bored, twirling a finger. Amara pivoted slowly. You drank in the curve of her ass, the sweep of ink along her spine, then schooled your face back to stone by the time she faced you again.

“Not bad,” you said flatly, eyes raking her once more. “For heaven’s sake, stop the waterworks. Toughen up—this business eats tears for breakfast.”

“Sorry, Mr. Johnson,” she whispered, swiping at her cheeks. “I just really want this part.” You tsked, shaking your head. “Rejection’s part of the game. If you can’t handle a ‘no,’ you won’t survive.”

“Oh, please, Mr. Johnson,” she pleaded, voice trembling. “Give me another chance.” Perfect. You sighed theatrically while triumph flared inside. “Fine.” You stood, unzipped your pants, and let them drop just enough. “You want the role? Earn it. You know what to do.”