Well...

You stop by the door and say, “I’m not really sure. There are a lot of girls trying out for this position, and plenty of them have far more experience than you do. Some have already been in TV shows and movies; others have racked up credits back in their hometowns.”

As you glance over at her, you catch that same hungry glint in her eyes you’ve seen in countless young women before—raw, ****, willing to trade anything for a shot. You know she meant it when she said she’d do whatever it took. That’s probably how she’s clawed her way this far. The truly gifted ones, the ones with real representation, never have to sink to the couch. It’s always the interchangeable, decent-enough-but-nothing-special types who have to prove they’re worth the risk.

So you step away from the door and move back toward her. “It’s nothing personal,” you tell her. “This is just a dog-eat-dog world in Hollywood. You need something that sets you apart from the pack, and right now, I’m not seeing it.”

You close the distance as you speak, watching her shoulders sag, her confidence fraying with every inch you erase. When you’re right up against her, you lower your voice. “But I’m not completely heartless. I’m open-minded. If you’ve got something—anything—that you think makes you different, show me. I’ve been wrong before. Maybe you’ve got the spark I’m missing.”

With that, you slide your hands along her shoulders, letting your palms linger, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. You let the heat build in your shorts, your cock swelling until it’s just grazing the curve of her ass. Then you lean in, lips brushing her ear, and whisper, “So, is there anything you can think of to set yourself apart? It’s not my job to spell it out for you.”