Sharkbait

One Month Later

Hanauma Bay, Hawaii

“That’s it, Vicki. Tilt your head to the right a smidge, and arch your back.” Click click click, the photographer’s camera going rapid-fire as I posed in the knee-deep surf. The tropical breeze felt fantastic on my exposed skin, of which the bikini left a lot. It was much better than back home in Minnesota, where the Pack was getting slammed with eighteen inches of snow right now. “Turn your right hand towards me and lift it slightly, so the mask is visible. Smile, girl, you’re in paradise.” I was carrying a mask and snorkel in one hand and fins in another, looking like I was about to dive. I SO wished I could, but I couldn’t ruin the hairstyle just yet.

I kept posing as the shoot went into its fifth hour. We were moving from the overlooks to the beach and now to the surf. I’d been in sundresses, exercise gear, casual clothes, and now I was on my eighth swimsuit. The small crowd that security kept back kept busy filling social media with pictures of me, which only fed the celebrity. “I wish they could close the beach for this,” I sent to Colleen. She was my bodyguard for the trip, on a leave of absence from her Sheriff’s duties.

“It would make my job easier,” she replied.

“Mercedes is encouraging it. It builds anticipation for the swimsuit line and is free publicity. I thought you’d be more worried about tonight.”

The first three days of my Spring Break trip to Hawaii were work, and it wasn’t just photoshoots and fan events. Mercedes wanted to get me on the gossip pages and had arranged a ‘date’ for me with a local celebrity. Skip Bonino was a twenty-one-year-old extreme sports athlete, whose social media following was in the tens of millions. I was going to be seen out on the town with him, dancing the night away at the clubs and the beach, all wearing Bodyglove fashions. “Maybe he’s a nice guy,” I said. “We can have fun, but he'd better keep his fingers off the goodies.” I was still a virgin and intended to stay that way until I found my mate. Well, the mate that was WORTHY of my neck.

The tropical sun was high in the sky, and I’d be burning by now without the preparation. Mercedes had insisted I use a tanning machine regularly so I wouldn’t look like a pale Minnesotan with a spray-on tan. She’d sent me one as a business expense, and it had joined our exercise equipment in the basement. With the deep tan and the suntan lotion, my skin practically shined now. We finished with the bikini shots as I laid in the shallow water. I walked over to the “changing room,” a hula hoop holding up the fabric panels that hid me as the assistants raised it over my head, and stripped off the wet suit. I put on a more practical swimsuit this time, along with a dive knife to strap to my leg. I smiled, knowing this meant it was free-dive time.

The fashion photographer was packing up, and I thanked him as I walked back out. “It was a pleasure, Vicki,” he said. “I wish all my models listened and behaved like you. I’ll make you look amazing.” I gave him a brief hug, then Mercedes pulled me aside to meet the dive photography team. I drank an energy shake as we talked; only snacks, no meals as they didn’t want my ‘prime rib belly’ as Mom called it showing. There were four safety divers with scuba gear, a divemaster, a fashion coordinator, and an underwater photographer. We went over the dive plan, which had us going out to the deeper, less-visited areas of the underwater national park. We spent two hours diving between the coral formations, feeding the abundant fish with frozen peas, and trying to get the small reef sharks to cooperate with the photography. I thought I’d be too far out to change, but no. The men turned around as I stripped off one suit underwater and put on the next. I even changed my skin diving gear three times.

I didn’t even notice it was work because I was having so much fun. I was disappointed when we had to go back in and walk up the trail to the parking lot, but the shoot wasn’t over just yet. We piled into vehicles and headed for a marina, where we loaded onto a dive boat with the rest of the team. Diving made all the other stuff worth it. I had on one of my shark-inspired wetsuit designs as we dove reefs and wrecks for the next three hours. I changed wetsuits with the tanks, once wearing just a bikini bottom and long-sleeve dive shirt, and finally just a bikini.

By the time we returned to our hotel, I wanted to sleep. “Get in the shower,” Mom said. “Skip’s picking you up in forty minutes.”

“Great,” I said. I spent time washing my long blonde hair, braiding it down my back. Mercedes said we would start at a beach luau, so I wore a white bikini with an ocean-themed beach dress over it. Colleen picked me up at the door; her loose flower-pattern dress had plenty of room for her to reach her “accessories.” She escorted me past the paparazzi outside our hotel, where I did my part by posing for a few pictures. The driver took us to the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, located on the beach. Colleen got out first, her eyes alert. Skip was waiting for me, wearing board shorts and a Hawaiian silk shirt, unbuttoned enough to show the gold chain bouncing on his chest hairs.

He held his hand out to me as I stepped out of the car to the clicks of the photographers. “Thank you for joining me tonight, Vicki,” he said as he held out a flowered lei.

“I’ve been looking forward to it,” I said. Skip put the flowers around my neck, and I bit back annoyance at the strong scent. My wolf, which had recovered from her loss of a mate, was not pleased. She wanted to shake her head until the stupid thing came off. I didn’t like it because it would mask my senses, but I couldn’t take it off now. I let him kiss my cheek and take my hand to lead me through the hotel. The paparazzi couldn’t follow, but both of our camps had photographers along to catch the action.

We had front-row seats at the luau, which matched entertainment, music, and food in equal amounts. I think I shocked Skip with my appetite; I wasn’t one of those women who had three pieces of lettuce and a finger sandwich and complained of being full. “You’re not like any other model I’ve met,” he said as we relaxed over the main course.

I laughed. “I hope not. I’m a diver and a student, Skip. The modeling kind of fell into my lap. I work hard, and I play harder,” I said.

“That, we have in common,” he said. I was hoping he wasn’t a vain adrenaline-junkie player, but I was wrong. He downed drink after drink, while I sipped on fruit juice. He spent almost the entire time talking about his adventures, only asking me questions to see if I’d done them as well. I could feel his eyes trying to look through my dress, and it creeped me out a little.

As the meal ended, the hosts asked for volunteers to learn to hula dance. Skip naturally volunteered me, knowing I’d have to take off the dress to put on the grass skirt. Gritting my teeth and vowing to tell Mercedes where she could stick her matchmaking. I could see the photographers going as I learned the dance; I picked it up quickly, and I had a lot of fun with the girls. The crowd applauded as I returned to my seat, where Skip didn’t even get up for me.

Dancing on the dance floor by the beach was fun, although I had to push his hands away from my ass and move away when he tried to grind on me. This kind of crap was why I didn’t like dating human males. A player like Skip didn’t want to be my friend. He wanted to party and drink with hot women all night in public, then have a hot fuck in his bed. He expected me to drop my panties like every other girl because he was Skip Bonino.

I wasn’t impressed, and I wasn’t interested. At least with werewolf males, if I said I was waiting for my mate, they would back off, and we could just have fun.

Skip pounded the rest of his drink and set it on a table. Taking my hand, he guided us to a dark spot on the dance floor. His hands were all over me as he tried to take advantage of the relative privacy. “Stop,” I said, as Skip pushed the shoulder strap of my bikini top off my shoulder. I put it back, shooting him a glare. He’d behave for a minute, but then a hand would go after my ass or tits. “It’s time for this date to end before I have to kick his ass in public,” I sent to Colleen.

“I’ll get a car brought around,” she said. She walked off to talk to a hotel employee.

Seeing my minder leave only emboldened the drunken male. He grabbed my left arm and started dragging me off the dance floor towards one of the beach cabanas. “Call an ambulance while you’re at it,” I said.

“STOP,” I told him.

“I’ve got a cabana reserved, and no one will disturb us while I give you the fucking you deserve,” he replied.

“LET. ME. GO.” I could see a cameraman in the shadows, and I didn’t want to get in a fight unless I needed to. I was not going anywhere with him willingly, though.

Instead of doing releasing me, he pulled me until my back was against his chest, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Not until you can’t walk straight, bitch. You’ll love it.”

That was enough. I raked the edge of my sandal down his left shin, following that up with an elbow to Skip’s exposed ribs. I use the surprise to drop and twist out of his grip, rolling away in the sand as he fell on his ass.

Skip was now drunk AND pissed off. “BITCH,” he said as he scrambled back to his feet, a little unsteady.

“Walk away while you can,” I said as I eased into a fighting stance.

“I’m going to enjoy breaking you,” he said. He was a good six inches taller and had sixty pounds on me, but he wasn’t a fighter. He tried to bull rush me, but I ducked under his arms and shot my knee into his stomach. It was a hard shot that sent him to his hands and knees. All of those expensive drinks and the fancy food came up in one long retch.

He wiped his mouth as he got up, his anger evident. Now he wanted to hurt me, and since he didn’t stay down, it was time to end this. Skip lunged forward and reached for my neck, but I grabbed his shirt as I dropped down and put my foot into his stomach. I used his momentum to toss him over my head with my leg as I rolled onto my back. He landed heavily on the wet sand, groaning in pain. I walked over to him as he was trying to get up to his hands and knees. “I’m going to fuck you up,” he said as he pushed himself up to his knees.

“You should learn that NO means NO,” I said before I kicked his upper left arm from the side. I heard the bone snap, and Skip screamed in pain. “Thanks for dinner,” I said as I turned around.

Colleen was waiting for me. “I can’t take you anywhere,” she said with a grin. “The ambulance is pulling up now.”

I nodded, taking the towel to wipe off the sand, then pulling the dress back over me. “I suppose I’ll have to explain this to the cops,” I told as the officers came out of the hotel.

“Nah. Our photographer was smart enough to videotape the whole thing when you told him to stop. He wasn’t the only one, either. You’re going to be famous for your fighting now, too.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “Let’s get it over with.” It took an hour to give my statement, and I showered and went right to bed when I got back to our hotel.

The next morning’s shoot was at a tall waterfall on the big island, so we had to meet Mercedes at the airport and fly there by helicopter. Colleen was right; the video had hit the internet within minutes, and the news had been playing it as we ate breakfast. I was expecting Mercedes to be mad when she showed up. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what? That asshole got what he deserved. You kicked ass and looked great doing it, in a Bodyglove bikini,” she said. “Your fight was on every channel in the world this morning, and no one blames you except Skip. You told him to stop, he announced his intention to rape you, and he got his ass kicked for it. My phone has been ringing since midnight, Vicki. Press interest in your appearance at the Surf Shop is off the charts!” This morning was the last photoshoot, as my schedule had me signing autographs and talking to fans at the store from two to four this afternoon. “Could you do a press conference before the signing? PLEASE?”

“You better feed me,” I said as Mom rolled her eyes. “And we can’t short the fans. As long as there is a line, I’m going to sign,” I said. I didn’t sign the pictures and posters Mom had printed at the Bodyglove events unless a fan brought it in. Mercedes made sure some of the best shots from my first shoot became posters that bore the Bodyglove logo by my name, and they were free.

“As long as we finish by six. We have the Executive Dinner and the reveal of the best shots from this week’s shoot starting at seven. You’re going to wow them, Vicki.” At my first modeling job, the bruises on my ribs and face had to be hidden by my poses or erased digitally. I’d fully healed since then, and Hawaii was a beautiful backdrop. I couldn’t wait to see the photos we took yesterday.

My fans deserved my time, I’d vowed earlier. I was still amazed at how much money we’d raised for shark research in just one month. We'd placed a second order for more of the trackers since we shattered our fundraising goal. More than five hundred tags were active, with more coming online every day. Tomorrow, I was going out with Ocean and her team to tag Hawaiian Tiger Sharks with a documentary team. Our cheaper tags had a considerable advantage over previous designs; you could attach it to the end of a pole, then push it towards the shark’s dorsal fin from the front or back. The clamp would trigger when the edge of the dorsal hit the fold of the tag, so you could tag without capturing the shark first. The new method meant a lot less stress on the sharks, and a lot more sharks you could tag in a day.

I couldn’t talk the pilot into letting me have the controls on the return trip, which was the only bad part of the day. The press conference was chaotic, but the video was as clear as my story. It gave me a chance to talk about respect for women and the meaning of no. I don’t think Skip would be getting as many dates once his compound fracture healed.

I loved the signing, meeting so many fans from little kids to grandparents. I signed, posed for pictures, and thanked people for over three hours until the store sold out of Bodyglove merchandise.

The dinner with the Bodyglove executives was even better; they loved me as their spokesman, and their sales had nearly doubled since the campaign began. The CEO wanted to lock me into a long-term deal as soon as possible and asked me what it would take. “I don’t mind the modeling, and I love the public events, but none of this was something I set out to do,” I said. “I love three things in my life; my family, my diving, and sharks.”

“We’ve made a substantial contribution to your shark tagging study,” he said.

“And I appreciate that very much. I love your company, and I want these lines to succeed wildly, and that’s why I want to talk to you about Amy Miller.”

“Your best friend, the one who was injured in your kidnapping?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Amy’s vision has improved a bit, but she may have permanent damage. That won’t stop her,” I said. I pulled out my phone and showed some photos of the two of us together. “We’ve trained and dived together since I was five. She’s going to dive again, and you should be with her when she does.” He looked up at me in shock. “She’s young and beautiful, more than I am. Her courage sets her apart. The press is going to notice, she’s going to attract interest, and you need her wearing Bodyglove when that happens.”

“How soon is that?”

“This summer.” I could see him thinking; in the fall, they would be planning the rollout of the spring lines, ones that I had more input in designing. “Amy and I are best friends, and you can work with that for next year's campaign. Give her a contract, and you won’t regret it.” Having the two of us working and traveling together would be like a dream come true.

“You’re not what I expected, Vicki. I’ve never met someone so energized in the idea of me hiring someone else.” He shook his head as he smiled at me. “I’ll talk to Mercedes about it.”

I wasn’t the only one smiling as the photos came on the screen during dessert; the CEO was having a rather animated conversation with Mercedes. The shoot had been a big success.

“I love it when a good plan comes together,” I sent to Mom.