*At some point in the near future*
Taylor was jogging, not for exercise, since there was no amount of running that could even cause her to break a sweat, but as a form of moving meditation.
Ever since she changed, it seemed to be easier to do things, any thing, if she was moving.
The day was quite warm, the sun was shining and her music player was rolling through some new music.
In short, it was a perfect morning.
She reached the halfway point and turned around to head home. She was looking forward to her first shower in the new bathroom. For the first time since her change, the shower head was taller than she was and she'd be able to wash with both hands, without having to hold the shower head over herself.
She was jarred out of her thoughts as she saw two very muscular men flanking a skinny little guy. She started slowing as she tucked her headphones away. Recent experiences made her very wary of a guy with bodyguards, even if squashing Coil and his mercs had been a short adventure.
She stopped about ten feet from the three men and opened her mouth to say something, but the little guy beat her to it.
"You were right, Johnny. She's perfect. Clean definition, no unsightly marks or tattoos, but still average enough for proper pictures."
Taylor blinked, absorbing the man's rapidfire talking. "Excuse me, but who are you?", Taylor asked, wondering if she should be flattered or insulted.
"Ah, sorry. I'm Larry Jackson and I want to photograph your body."
As Taylor bristled, the two muscle men groaned, one covering his eyes and the other facepalming.
"What he means to say, Miss, is that he's a photographer with Muscle magazine, and he'd like to work out an agreement for completely innocent modelling."
Taylor blinked again, feeling lost. The muscle man talking to her pulled a magazine from his pocket. "Look, you see these ads, that show just an arm, a leg or some other muscle group? We need two or three female models to flex for the camera, but women that are big enough, defined enough to make good models, usually don't have time, desire or interest in just posing muscle groups."
Taylor stared at him for minute, thinking about it. "You want me to flex, so you can use my muscles to sell protein powder or something?"
Larry nodded vigorously, saying "You have no idea how hard it is, finding female models for a muscle ad. And since the sponsor is matching my money, I can offer you three hundred dollars an hour to model."
Taylor had been about to say no when he said that and she gaped at him. She'd been too broke most of her life to just ignore that kind of money.
Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way home, a business card in her pocket.
She still had no idea if she'd take the job or not, but since her father would have to agree to it, she had time to think about it.
And no matter what anyone said, the half smile she wore had nothing to do with imagining Emma's face when she found out Taylor had modeled for a national magazine in her very first gig.
(There was a girl in my Army unit that lifted daily. This is basically what happened to her, jogging near her house one day. She did the gig, and got paid six thousand dollars for two days work. If I had known they paid that kind of money, I might have lifted a few more weights.)