Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
At Sweet Lies, the receptionist clocks me with a nod, but doesn’t say anything about the transformation. I take the orange chair again and fidget a bit. My hands feel clumsy. I keep wanting to check my reflection in my phone, but it would be awkward to be caught staring at my own image.
Camille appears exactly at ten, this time in a navy suit, her hair just as severe, her shoes a patent black. She pauses, giving me a once-over that is part evaluation, part silent approval.
“Very good,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “You look very beautiful, Katherine. Very much to our client’s tastes.”
I resist the urge to say something and instead nod, careful not to disturb my new, glossy golden tresses.
“Come with me, please,” she says, turning on her heel.
We walk together in silence, her heels making soft, expensive sounds on the tile. I notice the faint scent of her perfume—bergamot, maybe, with something sharper underneath. I wonder if she chooses it to seem terrifying or just to remind everyone she’s in charge.
She leads me into the same conference room as before, only this time the table is covered with a neat row of folders and a stack of plain white envelopes. She gestures for me to sit, then places a folder in front of me.
“We need to confirm a few details before we proceed. Height, weight, clothing sizes. For our records, of course.”
I balk, but then rattle off the numbers, trying to keep my voice even. These very numbers could be worth money. Camille takes notes, nodding with each answer.
She looks up at last, eyes sharp. “You’re very beautiful, Kat. You know that, don’t you?”
I shake my head, unsure if it’s a trick question.
She leans in, voice low. “You’re perfect for this, if you follow the terms exactly. The client is a great man, he’s just particular in some ways. But you’re a great fit.”
I almost laugh. “Okay,” I say softly.
Camille studies my face for a long moment, and then glances at her watch. Then she looks back at me, her gaze steady. “This assignment could change your life, Kat. But only if you’re willing to let it.”
The words settle between us like a dare. I picture my future life. One without money stress. One where I don’t eat old pastries from the cafe for lunch. One where I can finally pay my tuition, maybe even get ahead for once. I think about my mom, and how she always said survival is about compromise.
I square my shoulders and meet Camille’s gaze. “I’m ready,” I say.
Her smile is quick, efficient. “Excellent. Then let’s get started with those photos. If you could put these on please.”
She reaches for something by her seat, then slides the shoebox across the table. I open the lid. Inside is a pair of pale nude heels, the kind you see on Instagram influencers. I touch the smooth surface, still unsure whether this is a gift or a threat.
“What are these for?” I ask, confused.
“For the photoshoot, of course!” Camille chirps, a little too bright. “We can’t have you in your sneakers.”
“Oh okay,” I say dubiously. “But what will I wear with them? It’ll look weird with my slacks and sweater.”
Camille gets a mischievous look in her eyes.
“Why don’t we go to the studio first,” she says. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out there.”
Then, she stands and moves to the hallway. I’m still for a moment, wondering what’s going on, but then I trail her down the hall and into a brightly lit room where there are lights everywhere, as well as a stark white backdrop.
“We like to do things professionally at Sweet Lies, and that includes photo shoots,” Camille explains. “Please, change behind the screen,” she says, gesturing to an oriental screen in the corner.
I slink behind the panels, and then stop short.
“Wait, Camille, I don’t see any clothes here,” I say. “What should I wear?”
The manager doesn’t seem surprised.
“Just your bra and panties, with the heels of course. It’s fine.”
I stop and stare, surprised. My bra and panties? What in the world? But against my better judgment, I strip off my clothes and stare at my lush figure in a full-size mirror, clad only in a lacy pink bra and matching panties. What in the world is going on? But dollar signs flash before my eyes, and I swallow. Success is about compromise. Before I realize it, I’ve stepped into the heels, and wobbled out from behind the screen.
“Perfect,” Camille purrs, eyeing me up and down. “You’re very beautiful, Kat, and the client appreciates your cooperation.”
“So what should I do?” I ask helplessly.
Camille gives me a slow, clinical once-over, then gestures to the white backdrop. “Please stand here. Shoulders back.”
I do as I’m told. The first flash from the Polaroid camera is blinding. I hear the whir of the film ejecting, the mechanical crunch of the picture sliding into Camille’s hand.