Chapter 1
R A Y N A
Click.
“Another pose now, Rayna.” I look up as the photographer shoots more commands at me. “With more energy this time, too.”
She runs a withered hand through her greying hair and huffs in what I can only interpret as frustration. This photographer—Julie—really is a nightmare to work with. The haggard old bat is constantly picking holes in my modelling and bringing up my apparent ‘flaws.’
Reluctantly, I force a smile that is as fake as my acrylic nails. “With pleasure, Julie,” I say as I move my right leg further to one side and place my hands behind my back, assuming a pose that is more flamboyant than before.
Becoming a prestigious model has been my dream ever since I was old enough to saunter around in my aunt’s designer heels and experiment with her makeup. Now, I am making my way there under an industry known as ‘Icon.’
Ever since getting the all-important phone call with the job offer, I have taken every single assignment handed to me seriously. I’ll often be posing until the photographer is out of frames and my feet hurt too much to stand any longer.
I’m a hard worker, and I know exactly what I want.
I’ve also focused a lot more on my image since getting involved in the world of fashion, beauty and modelling—even opting to dye my hair from its previous light-brown shade to a more extravagant silver colour.
“Rayna, position your hands above your head,” Julie barks out once more, sounding more impatient with each passing moment. “You’re not selling the outfit with them slouched behind your back like that.”
I shake my head at her remark, unable to hold back the irritated huff that escapes me. “You told me off for my awkward arm positioning last week. I figured you’d prefer them hidden after that.”
“Each shoot requires different poses.” I watch as her eyes squint and become small slits, hinting at her growing annoyance at my despicable attitude, as she had once put it. “Paulina knows this, and so should you.”
Okay, no. There is no way I’ll accept a comment like that.
Breaking into the modelling world in the flux manner that I had hoped has not been an easy task, and it’s needless to say that building up my reputation still requires some work. However, my growing frustration at the rudeness of some photographers is testing my patience.
The thing that tests me the most, though? That would be people comparing me to the likes of Paulina Goodford. Even getting mentioned in the same sentence as her is enough to repulse me; she’s about as interesting as the plain white walls of the studio I’m posing in right now.
Paulina’s only desirable aspect is her looks—most of which you could remove with a wet wipe. But as long as there are make-up artists and Photoshop around, the industry does not see it as an issue.
Any alluring qualities the witch possesses physically, however, are not present in her personality. To put it bluntly, talking to her is about as painful as stepping on a Lego.
It’s excruciating.
And to make matters more unbearable at my end? She is always one step ahead of me—cackling whilst she rubs her ‘superior’ abilities in my face.
Frankly, I wasn’t born with enough middle fingers to express how much I loathe her. But for simplicity’s sake, let’s just say we aren’t friends.
“Comparing models isn’t very professional,” I say through gritted teeth.
Julie places a hand on her hip and cocks a brow as she looks down her beak at me. “Nor is your attitude, young lady.”
“Maybe you should consider another field of work.”
“I have far more experience than you, Rayna Harris, and—”
The sound of the studio door slamming open cuts Julie’s words off, a ‘thud’ resonating across the room.
With a relieved exhale, I send a silent ‘thank you’ to whoever has intruded, knowing full well that my patience is running thin and won’t hold out for much longer.
Wait, nevermind. I am not thankful.
The condescending old photographer’s face lights up like a child’s on Christmas morning, which tells me exactly who has just appeared.
“Paulina, darling, how lovely it is to see you!”
How lovely it is, indeed, I think to myself, gritting my teeth.
Paulina struts through the doorway like she owns the damn place. She is wearing a silver playsuit—most likely costing more in numbers than she can count—with her black hair cascading to one side in a plait.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, too, Julie dear. It’s been far too long.”
I’m still glaring daggers at her when she turns her attention to me and shoots a sickening smirk in my direction.
“Oh, and Rayna,” she greets me with much less enthusiasm.
I roll my eyes. “Feed your own ego, Paulina. I don’t have time for this.”
“Tell me, how many frames did poor Julie waste on you this week?”
“Hardly any compared to the number of brain cells people must lose when they talk to you.”
Paulina only snarls in response, and a grin etches onto my face when she doesn’t come back with anything else. Point one to Miss Harris!
“Now, if you don’t mind, Rayna.” I don’t turn my attention back to her when she speaks again, but I can hear the Jimmy Choo heels she often opts to wear as they hit the marble floor. They create an agitating ‘click’ sound with each step she takes. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, so you’d better run back to where you belong now.”
“If you’re implying that I don’t belong here, then you’re mistaken,” I retort, flicking a strand of my silver hair over my shoulder for emphasis as I walk toward the exit. “But I’m leaving anyway, so don’t stress that little brain of yours out too much—might risk a trip to A&E.”
I place my hand on the door handle and twist it, refusing to spare Paulina or Julie another glance. I exit the studio and slam the door closed with equal fervour as my rival had upon entering.
After that rather dreadful photoshoot, clearing my head is a necessity.
I sit at a table in Aroma Coffee Shop, a paper cup containing my usual order of peppermint coffee clasped in my right hand. The place is quaint and the scent of hot beverages is something I find rather therapeutic.
Also, having a good rant about anything on my mind. That also helps. Which is where my two closest friends come in.
“I despise her,” I exclaim in a bellowing tone, before waving a quick hand of apology toward a young waitress who I startle with my outburst.
Aurelia snorts, “clearly.”
Meanwhile, Blaire shakes her head at my temperament.
Despite our differences, the three of us have remained stuck together since our days in secondary school.
First, there is Aurelia. She’s a loveable ditz and definitely lives up to the ‘blondes have more fun’ statement in life. She has golden locks that fall past her shoulders and a personality so bright that it could give the sun itself a run for its money.
Then, there is solemn and sensible Blaire, whose brown hair and eyes complement her personality. When I first met her, I considered her to be nothing more than a stick-in-the-mud. She was always so petrified of breaking the rules and stepping out of line. However, her rational decisions and wisdom are things I have grown to appreciate over the years.
“She’s very irritating, Rayna, I can understand that,” Blaire speaks as she delicately picks up her cup of Earl Grey tea. I stifle a giggle as her pinky finger pokes out as she sips at it, which is a habit of hers. “But if you’re going to get anywhere, then you really need to control your temper more.”
I sigh. As much as I hate to admit it, I know she isn’t wrong. If there is anything that lets me down career-wise, it’s my rambunctious attitude when faced with tough situations.
“It’s so freaking difficult, though!” I groan.
Aurelia releases another unladylike snort. “I’m surprised you haven’t slapped her silly yet,” she remarks. “It’s unlike you to take this much hassle from someone, Rayna.”
The look of horror on Blaire’s face at Aurelia’s rather abrupt statement brings a smile to my face.
“She’s asking for it.” I close my eyes and swing back in my chair, feeling the two front feet lift upward and hover ever so slightly above the ground. “One more stunt and I might well end up decking her.”
“Please don’t.” I hear Blaire remark. I cannot see her expression, but I imagine it to be one of complete displeasure.
The sound of my phone ringing interrupts our conversation. I lean forward in my chair once more and fish the noisy object from my bag, unable to fight the frown that tugs at my lips upon viewing the caller ID. “It’s my boss,” I grumble.
Nothing good ever seems to come from my superior—Leon Kress—calling me after a photoshoot. Despite his rather vivacious appearance, he isn’t your stereotypical fun-loving guy.
It is quite the contrary, actually.
Instead, he considers barking out negative feedback to his models a better use of his time.
With great reluctance, I answer the call. “Good afternoon, Mr Kress.”
“Rayna, we need to talk.”
I roll my eyes toward my two best friends, giving them a silent signal that the conversation is going to be anything but fruitful and exciting.
“What seems to be the issue?” I question.
“Your performance.”
Shocker.
I toy with my now empty coffee cup on the table, twirling it around in my hand and spinning it against the wooden surface. “What was wrong with it?”
I listen in as there is a moment of silence on the other side of the phone, the only audible sound being that of shuffling papers before my boss speaks up again. “Rayna, your performance in the shoot today was sub-par.”
Once again, shocker.
“Your stance isn’t correct in any shot. You didn’t sell the outfit and did not meet the brief,” he continues on as I clench the paper cup in my hand. It crumples and creases in my grip.
“My apologies.” I try to sound as sweet as possible, but I know I am failing to do so. “Would you like me to reschedule and perhaps redo the shoot?”
“No, we’ve worked around it,” he replies, and my eyes widen. “After your shoot, we tried the same assignment with a different model.” He pauses before continuing on. “We have used the photographs of them for the spread rather than yours.”
To say I’m livid would be an understatement. I want to scream an endless stream of profanities down the phone and quit here and now. Paulina. Paulina Goodford has taken my spot!
“We will still pay you for your time, of course, but you will receive none of the earnings from the spread sent to you once it’s distributed—”
“It’s fine,” I snap.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Harris. That is all I needed to discuss with you.”
“Yeah, bye.”
I end the call and dump my phone back into my bag and stand up with such vigour that I almost send my chair flying.
“Rayna, what—”
“I need to go out tonight,” I blurt out. “Badly.”
I look over at my two friends. Blaire’s eyebrows are still furrowed as she gazes at me, whereas Aurelia’s face lights up at the mere mention of going out on the town. Hitting the clubs is her favourite pass time.
“That sounds wonderful!” she exclaims, sheer elation clear in her blue eyes.
If one thing is certain to distract me from today’s events, it’s a good night out and some liquid courage.
