Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 30540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Most days, it is.
Uh-oh.
I don't think I like the sound of that. I've watched my share of crime thrillers, and it always starts with the protagonist (me) doing something stupid (totally me) and next thing they know, they're already working for the drug cartel and caught between gang wars and—-
Click.
The sound of the doors automatically unlocking interrupts my thoughts.
Go on.
I take a deep breath and brace myself for the worst, but all that greets me is a foyer with the same black slate walls and chessboard tiles.
The owner of the place is an acquaintance of mine, Lance Perry.
Perhaps you've heard of him?
"I don't think so?"
He's the official photographer for various European royal families.
My heart drops to my stomach. Does he really think his acquaintance's credentials will make any difference?
You don't seem pleased to hear this.
If I needed more proof that the Devil's watching me again, that would be it, but right now that's the least of my worries.
Why?
"Because I know what you're planning."
Enlighten me.
"I'm here to have my nudes taken," I say stiltedly. "Aren't I?"
Strange, alien noise bursts from the other end of the line.
It's the Devil laughing at me.
Again.
And I'm starting to realize I might have said something stupid.
What is it with your obsession with your nudes?
I slowly cover my flushed cheeks...and scream silently into my hands.
When will you stop embarrassing yourself, you idiot?
I'm starting to think you have a subconscious desire to give me your nudes.
"No, I don't!"
You can give them to me, you know.
I'd be happy to take them.
"I don't have any nudes—-"
The combined sounds of laughter and footsteps cut me off, and I glance up to see a distinguished-looking man in his forties descending the staircase. His eyes twinkle as our gazes meet, and he only speaks upon reaching me.
"So..."
His gaze turns keen with interest.
"What's this I'm hearing about nudes?"
Oh my God. He heard that?
"I, um..." I wait for the Devil to tell me what to say, but all I hear instead is the telltale sound of the call being terminated from the other end.
Well, crap.
The older man chuckles. "Relax, my dear. I was only teasing you. I'm Lance, by the way, and you are, of course, Sheena."
"Um, yes."
"My studio is in the third floor," Lance adds as he leads me up the stairs, "and I've got the entire squad waiting."
I'm torn between wanting and dreading to know what kind of squad he's talking about. The words 'goon squad' keep flashing in my mind, and that's entirely possible, isn't it? This is the Devil we're talking of, after all, and—-oh.
We've finally made it to the third floor, and I'm just plain confused this time as Lance cheerfully introduces me to his colleagues, which include a hair stylist, makeup artist, wardrobe consultant, and skincare specialist.
"This will take hours," Lance warns with another grin, "but I promise you'll have fun every minute."
I'M IN A DAZE WHEN Lance's glam squad finally lets me go, and Lance laughs at the way I can't stop staring at my reflection in the mirror.
Silky, shiny hair? Check.
Fresh, glowing skin? Check.
Clothes that are actually presently fashionable? Check.
Suffice to say, every part of me that required trimming, waxing, and shaving has been trimmed, waxed, and shaved, and I can't even remember just how many outfits Lance had me try...before taking a photo of.
A part of me is still worried that those photos of his could be well on their way by now to the highest bidders, but at least they're not nudes, right?
I kind of expected people would be looking at me when I get back to the dorm, but the way everyone is staring at me has alarm bells ringing in my head. I know Lance's given me a bit of an upgrade in the looks department, but there's just something about the way they're staring at me...
Oh, so that's why.
Everything becomes clear as soon as I enter my room, which has also benefited from a makeover of its own, and a rather costly one at that.
My old electric fan is gone, and I now have a fancy-looking A/C installed. My secondhand bed has been replaced with something big and new, my old chair swapped for a stylishly ergonomic Herman Miller model, and my en-suite is now equipped with not just a fully-automated Japanese toilet but a state-of-the-art single-person Jacuzzi as well.
I have no idea how the Devil made all of this happen in a matter of hours, but what's more puzzling than that is the why of it.
Why is the Devil doing this?
Honestly, I'm not even sure if I want to know the truth, and my uncertainty only grows when my phone starts to ring.
Good evening, Sheena.
The sudden change of greeting makes me feel self-conscious, and I find myself stammering in response. "Good, um, evening?"
Do you like your surprise?
I swallow hard. "I, uh, yes..."