Model's Life

Mitsey purs around my legs and then waits patiently for food. I quickly grab the massive packet of cat food out of the cupboard underneath the sink and pour a good amount into her bowl. She instantly runs over to it and starts eating. I check the clock above the couch.1

"Shit," I say and run down the marble stairs, of course it's really hard in high heels. II slam the converdible car door behind me and drive off, knowing I'm late, which no model can afford to be. I won't get fired, I know that, because I take exceptional photos, and Storm knows if they fire me, it would be the biggest regret. But still, like any model at Storm or any other agency, I have to be on time. Something I've always managed to be until today. 2

I pull into the studio car park and run as past as I can without falling in my high heels. 3

"Your late," My assistant tells me. As if I didn't already know.4

"I know, just tell me where I need to go. Who am I modelling for today?" I ask, barely glancing at her.5

She turns a page in her notebook and says, "Storm's today. Our own agency. Then Chanel. They'll both take a while so that might be it, unless some agency decides to hire you at the last minute today, which in case I think they'll go for tomorrow instead. You know, since you're a famous model and you're diary's nearly always full of agencies wanting to book you." 6

I nod and go to my office, and my assistant takes my coat and Louis Vuitton bag, putting them on the leather couch by one of the many windows in my office.7