Claire: The Diary of A Model 1[The Contract]

1

Claire Anderson hummed along to the lyrics playing softly in the background, a quiet anthem of her own as she prepared for another monotonous shift.

♪♪♪
'Cause I'm not perfect, I'm flawed
And if you don't like that, get lost
'Cause I don't want it if it's fake
I don't want it if it's just for show, for show
I just want it if it's real, and I'm thinking I should let you know, you know

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror betrayed the fatigue that never seemed to leave her eyes. Claire applied a touch of lipstick, smoothed out her foundation, and traced her eyelids with precision.

In the office, the boss's grating voice pierced through the intercom, announcing the end of lunch break.

“Get back to work, girls!” the boss screamed.

It wasn't a new occurrence; their lunch breaks were never a minute longer than scheduled. Claire hastily stashed her makeup into her bag, stealing a final glance at her now-concealed eye bags. She couldn't help but smile; the small act of makeup provided her with a semblance of control over her life.

“Look there, she's coming,” one of the girls whispered, spotting Claire approaching.

The group of coworkers exchanged hushed comments, followed by raucous laughter that echoed in Claire's ears. She lowered her head and walked past them, her face hidden beneath a mask of indifference.

“Shoo! You stink,” one of them taunted.

“Stop being a bitch, Mia, and leave me alone,” Claire retorted, quietly but firmly, before placing her bag on the shelf and making her way out.

“Who did you call a bitch?” Mia seized Claire's hair, yanking it forcefully.

“Let me go!” Claire pleaded.

Mia tightened her grip. “No, fatty. That didn't answer my question.”

A slightly older coworker intervened. “Hey, just let her go, Mia.”

“Yeah. She's hogging all the oxygen, and we need to breathe fresh air,” Theresa, a redhead, chimed in, prompting another round of laughter.

Finally, Mia released her hold, and they sauntered away, casting Claire disgusted glances.

Claire composed herself, smoothed her hair, and went to clear the tables, as her coworkers had left their work behind, as usual.

She couldn't help but wonder why they were employed in the first place. To make her life even more miserable, perhaps?

Possibly, Claire thought with a sigh.

…

The day dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity in the never-ending loop of her routine. She yearned for something, anything, to break the cycle of her mundane existence.

Drowning out her melancholy thoughts, Claire retrieved a romance novel from her bag, praying she wouldn't get caught by either her boss or the girls. The consequences of getting caught were equally undesirable: her boss's wrath or her coworkers exploiting her desperation.

The creaking entrance door pulled her attention away from the book. A new face meant a new customer.

A tall, impeccably dressed man in all black strode in, engrossed in a phone call. Claire couldn't help but notice her coworkers openly ogling him, shamelessly.

“Oh my–”

“He's so hot!”

“Isn't that one of the Carter brothers?!”