Katia

 

I yawned as I slid into the executive leather chair behind my new Parnian desk. My MacBook Air was opened, my emails were loading, and the scent of vanilla-caramel cappuccino wafted enticingly through the air. Closing my eyes, I put my hand out on the keyboard and listened.

 

My lips curled into a smile as I heard exactly what I’d been waiting for. Nothing. That perfect silence was the most beautiful thing I could ever imagine.

 

It was moments like this that convinced me everything had been worth it. All of the pageants, the posturing, and the endless dieting and starving to become the ideal, skinny, smiling doll had been worth it.

 

Because now I was alone. Now I was living in a perfect, tastefully furnished condo that I’d paid for in cash. I was twenty-seven and living the life that most people don’t ever get to experience, or at least not until their retirement.

 

Being a former beauty queen definitely had its perks, all right. Sure, I still had to make sure never to eat more than a thousand calories per day, five hundred if I was doing something public within the next week. But overall, I was proud of my success. I’d basically come from nothing, and I’d worked my way up, beauty pageant after beauty pageant. I guess a lot of people think that once you win Miss Homegrown Junior Dallas, you’re off to a world of success. God, if they only knew the truth.

 

After reaching for my cappuccino, I blew on the milky steam floating on top of the espresso. Until my assistant, Anya, had told me that it was sugar-free, I never would have guessed. Taking a small sip, I let the delicious caffeine flood over my tongue and seep into my cells.

 

“What do we have here?” I drawled quietly as I looked at the screen and set the mug down on a little coaster I’d picked up in London. It was antique green glass, with little threads of gold running through the material.

 

Of all my successes, I was the proudest of my home. I’d decorated the whole thing from top to bottom, and I’d picked out each and every piece myself. No stylist could claim this, I thought smugly as I looked around the room. Every inch was perfectly designed by Ms. Katia Reynolds.

 

My MacBook pinged, alerting me that I had mail. I groaned when I saw the little red number in the corner of my screen. Fifty-one unread emails, and that was all in the past three hours!

 

I began to skim through them. There wasn’t a lot to read, really. Mostly advertisements from my favorite stores—Sephora, Bloomingdales, Barney’s New York. Lots of sales. After a few moments, I started wondering whether or not I should go shopping later in the day. It had been ages since I’d bought anything nice or new for myself—about two weeks.

 

After going through the ads, I frowned. There was an email with an attachment from an address I didn’t recognize. By itself, this wasn’t particularly unusual. After all, I gave out cards to people I met containing my email address, just in case they wanted to hire me or book me for a gig. It hadn’t happened in a while, since I’d taken a little break from working, but I was interested all the same.

 

The email address didn’t have a name as it was one of those anonymous ones with all letters and numbers in front of the stamp. I rolled my eyes. A Gmail address, for a professional inquiry? How amateur.

 

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

 

“Eek!” I jumped at the sound of my phone vibrating across the wooden desk. “God,” I mumbled as I reached for my iPhone. “What the hell is wrong with you, girl? Spending too much time inside?” I asked myself as I swiped my finger across the screen and held the shiny phone up to my ear.

 

“Hello?”

 

There was no answer. I frowned. Maybe someone had called me by mistake? Like a butt dial? I tried to rationalize, but there wasn’t any of the accompanying static that I normally heard when I got one of those calls.

 

“Hello?” I tried again. “Who is this?”

 

Still no answer. Biting my lip, I rolled my eyes and hung up the phone. Seconds later, the phone rang again.

 

“Hello?” I asked. Again, there was no answer and no static.

 

“Look,” I said sharply, “you’re gonna have to say something and introduce yourself, okay? Who is this?”

 

Silence. I pulled the phone away from my ear, put it on speaker, and looked at the screen for the number. When I realized it said unknown, I sighed and slammed the phone down on the table.

 

“This isn’t funny,” I muttered through my teeth. “I’m hanging up now.”

 

As I reached for the red cancel icon, there was a sound coming from the receiver. It wasn’t static, though; it was heavy, paced. Like someone breathing. With a cry of disgust, I hung up and threw the phone across the room.

 

God, what a weird morning, I thought as I took another sip of my delicious, sugar-free cappuccino. People are so desperate and weird.

 

Thinking about the email again reminded me to turn back to my computer. When I did, I saw a few sentences. They read:

 

Hey, Katia! Just wanted to pass this along, thought you might enjoy. My company is interested in hiring you as our model. This is the preliminary sketch.

 

That’s funny, I thought as I scanned the three lines over and over again. There was no signature or company logo in the email. I didn’t remember meeting anyone recently who could have sent this, but it wasn’t totally outside the realm of normality. After all, I was a pretty big name. Not quite celebrity status outside of L.A., but still, pretty big.

 

I licked my lips. Everyone had always told me never to open an attachment from an unknown source. I knew that was how people got hacked and how computer viruses spread. But this MacBook was brand new, so I hadn’t saved any personal photos or data yet. And I couldn’t help it. I was so curious. Especially since I could tell that it was a picture. Maybe it’s the product or brand logo? I clicked on the photo and waited for it to load.

 

When I saw it, my jaw dropped, my cheeks burned, and my eyes began to sting, and I had no control over my reactions. It was like someone had taken over my body and made me mute.

 

I slammed the lid of my laptop down, trying to forget what I’d just seen. It had been a drawing all right, a poorly drawn image of me. I was reclining on my back, legs spread, with a seductive look on my face.

 

The delicious coffee taste in my mouth turned to bile as I stared at my desk, suddenly horrified and panicked. Anxiety was flooding my limbs, and my heart was pounding.

 

Shit. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

 

With shaky legs, I got up and walked into the kitchen. I had no idea what my first action should be. Obviously, I had someone who was just a little too interested in Katia Reynolds. Sometimes I had to deal with harassment both in the streets and online, but this just felt too creepy. How could someone like that have gotten my email address?

 

I knew, right then and there, that I’d have to make a list of who I’d given my contact information to. My heart was still pounding as I opened the double doors to my fridge and took out a single-serve bottle of sparkling wine. As my fingers fumbled with the cap, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d been practicing yoga for years, and my yogini, Arielle, was always telling me that I had to learn how to relax.

 

“This is probably nothing,” I said out to loud myself as I inhaled deeply. “This is just a messy situation, and you’re creeped out. But your condo is secure—no one is going to find a way in. Just take deep breaths and have some wine and everything will be back to normal by the time you open your eyes.”

 

If only I could have known how bad things were going to get.