Beneath Beautiful by Allison Rushby Page B

dresser anyway. Sure you've got enough lights on there?”
    She came over to the corner of the room everyone was busy in, the one that had been lit to a bright, white light while she was getting changed. A large wooden box had been placed squarely in the middle.
    Suddenly, Cassie knew exactly what Cameron had in mind. It was the height of the box, combined with the copies of her personal items that she'd viewed only minutes before that gave it away. Without asking, she walked over to the box and sat on top, her arms outstretched, holding a book that did not exist
    “So in tune,” Cameron said, and Cassie felt his eyes rest on her appreciatively. “That's it exactly.”
    When she turned her head to look at him, squinting under the lights, he was already animated. “We need to do this,” he turned to his staff, with a clap of his hands, “now. Right now. Let's go.”
     
     
    W ithin minutes of having three people work on her at exactly the same time, photographing her skin, taking samples of her hair, and arranging her body as Cameron saw fit, Cassie could see where this was all going. She would be like Monica. Her, but not her. Every vein, every hair, every eyelash accounted for. Though, obviously, with clothes.
    When Cameron was happy with how she was set up, he stood back and watched his crew as they worked. “So,” he finally said, obviously content with how things were progressing, “you met Freya.”
    Cassie smiled. “Yes.” She paused. “Imagine having a body like that.”
    “That's exactly what I think every time I look at her.”
    “It must be lovely feeling so springy. So . . . alive.”
    “Oh, I don't know,” Cameron replied. “Sometimes I feel almost alive after three cups of coffee.”
    Cassie laughed. “She told me about the sculpture she's sitting for. It sounds very you .”
    “What are you saying? That I'm teasing the public? Never,” Cameron joked. He walked over now and adjusted a lock of her hair so that it fell forward, grazing her chin. “I also hear you met Plum.”
    “Ah, yes,” Cassie said, not caring to elaborate. “I have a question. Is it true about the lipstick? Is it really tattooed on?” She'd read in a newspaper once that Plum's lipstick was a specially designed shade of her own blood, tattooed onto her lips. The only reason it looked like lipstick was because of the gloss she wore on top of it.
    “Yes, that's true. And I'll tell you a secret.”
    Cassie raised her eyebrows. “What's that?”
    “It would scare the crap out of you the first thing in the morning. It certainly did me.”
    She raised her eyebrows further. “I'll take your word for it.”
    “So,” Cameron continued, “did she attempt to run you out of town? She does that.”
    Cassie didn't move her head. She couldn't, with her right ear currently being photographed. “I'm not entirely sure what she wanted with me. She didn't seem all that interested in running Freya out of town, though. Or even the room.”
    “No. And, trust me, Monica didn't interest her in the slightest. But you're the competition, aren't you?” Cassie did look now. She sought out Cameron's expression. She couldn't help herself. The pair locked eyes.
    “And what do you mean by that?” Cassie asked him.
    “Well,” Cameron stood back, crossing his arms, “you're intelligent, successful, you both graduated from the same university . . .” He trailed off.
    She frowned, realising something. “So if you knew we went to the same university, why didn't you ask if we knew each other?”
    “Because it didn't matter.”
    Her frown deepened. She didn't know what to make of this and she began to wonder if there was anything else he'd left unsaid.
    If there was, it was left hanging in the wake of Cassie's face being photographed and measured, an eyebrow hair swept into place, an eyelash plucked. Her eyes closed, Cassie sat for she didn't know how long, thinking about her encounter with Plum. It seemed that the longer she sat, the hotter