First Evening

Rebecca had tried her best to read the contract. She really had. But between the fine print, the legal language and clauses that seemed to refer endlessly to other clauses, she understood barely half of it. Every time she lost her place, she found herself practically starting again.

Eventually, she had given up and asked Mike to explain the important parts.

He had gone through it patiently, translating everything into plain English.

The basic rules were simple enough. Rebecca had to make every reasonable effort to take part in the production, which meant wearing whatever outfits were chosen for her and making a genuine attempt at any challenges she was given. Refusing without good reason could mean forfeiting the $100,000.

She was also agreeing to remain in the house for at least a month, unless production ended filming early. And once she entered, she wouldn't be allowed to telephone home unless she was informed of an emergency.

There were plenty of other clauses, apparently, but Mike assured her those were the ones she really needed to understand.

He also explained how privacy worked inside the house.

Cameras covered virtually every room, including her bedroom. The one exception was her en-suite bathroom. That was completely private, giving her somewhere to change, shower and use the toilet without an audience.

Rebecca had been particularly relieved about that.

With everything supposedly clear, Mike handed her the keys and invited her to go inside.

James, he told her, wouldn't arrive until later that evening.

The house was incredible, truly. It was comfortable, well-decorated, and far too large for two people. She could live there with Richard and the kids, and probably see much less of them!

She had taken her time to explore every inch of it, from the huge kitchen-diner, to each of the upstairs bedrooms. The guest bedroom was much less impressive than her own, and didn't even have its own bathroom.

Chivalrous to let me have the nice one, she thought. She didn't consider for a moment that James might eventually be expected to join her in there.

Once she was done exploring she went to her room and found an envelope on the bed waiting for her.

Mrs. Ashford the envelope read in pink lettering.

She felt a prickle up her spine as she picked it up, knowing that cameras were watching her every move.

People are at home right now, she thought. Watching me read this silly letter, in this silly room.

Inside the letter was a card, printed with the same pink ink.

To Mrs. Ashford,

Your first outfit is waiting for you in the walk-in wardrobe. Please put it on, and then make yourself comfortable downstairs.

Love,
Mike.

She rolled her eyes. If that man wanted to boss her around, he could damn well come in here and do it himself.

As she considered crumpling the letter up and kicking it into a trashcan, the contract came back into mind.

She frowned. If she broke clause 1.1., she would be eliminated almost immediately, and this would all be a waste of time.

Might as well see what the outfit looks like.

The walk-in wardrobe was immaculate. Well lit with warm lighting that flattered her complexion, and filled with more outfits than she could wear in a lifetime.

But it wasn't the closets filled with clothes that interested her, or the racks with enough heels to make her head spin.

It was the pair of shorts and vest top sitting out waiting for her -- the vest lying in a manner that allowed her to read the front.

Breaking Mrs. Ashford.

Is this merchandise?

It couldn't be.

She lifted it up to examine it more closely, and felt her suspicions were confirmed. Either this was a uniform, or they were selling clothes using her name already.

With the contract in mind, she took the outfit into her en-suite and changed into it, before heading back into the wardrobe to tidy up after herself and examine herself in the mirror.

The vest top seemed to make her breasts look huge, while the shorts seemed determined to disappear somewhere they had absolutely no business disappearing.

Rebecca stared at herself for another moment.

Oh, well.

She folded her dress, tidied everything away and headed downstairs to make herself comfortable.

Rebecca put a brave face on. She folded her dress and put it neatly aside, before heading downstairs to try to get comfortable.

Coffee. She just wanted a coffee.

It had been hours since she had even had a drink of anything, and as the afternoon began to melt into the evening, she realized she was very thirsty and quite tired.

But the kitchen was just as huge as every other room in the house. Despite having a beautiful state-of-the-art coffee machine, there were no coffee beans that she could see.

She searched high and low for them, and even managed to find a bag in the cupboard beneath the machine -- but it were decaf.

Growing increasingly frustrated, she dropped onto her hands and knees and searched the cupboard properly.

The regular coffee was right at the back of the bottom shelf.

“Oh, for goodness' sake.”

She crawled forward and reached for it.

Rebecca never noticed the camera behind her.

But finding the coffee was only half the trouble.

She quickly discovered a problem -- these were beans, and the machine took ground coffee. Finding a grinder was a battle in itself, and then, the coffee machine was too complicated for her.

Technology seemed to get less useful the more expensive it became.

She was beginning to suspect the machine had been designed specifically to annoy her.

But finally. She had a cup, she had the machine on a setting that should work, and she was waiting for it to brew.

"Hey, stranger."

James's voice floated across the room, comfortable and easy, yet it still made her jump.

"Oh, James!" she replied. "You scared me."

"Sorry. I am a pretty scary guy."

He grinned at her and took a couple of steps further into the room. Already looking very comfortable in a pair of grey sweatpants and a charcoal T-shirt.

"I wouldn't say that..." she trailed off. "When did you get here?"

He shrugged. "Maybe thirty minutes ago? It's a big place, had no idea where you were."

"I could have used your help thirty minutes ago. It feels like that's how long I've been figuring out this stupid machine for."

"Well now you've figured it out, I'll take a coffee. Black."

"Make it yourself," she teased. "I'm not touching this thing again until withdrawal hits."

She turned away, shielding the cup from him with her body.

Then remembered the shorts.

Oh, wonderful.

"Hey, so why do you get to wear such comfortable clothes?" she asked suddenly. "I have to wear these silly shorts, and you get sweatpants?"

"Well, funny story actually." He was still smiling. "I'm supposed to coach you through some yoga. I guess that's a yoga outfit?"

His raised eyebrow said he wasn't convinced.

“Ugh, do I have to?”

“It's a challenge.” He shrugged. “You don't have to do anything, but I'm guessing Mike would point you straight back to that contract.”

Rebecca sighed.

“It's only yoga, I guess.”