Winona answers the phonecall by her agent.

Winona groaned as she picked up the phone, already dreading whatever bad news was coming her way.

"Winona, where are you?" her agent, a fast-talking woman named Denise, demanded before she could even say hello. "You were supposed to be at the studio half an hour ago!"

Winona blinked. "What? Studio? For what?"

"The photoshoot for Vanity Fair! We talked about this last week, remember? You signed a contract. If you don’t show, they could sue for breach." Denise’s voice was growing more frantic. "You have to get down here. Now."

Winona’s stomach dropped. Right. That.

"Uh, yeah, about that—"

"No excuses! Just get dressed and go!" Denise steamrolled over her, not giving Winona a chance to respond. "I don’t care if you have to break traffic laws, just be here ASAP!"

"But—"

"No buts! Move!"

The call disconnected before Winona could get another word in.

She stared at the phone, then at herself in the mirror. Denim overalls. No shirt. No underwear. No socks. Just bare skin and stiff fabric pressing against places it really shouldn’t be. Not exactly red carpet-ready.

She sighed. "Fine. Guess I’m doing this."

Winona grabbed her bag and scrambled around for shoes. A minute later, all she had were a pair of worn-out flip-flops.

Great. Now she wasn’t just underdressed—she looked like she’d been kidnapped from a beach.

Shaking her head, she slipped them on and grabbed her car keys. "This is going to be the most embarrassing day of my life," she muttered as she headed out the door.

Note: This chapter was written with the help of ChatGPT.