Chapter Five

The first payment hits my account at 9:03 AM.

Fifty thousand dollars.

I stare at my phone screen until the numbers blur. Refresh the app six times to make sure it's real.

It's real.

I pay rent for the next six months in one transaction. Pay my mom's electric bill. Water bill. The medical debt she's been hiding from me.

By noon I've spent eighteen thousand dollars and still have more money than I've seen in my life.

I should feel relieved.

Instead I feel like I just sold my soul.

Email from Claire arrives at 12:47 PM.

**Flight tonight 11 PM. Car picks you up at 8. Pack for six months. Don't bring anything you can't afford to lose or have photographed by paparazzi. See you in LA.**

I read it five times.

Don't bring anything I can't afford to have photographed.

What does that even mean?

I spend four hours packing. Unpack everything. Start over.

Most of my clothes are garbage. Stretched out t-shirts. Jeans with holes that aren't fashionable. Nothing that would survive six months.

I go to Target. Spend fifteen hundred dollars on basics. Feel sick the entire time.

Maya shows up while I'm cramming everything into a suitcase that's seen better days.

"You're actually going."

"I signed the contract."

"You could still back out."

"And owe them fifty thousand dollars I already spent? No thanks."

She sits on the edge of the bed. Watches me fold the same shirt three times because my hands won't stop shaking.

"What if he's as bad as everyone says?"

"Then I keep my head down for six months and come home."

"What if you can't handle it?"

I stop packing. "Then I fail. Like I fail at everything else."

"Sloane."

"It's true though. Brandon was right. I'm mediocre. At photography. At relationships. At life. This is probably just going to prove it."

"Stop."

"Why? It's not like this is going to work out. Nothing ever does."

Maya grabs my shoulders. Makes me look at her.

"Listen to me. You're not mediocre. You're scared. There's a difference."

"Feels the same."

"It's not." She hugs me. Hard. "Call me when you land. Please."

"I will."

"And Sloane? Don't let him break you."

"I'm already broken. There's nothing left to break."

The car picks me up at eight exactly.

Black SUV. Driver who doesn't speak. He takes my bag without looking at me.

I text Maya from the backseat: **Leaving now**

**Call me the second you land. I love you.**

**Love you too**

I've never been on a plane before.

Never left New York actually.

The airport is overwhelming. Too many people. Too much noise.

Security takes forever. I nearly miss boarding.

First class is wasted on me. I'm too anxious to appreciate the big seat or the free drinks.

Five hours staring out the window thinking about how I'm probably making the biggest mistake of my life.

We land at 2 AM.

Driver waiting with a sign with my name misspelled. SLOAN THOMPSON.

Close enough.

"Ms. Thompson?"

"Yeah."

He doesn't smile. Just takes my bag and walks.

I follow.

The hotel is nice. Too nice. I don't belong here.

The room has a bottle of wine and a note.

**Be in the lobby at 5:30 AM. Car will take you to the studio. Don't be late. - C**

I check the time. 2:51 AM.

Less than three hours of sleep.

I don't sleep at all. Just lay there staring at the ceiling wondering what I've done.

Alarm goes off at five. I'm already dressed.

Black jeans. Black t-shirt. Hair in a bun. No makeup because what's the point.

I look tired. I am tired.

The car is waiting at 5:30.

We drive through LA. Everything looks fake. Plastic. Wrong.

We stop at a building with no sign. Just concrete and a metal door.

"Here," the driver says.

I get out.

The door opens before I can knock.

Claire. She looks perfect. I look like I haven't slept in a week.

"You're on time. Good. Come in."

The studio is massive. Equipment everywhere. Lights. Cameras. Everything expensive.

And in the middle of all of it, sitting in a chair scrolling his phone like he has all the time in the world, is Lennon Cross.

He doesn't look up when I walk in.

Claire clears her throat. "She's here."

"I can see that." Still doesn't look up.

I stand there feeling stupid. Invisible.

Thirty seconds pass.

A minute.

He finally glances up. Looks at me for maybe two seconds.

"You're late."

"I'm not. It's 6 AM. You said 6."

"I said be ready at 6. You should've been here at 5:45 to prepare." He goes back to his phone. "First mistake. Don't make another one."

My face burns.

Claire steps forward. "Lennon, she's new. Give her a chance to—"

"I don't give chances. I give contracts. She signed one. Now she does the job or she leaves." He finally stands. Walks toward me.

He's taller than I expected. Intimidating in a way photos didn't capture.

He stops in front of me. Looks me up and down.

"This is what you're wearing?"

I look down at my clothes. "What's wrong with it?"

"You look like you're going to a funeral."

"You didn't give me a dress code."

"I shouldn't have to. You're representing me now. Everything you wear, everywhere you go, people will associate you with my brand. And right now you look like you can't afford to shop anywhere except Walmart."

The words hit like a slap.

"I was told to pack light."

"I said pack smart. Not pack cheap." He turns to Claire. "Get her to wardrobe. Fix this."

"Lennon—"

"Now, Claire."

He walks away. Picks up a camera from the table. An expensive one. Turns back to me.

"Catch."

He throws it.

I catch it. Barely. My hands are shaking.

"You have five minutes to take a photo of me that doesn't look like garbage. If I hate it, you're going home."

"What?"

"You heard me. Five minutes. Prove you're not a waste of my money."

Claire steps forward. "She just flew in. She hasn't slept. Maybe give her time to—"

"She has five minutes. Starting now."

I look at Claire. She looks sorry but doesn't argue.

I'm on my own.

I turn on the camera. My hands won't stop shaking. I nearly drop it.

Lennon's watching me. Arms crossed. Face bored.

The lighting is terrible. Too harsh. Shadows everywhere.

"Can I adjust the lights?"

"No."

"The lighting is awful."

"Then deal with it. You think I'm going to stop a concert to fix your lighting? Figure it out."

I want to cry.

I don't.

I look through the viewfinder. He's just standing there. Not posing. Not helping.

I start shooting because I don't know what else to do.

Wide shots. Close ups. Different angles.

They all look bad. I can see it in the preview screen.

"Two minutes left," he says.

My chest is tight. I can't breathe right.

Think, Sloane. Think.

I look at him. Really look.

He's trying to intimidate me. Testing me. Waiting for me to break.

I lower the camera.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Move to the window."

"No."

"Then I can't get a good shot."

"That's not my problem."

"You told me to take a photo you don't hate. I can't do that with this lighting. So either move to the window or fire me now and save us both the time."

Silence.

He doesn't move.

I think he's about to tell me to leave.

Then he walks to the window.

"You have one minute left. Make it count."

I follow him. The light is better here. Softer. Natural.

"Turn sideways."

He does.

I shoot fast. No time to think. Just point and click.

The light catches his profile. The sharp line of his jaw. The tension in his shoulders.

I take maybe six shots.

"Time's up."

I lower the camera.

He holds out his hand. I give it to him.

He scrolls through the photos. Face completely blank.

I can't tell if he hates them or not.

He stops on one. Stares at it.

Then he shows it to Claire. She looks. Nods.

He turns to me. "This one's acceptable."

Not good. Acceptable.

"The rest are garbage. Delete them."

He hands the camera back.

"Claire will show you the schedule. Read it. Follow it. Don't ask stupid questions." He picks up his phone. Starts walking to the door. "And get better clothes. I'm not paying you to look poor."

Then he's gone.

I stand there holding the camera.

My hands are still shaking.

Claire walks over. Touches my arm gently.

"You did fine."

"He hated everything."

"He kept one photo. That means he didn't completely hate you." She picks up a folder from the table. "Come on. Let's get you set up."

"Set up where?"

"At the house. You're staying there."

My stomach drops. "What house?"

"Lennon's house. It's easier than hotels. You'll have your own space but you need to be available whenever he needs you."

"The contract didn't say I'd be living with him."

"The contract said 24/7 availability. How else did you think that would work?"

I don't know what to say.

"Come on," Claire says. "I'll drive you. You can get a few hours of sleep before tonight."

"What's tonight?"

"First concert. He's performing at the Forum. You'll shoot the whole thing." She sees my face. "You have shot concerts before, right?"

"No. I shoot weddings."

"Well. You shoot concerts now." She opens the door. "Welcome to the job, Sloane. Try not to drown."

We get in her car. Drive through LA in silence.

My phone buzzes. Maya.

**How'd it go?**

I don't know how to answer.

**He hates me**

**Already??**

**Took him five minutes**

**Want me to buy you a plane ticket home?**

I look out the window. At the palm trees and the perfect weather and the city that feels like a different planet.

**No. I signed a contract. I have to stay**

**You don't HAVE to**

**I spent the money. I can't pay it back**

She doesn't respond for a minute.

Then: **I'm here if you need me. Always.**

**I know. Love you**

**Love you more**

We pull up to a house.

No. Not a house.

A mansion.

Gates. Security. Cameras everywhere.

"This is where Lennon lives?" I ask.

"This is where you live now too."

The gates open. We drive through.

The house is massive. White. Modern. Floor to ceiling windows.

I don't belong here.

Claire parks. Gets my bag from the trunk.

"Come on. I'll show you your room."

Inside is worse. Everything white and expensive. Art on the walls that probably costs more than my life.

We go upstairs. Down a long hallway.

She opens a door.

"This is you."

The room is huge. Bigger than my entire apartment back home. King bed. Private bathroom. Balcony overlooking the pool.

"This can't be my room."

"It is." Claire sets my bag down. "Bathroom's through there. Closet's empty, fill it however you want. Lennon's room is at the other end of the hall. Stay out of it."

"I wasn't planning on going in."

"Good. Because he fired the last photographer for going into his room without permission."

My stomach turns. "What?"

"Just stay in your space. Do your job. Don't ask personal questions. You'll be fine."

She doesn't sound convinced.

"Get some sleep," she says. "I'll be back at 4 PM to take you to the venue."

"That's only five hours from now."

"Then sleep fast."

She leaves.

I sit on the edge of the bed.

Stare at the room that's too big and too nice and too everything.

This is my life now.

Six months in a house with a man who hates me.

Doing a job I'm not qualified for.

Wearing clothes I can't afford.

My phone buzzes.

Unknown number.

I almost don't open it.

But something makes me click.

**Day one and you're already failing. This is going to be fun to watch.**

My blood goes cold.

I look around the empty room.

Who sent this?

How do they know what happened today?

I try to reply. Message fails to send.

Number doesn't exist.

I stare at my phone.

Someone's watching me.

And I have no idea who.