Page 12 of Overexposed

I wet my lips, a small amount of guilt curling through my chest. “Mmhmm, not the best quality but what can you expect from dashcam stills, right?”

He sighed, and it sounded distinctly disappointed. “Stella. I don’t like you doing this work. What happened to that job you were working over at the Grove? That was a good job, wasn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes skyward as I came to a stop at a traffic light. He was talking about the waitressing job I had at a swanky pizza restaurant. “I got fired, Dad. Some guy grabbed my ass and I broke his nose. Besides, even you have to admit, I’m kinda good at this celebrity-stalking shit. Maybe even better than you.”

His laugh was more of a cough, but I’d take it. “You wish, Bug. You wish. I just want you to stay safe out there. Those men can be?—”

“I know, Dad. Trust me. I’m a tough cookie. I can handle myself.”

He huffed. “Well, do we need to have a talk about the content of those photos, young lady?”

My jaw dropped and I gave a horrified screech. “Ew, Dad! God, I’m twenty-five, not twelve! We are absolutely not discussing thecontentof those photos. Ever. Gross.”

Dad’s hacking laugh came down the phone line and I shook my head. He’d smoked for way too many damn years, but after walking in his shoes for the past six months, I kinda understood. The job took a toll on your morals, and every now and then I wasn’t averse to taking the edge off. Though I went more for weed than nicotine because I respected my arteries a fraction more than that.

“Dad, I’m almost at Rodeo Drive. I gotta go,” I said, despite the fact I was still a solid fifteen minutes away. “Get some rest, okay? Don’t watch any more episodes without me, though.”

“Can’t promise anything, Shutterbug. You stay safe out there, and for god's sake, steer clear of Dillon if you see him.”

I wet my lips, nodding to myself. “I will, Dad. I promise. Love you.”

“Love you more,” he replied, gruff as ever.

I ended the call with a sick feeling of dread curling through me. Dillon Paget was the reason my Dad wore a massive scar down the side of his head but also sort of the reason he was still here…I guessed. He was a smooth talker, a professional paparazzi photographer, and a real mean drunk.

We used to date. Sort of. Until he turned that mean my way, and my Dad intervened.

One punch. That was all it took for my whole world to fall apart.

Somehow, thinking about Dillon made me think about Gemini. Again. I’d done a whole lot of thinking about Gemini since Saturday night and had gone back and forth with my own conscience for way too long over whether to sell those photos. Ultimately, though, I accepted the fact that I’d never see him again, so what did it matter?

Did I feel bad for blowing up his brother’s life? Fuck no. Seven Harrison had been in the business long enough to accept the risks. So had Gemini for that matter. At the end of the day, the paycheck was more important than any weakness toward Gem’s theoretical feelings on the images.

Everyone knew that Seven was deliberately cleaning up his act to not violate the morality clause with Carriage Pictures. It meant that juicy gossip and photos of him were few and far between, and most were somehow smoothed over by his shark of a manager, Jerry Thompson.

Not these ones, though. By selling them as Seven, not Gemini, I’d tossed a grenade into his perfectly crafted squeaky-clean image and paid off a shitload of bills in the process. It didn’t matter what damage control Jerry did; I’d already collected my fee.

By the time I pulled into a parking spot just off Rodeo Drive, I’d finished my indulgent Starbucks and was in a much better mood. My friend Tessa had tipped me off that the high-end clothing store she worked at was expecting a celebrity visitor, and I wanted to poke the bear with a stick a little.

Camera slung over my neck, I walked the rest of the way and casually leaned against a lamppost in front of the clothing boutique where a simple belt cost more than a month's worth of insurance payments. My camera was far from inconspicuous but my leather jacket disguised it a little bit. Enough that the shiny blonde actress stepping out of the store with a small army of assistants carrying bags didn’t see me until it was too late.

Snap, snap, snap!

“Clara Belle! You don’t look particularly upset today,” I called out, grinning as my camera captured the horrified expression on the beautiful woman’s face. “Did you know that Seven was cheating on you? Who was the woman?”

Okay, now I was just having fun.

“Probably some filthy, obsessed fan,” Clara Belle sneered, before clapping a hand over her own mouth with a dramatic gasp. “Oh my goodness, excuse me. I never should have said that.” Her face screwed up like she was about to cry, but no tears escaped. “I’m just so utterly heartbroken that he would betray me like this!” This time she whined like she was actually crying…yet no moisture leaked out.

“Are you…trying to fake cry?” I asked, bemused even as my finger worked my shutter button, making sure to capture every single angle and expression from the starlet. “Oh, wow. I heard you couldn’t cry on cue, but I figured you’d be a little more broken up to loseSeven Harrison. Didn’t he basically make your career?”

To my disappointment, Clara Belle’s friend came barreling out of the store toward me, hands waving. “That’s enough!” sheshouted as if I gave a flying fuck about her. “No pictures! Have a little respect, you filthy animal.”

I barked a laugh, popping a few more frames of Clara Belle’s smirking face while her friend insulted me. It was nothing I wasn’t used to, even if I’d only been in the business six months.

“I said,no pictures!” the older woman yelled in my face, reaching out to grab my camera or push it away orsomething. Not a damn chance. I whipped the expensive equipment out of her reach, and she stumbled, her momentum carrying her forward to fall in the gutter between two cars.

Clara Belle gasped, pressing her manicured fingers to her mouth. “Oh my god, Marjorie,get up! What are you doing?”

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