Page 23 of Concerted Chaos

Honestly, I know nothing about that sort of thing. I know how to buy buildings, I’ve done it a few times, though always with my stepfather’s guidance. But renting? My business manager collects the monthly payments from my numerous tenants for me, and I have zero experience actually renting anything myself. Something tells me I shouldn’t suggest putting the rent on a credit card though. Tanner seems awfully prickly about money.

“I’ll consider your offer,” I tell him. But I’m not sure if it is a good idea. He is a vampire, stealing people’s images to feed to the media. How could I trust him around my celebrity members? Maybe he wants to join to get in with them, so he can stalk them better. I don’t want to be an enabler.

I end up inviting Tanner to stay for lunch. That seems like a fair exchange for a well-made pie. It’s in the oven, baking to a perfect golden texture, so we pull meals out of the refrigerator. Avocado salad for me, some microwavable casserole for Tanner. We eat outside on the shaded patio, because the weather is too beautiful to waste the day indoors.

“This is pretty tasty,” Tanner says, digging in happily. He may be proficient in a real kitchen, but I doubt he can make meals like this in his van.

“Surprised?”

“No. This probably costs as much as you’d pay in a restaurant, so I hoped it would be. Do you seriously not know how to cook?”

That’s insulting. What, a woman can’t make a flaky pie crust and it somehow means she’s completely incompetent in the kitchen?

“Cooking regular food and making pie crusts are two different skill sets. I can cook just fine. But it’s convenient and not all that expensive to have a chef do the work, especially since he also does the grocery shopping and meal planning and clean up.”

“I’m surprised he cleans too. I would have thought you’d have a maid.”

“We do; she’s here twice a week. You’re coming across as awfully judgmental.” Honestly, I am starting to get annoyed with him. Why come to my house, ask for a free membership to my gym, but then constantly criticize me? Especially for things that are out of my control, like how my wealthy brother chooses to spend his own money.

“Am I? I can’t figure you out, Cassidy. You sometimes seem so ... normal, I guess, but you’re actually another spoiled pseudo-celebrity.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just celebrity adjacent.”

He snorts. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means I’m outside of fame, but still connected. I’m adjacent to celebrities. I don’t share their lifestyle, nor do I want to. But people treat me differently anyway. I get a lot of the benefits, but I also have a lot of the hardships.”

“Hardships like living in a mansion and eating fancy meals and having someone clean up after you? You have my utmost sympathy, Ms. Corbitt.”

I don’t like his tone.

“Blaine-Corbitt,” I correct him. I love being Hank’s adopted daughter, but I will not allow anyone to erase my original dad. “And yeah, those are some benefits. The negatives are I have to deal with the paparazzi. You show up and creep around and use me to try and gain access to the celebrities next to me. That’s what everybody does. I’m more approachable than my brother because I’m not famous. So you and your cronies see me as the easy path. Instead of directly accessing Powell, you take the side route, through me.”

“No wonder.” Tanner looks down at his plate, scraping his fork around the rim without spearing any food.

“No wonder what?” I ask, when it’s obvious he’s not going to continue whatever insult he was struggling to come up with.

“No wonder you treat me like I’m trying to get something out of you. Is there anyone in your life you do trust? Don’t you have any friends?”

His remark stings. Of course I have friends. One fewer, thanks to a helicopter explosion, but I have them. “I have plenty of friends. Don’t act all snippy with me just because I don’t trust vultures like you. And aren’t you here because you want a gym membership? I’d call that trying to get something out of me.”

“I was suggesting we barter for a service you need. I’m not exploiting you. Cost-wise, I’d charge a lot more for ten pictures a month than the membership is worth. And also, you’re really rude! I’m not a vulture, I’m a serious photographer. So what if I do pick up extra cash by taking some human-interest shots that happen to be of famous people?”

“You picked an interesting way to describe your ‘career.’” Yes, I used sarcasm quotes with that one. “You camped outside my house, hoping to catch my brother cheating on his girlfriend. That’s not human interest, that’s an invasion of privacy.”

“Your brother needs people like me, so he can stay in the public eye.”

At least he admits he’s one of them, rather than a ‘serious photographer,’ whatever that means. I know hundreds of paparazzi who are extremely serious about their work. One of them climbed up on our roof to take a shot through the skylight. He’s the reason we had to upgrade our alarm system.

“I’m aware of that, which is why I called you after the helicopter crash. But just because we have a symbiotic relationship doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I’ve been wondering about that night. Why me? You must know tons of photographers, and I saw how you acted with those local reporters too. You’re on a first name basis. Why would you offer the shot to me, knowing what it was worth?”

I clasp my hands together and lean forward. “That must have been rather upsetting for you.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Why would it upset me? Pictures like that put my name out there. It was a boost to my career.”

“No, that’s what you said to me. When I told you about my lawsuit against the tabloid that accused Powell of sleeping with me.”

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