Page 11 of Famous for a Living

I see her, the bright reflection of what I once was. That effortless vivacity and youth I have to work harder and harder these days to conjure up.

And I know what I need to do.

“Of course. Just. One moment—” I take the pen from the stack of paper and flourish the name I’ve written a million times across the contract.

Then I do stand in front of the elevator in my viridian-green jumpsuit, giving a deep and warm smile at the camera as I feel the girl’s trembling fingers drape oh-so-gently around my side. I know as Serena dispenses a dozen swift clicks through her grumbling that one of these shots will become the profile picture the girl ends up displaying across her social media platforms, the picture of the next dozen texts she’ll spend the rest of her evening sending, the story she’ll share at parties for years to come.

“Terrific terrific terrific. All beautiful people making beautiful pictures that make people feel terrible about themselves. Congratulations. Let’s go,” Serena says swiftly, all but tossing the phone to the girl and grabbing me by the wrist.

As I put my hand on the knob of the door, I pause.

Taking in the moment. The anticipation.

This is it.

I suck in a breath and begin to turn the knob.

“Ma’am, I’ve already told you—” Zaiah’s voice is like nails down a chalkboard, and something snaps inside me.

Even with the chanting that has begun ahead, I swivel on my heel. “Give me that.”

Zaiah looks at my outstretched hand as if it were alien.

After several stalemate seconds, Serena practically shouts. “For goodness’ sakes, do it!”

Awkwardly, he places the phone in my hand.

The second my palm feels the warm metal, I snap it to my ear and stride down the hall. “Hi, this is Cat Cranwell . . .”

Forty-two seconds later, I’m striding back to the group. I flip the phone shut, which, I have to admit, has a nice snap to it. Really drives that dramatic ending in a satisfying way. “You’re in 401A. Two kings. The receptionist will have your keys ready when you get there. Mention my name.”

I can’t help but feel myself warming slightly as he seems to look at me properly for the first time. His eyes are more of an evergreen with flecks of brown, I see now. A little crease forms between his brows, as though trying to make me out. “How did you—?” Confusion marks his expression, which comes as no surprise, but as I hear the countdown of “ten, nine, eight” through the door, I press the phone back into his hand.

“Welcome to New York.”

He doesn’t get it.

This. This is what I do.

I’m Cat Cranwell.

Half owner of the platform about to take the world by storm.

And famous for a living.

Chapter 2

The Umbrella

3.5 Months Later

Raindrops pelt against my black umbrella as I stand motionless in front of the newsstand. Frozen for so long people have started to drop quarters at my feet like I’m a living statue and it’s all part of a show.

Even the metallic man street performing across the crosswalk is shooting daggers at me with his eyes. Yes, I would be grumpy, too, if I were dressed head-to-toe in copper coating. Yes, he’s “frozen in time” as a disgruntled old man. But his eyes have swiveled and stuck my way on purpose. I know it.

Still, I don’t move.

Can’t.