ADA

I'm wedged between the building and the potted tree that separates Jitters from the juice bar, heart pounding in time to the symphony of honking horns and feet beating against pavement. My hair catches on the rough brick as I lean my head back against the wall, trying to focus on the earthy scent of the tree and not the stench of the sewer grate a couple of feet away.

You can do this. They're just people. You're only going to take a few pictures. This isn't a big deal.

I'm doing my best to convince myself, but if my sweaty palms are any indication, I'm not buying it. This moment is almost more than my fangirl heart can take.

Coming face-to-face with two of my favorite celebrities out in the wilds of the city is so much more exciting than taking photographs of them from behind a barricade at a movie premiere. Like stumbling across a zebra while on safari versus seeing one at the Bronx Zoo.

I wipe my hands on the lycra of my pants and set my to-go cup on the ground before peering through the viewfinder of my Nikon. Spinning the dial, I adjust the aperture and shutter speed, double-checking the flash is turned off. Usually, I'd leave it on. Even during the day, using a flash makes for crisper, cleaner photos. But I want to get these shots and get out without Liam Anders noticing me.

Liam is one of the sexiest men alive, according to People magazine, and he's ridiculously talented to boot. But he's also public enemy number one to the paparazzi, which doesn't stop them from trying to catch shots of him. He almost always refuses to give it up for the cameras, keeping his head down and face covered so no one can get any pictures worth selling.

Liam's also got a rep for getting violent with the paps. There have been stories plastered all over the tabloids lately about him breaking some guy's camera. He even punched a photographer last year.

I give my shoulders a little shimmy, shaking off prickles of anxiety. Liam might be an A-list jerk, but nothing is going to keep me from capturing these photos today. If they ever decide to come out of the juice bar anyway.

I poke my head around the wall, trying to peer through the door. In the tinted glass, all I can see is my own reflection staring back. I look every bit as starstruck as I feel. My eyes are round as film reels, and my hair is staticky from rubbing against the bricks. The cotton-candy purple strands float from my ponytail. I tug my fingers through my hair, smoothing it down as I bend forward. My nose almost touches the glass as I hold up a hand to block the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, but then I see Liam and Mia. He's got one hand on her elbow. The other shields his face, blocking his view of the door. They're heading straight toward me.

I leap back to my hiding spot, ducking behind the tiny tree. The door flies open, and Liam storms past. A tall, muscular bald man follows quickly after him. His long, red mustache hangs almost to his waist. It's styled in two long braids that, strangely enough, make him more intimidating. He's got this don't-mess-with-me, biker vibe going. He must be Liam's bodyguard.

The door bangs open again. "It's always all about your career. I have a career, too, you know." Mia's deep, melodic voice trembles as she strides after him.

I stand there frozen for a beat. Oh. Em. Gee. They're fighting. Photos of Liam and Mia together are guaranteed to sell, but pictures of the two of them arguing would be tabloid gold.

When Liam doesn't respond, I take a tentative step out from behind the tree. My hands shake like I just pounded ten extra-large cappuccinos, and something like guilt wriggles in my gut. If they're really fighting, they don't want anyone snapping shots to sell to the media. But this is your typically crowded New York City sidewalk. No experienced celebrity would get into a public argument like this unless they wanted to end up on the front page of every rag in the country. There's no way this isn't a publicity stunt.

Liam cuts a beeline toward the waiting Range Rover. His back is to Mia. His head is down, chin tucked awkwardly to his chest.

For a second, I doubt myself. If he is doing this for publicity, he's working hard to make it look like he isn't. But, then again, he is a professional actor. Either way, I'm not getting a sellable shot unless he looks up.

Mia, on the other hand, has her head held high, hands planted on her slender hips. She's stunning in the way that only people who can afford weekly spa treatments are. She flips her long, shampoo-commercial-shiny red hair over her shoulder, practically begging for her picture to be taken. I'm certain she's faking the part of a pissed-off girlfriend instead of playing one in real life.

My resolve hardens. Mind made up. These are two of the most famous people in the world. They know what they're doing, pretending to get in a blowout fight out here of all places. And I am simply the photog lucky enough to capture it all on camera.

I raise my Nikon, peeking through it, and holding my finger down on the shutter-release button, taking shots rapid-fire. I'm careful to get all of Mia in frame, from the top of her head to the heels of her open-toed booties. Tabloid readers want to analyze every piece of a celebrity's outfit, and that includes the shoes.

"I'm so over having to dim my light because of your daddy issues, Liam!"

Whoah. I have no idea what that's all about, but I can see the shockwave her words send through Liam. He really is a great actor. He stops walking, head popping up. I swivel my lens toward him as a guy jogging down the sidewalk knocks into him.

Ch-ch. Ch-ch. Ch-ch.

My Nikon snaps again and again as Liam stumbles, almost toppling to the concrete. He catches himself, but all I can see is the back of his head as he turns to face Mia.

Crap. Both of their faces have to be in the shot if I'm going to sell this story. I step sideways until I'm standing out in plain sight. Liam and Mia are too busy staring daggers at each other to be aware I exist. Liam's bodyguard holds up a hand, motioning for me to keep back. I nod.

"What did you just say?" Liam's voice is low, dangerous. His tanned cheeks flush a deep red.

"You heard me. I mean, God, Liam. Could you be more selfish?"

A muscle in Liam's jaw works. "I'm selfish?" He shoots a look over his shoulder at the people walking past, tapping away at their phones, earbuds in their ears.

Other than a couple curious glances, everyone seems oblivious to the fact that two celebrities are having a shouting match in the middle of the sidewalk. No other photographers have arrived yet, but I'm sure they will soon. Any shots I get now are crucial. Once multiple paps have the same pictures, it's a lot harder to sell them to media outlets. They pay a lot less for them too.

"I can't do this. Not out here." Liam starts to turn away, but Mia latches onto his arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I embarrassing you?"

Liam tugs free of her grasp. "Yes! All right? This is humiliating. I don't need this shit today." 

Seriously, where is the Oscar Academy? Because this performance of Liam's is award-worthy.

His eyes flash as I zoom in on his face, and sweet mother of tabloids, is he handsome. That bright shade of his ocean-blue eyes is even more breathtaking in person than on the show. I can just make out a hint of abs through his worn white t-shirt. His jeans are snug against his long legs and faded in all the right places. Light stubble accentuates his jawline. He's like a daydream come to life. No wonder people follow him around with cameras all day. Looking at him makes my heart feel like it's made of butterfly wings.

Liam runs a hand over his face. "You're being dramatic and causing a huge scene. Like always."

A couple of college-aged girls stop to see what the commotion's about. Their eyes spark with recognition, and they murmur excitedly to each other. Liam's bodyguard steps forward, forcing them to keep their distance. Liam notices and ducks his head, clapping a hand over the side of his face. Thankfully, it's the side facing away from me. 

Mia's face burns. She's holding a cup of what appears to be some sort of green juice. It's trembling in her hand. "Oh, I'm being dramatic? Excuse me for thinking about something other than the great Liam Anders and his career. If I'm such an embarrassment, then why are you even with me?"

Liam stares down at the cement. "I really don't know." His voice is quiet. I barely catch his words over the grind of rush-hour traffic coming from the street behind me.

All of Mia's bravado disappears. Her face fades from red to ghostly white. A smattering of freckles stands out against her flawless skin. "What are you talking about?" Her voice is shaky, almost watery. Apparently, she's got some acting chops herself.

Liam sighs. "I don't want to do this anymore, Mia. I'm done."

Mia's lips part in stunned confusion. I think I see actual tears sparkling in her eyes. She blinks quickly, darting a look over at the crowd that's begun to gather. They form a human blockade in the stream of pedestrians. Then her gaze lands on me. The moisture in her eyes vanishes the second she notices the camera in my hands.

She raises her chin and shakes her hair over her shoulders. The hurt I saw etched across her face evaporates, replaced with cold confidence.

My eyebrows cinch in confusion. I'm not entirely sure which version of Mia is real and which one is for show. Either way, her expression sends chills shimmying down my spine. I slide my Nikon behind my back and sidestep to my hiding spot directly behind Liam. I haven't taken the Dealing with Divas 101 training class yet, and I'm so not ready for a confrontation with this girl.

"You know what? Fine." Mia raises her voice again like she wants to be overheard. "This isn't working, Liam. We're through."

Liam laughs, but it's hollow, humorless. "Of course. You've got to be the one to end things, right?"

"No. I'm breaking up with you because I'm over it."

"Back up, folks." The bodyguard motions to the ever-growing mob. People stand on tiptoes, straining to get a peek at Mia and Liam. Several of them have cell phones out.

I need to get these photos over to the agency ASAP. I can't let them beat me to the tabloids with this story. It doesn't matter if this breakup is a sham or if it's their strange way of announcing a real split. These shots have the potential to make my entire career.

Mia's designer shoes click against the pavement as she stomps away, but the sound cuts off when she stops abruptly. "Oh, and since I'm so, you know, dramatic and all..."

I'm still standing behind Liam, so I don't see it coming. He ducks down out of the way, but by the time I realize what's happening, it's too late.

Mia's juice spins end-over-end, sailing over Liam. All I can do is thrust my camera above my head, out of the line of fire, as the cup crashes against my chest. The lid pops off, sending its cold, sticky contents splashing over my head and down the front of my tank top.

I gasp, blinking the citrusy-smelling liquid out of my eyes. Wonderful. Now I have to show up to my first day at my new job covered in Mia Harlow's green juice. Talk about a first impression. Hopefully, the photos I got are enough to make up for it.