𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

37

I DIDN'T SEE HIM THE REST OF THE DAY. I don't think anybody saw him after that meeting. The woman—the campaign manager for UN/DN—I heard muttering to herself in frustration, asking every passing employee if they had seen Mr Baker. Mr Albert Harlow, the executive creator, had to take charge and direct the shoot testing with us in accordance with the placements Machine Gun Kelly had decided.

I felt slightly sick, referring to him in my head with his popstar name, instead of his real one that I had once used like nothing else. But in truth, I had lost the privilege, the moment I had left. I had given it up willingly and I shouldn't be surprised now.

He was only Machine Gun Kelly to me now, or Mr Baker, or MGK. We had nothing beyond that. Except for the existence of Connor, but he didn't know that. He wouldn't know that. I would make sure he didn't.

The afternoon passed with Mr Harlow directing our testing shots. Still in my clothes from the morning, I felt exhausted and wanted nothing more than to be excused to our hotel accommodations. I doubted I looked even presentable at present. I hadn't had a moment to freshen up since arriving, nor had the other models.

Zac Posen on the other hand, met us and our personal stylists at the end of our screen shoot testing in a third outfit change since his arrival, looking all fresh and breezy with a polished smile on his face.

"Alright," He clapped his hands together. "You are all free to retire to your rooms. John here, with give you all the keys to your rooms. Room accommodations are in the same building. Your luggage has already been placed there. Check your floor and room numbers carefully on your keys. I don't want any mix-ups."

John, a pale and frail looking man dressed in a suit, came forward and handed us our keys without having to ask our names. The test run of shooting resulted in every model and stylist being called out for one reason or another multiple times, and if that hadn't helped him learn our names, I don't know what had.

"There you all are," A voice came from a distance as the clips of heels followed and the campaign manager approached us, looking slightly weary.

"I apologize for Mr Baker's absence, he will be joining us tomorrow," She spoke, weighing her words down. "As for at present, I was hoping this file could be given to him if any of you have a room on the third floor. I would do it myself since he prefers it that way, but I find myself in midst of a campaign dilemma I need to take care of, and any employee I've approached is occupied in one task or two already."

Zac Posen pursed his lips at the request, clearly losing all the respect he might've had for this woman in the first place.

Everyone checked their cards, and as they shook their heads one by one, I sucked in a breath. It wasn't until they had all checked, did I glance at my own card. Fate, as always, seemed again to be playing me like a chess piece, for my room key clearly read floor number three, room 205.

"It's Davina," Marina muttered, her eyes spotting the digits on my key as she stood right beside me.

I forced a smile on my face, though my insides screamed.

"Great," The woman bustled forward and handed me the thin blue file she had clasped between her red talons.

"Give Mr Baker this and tell him I sent it after making every revision he asked for. His room number is 203."

I stilled as a vague memory resurfaced in my head.

505, 506.

'You look them in the eye and you pull the fucking trigger.'