One Shot (Niall Horan One Shot)

"I will get the damn photo," Arlette slammed the phone down at her desk and grabbed her jacket. Her damn scummy boss made her do the dirty work that no one else would ever do. She wanted out of the tabloid business and this photo could be the way.

She walked with her head down, on the streets of Manhattan, looking only at her phone to see who was stalking this ridiculous British boy band named One Direction. She ran through tweets, facebook statuses and posts, and her own personal slew of scum accomplices, and was shocked that no one knew their current location.

The wind was ice on her already deep, rose red, cheeks and she tried to bundle up her scarf and jacket, but it was near impossible to cover all of her chilled skin. Her tousled brown hair waved away, unable to be tamed she settled with throwing her large knit black beanie over the tornado of curls. She put her phone in her pocket and continued her walk down the long avenue. She continued to curse herself for wearing a pencil skirt to work, but her horndog of a boss told her if she kept wearing such form fitting clothing she could work her way out of tabloids. And instead of filing a sexual harassment charge, she chose to see if it would actually help her move up.

Her best bet at finding these pompous Brits was to go to the last known hotel they frequented in New York. So she briskly walked towards Central Park and the ritzy hotels all the celebrities were known to stay. The large entryways, and the spectacle that the rich made of where they stayed in the city angered her. The anger would, to most, seem like jealousy, but she believe it was truly distasteful to be gaudy with money. Sure having a large income, would be ideal, but she swore she would never spend it frivolously. A Holiday Inn was the same concept as a Hilton Hotel. You stay over night and leave to do what you came to do in the new city you were set to explore.

Not a single hotel had a large group of young female fans screaming, fainting, crying etc., and no other paparazzi were walking around the area. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she couldn't get the photo she had promised.

She walked into the hotel to again see no one flooding the ground floor. She walked over to the concierge and with her 'dirty' job, she was bound to make some not so clean friends.

"Is Mr. Mendoza in?" She asked sweetly. Her kind smile got her more than she had ever bargained for in the business. People were unsuspecting of her real motives and celebrities liked the pretty face that came with the smile that they would give away some of their most private secrets. But when they saw those secrets posted all over the newspaper, they knew where they had come from but no one had ever called her out, because her name was unknown, and her face was never found in pictures. She was known to most as the Gossip Ghost.

The woman grabbed her walkie, turned to a certain station, and spoke. There was a muffled reply and she looked back up at Arlette.

"Your name ma'am?" She asked.

"Tonya," she replied, giving her undercover name. No one, excluding her parents, knew her true identity. The woman spoke the name in the walkie and again there was a mumbled reply.

The woman nodded, put the walkie down, and pointed to the elevator, "Go to the 25th floor, room 2518. He should be repairing something in there."

Arlette thanked her kindly and walked to the elevator, typed in the number and was given the elevator she was supposed to take. Once again the technology of the rich. The bell dinged and she climbed in to the glass pill.

"Hold the door," an unmistakably Irish accent yelled. She held the open door button and as the doors were closing the young man squeezed through. "Thank you."

She nodded and stared at him. His piercing blue eyes, blinked worriedly as she realized she had been staring at him. She knew exactly who he was. The one boy that barely anyone had incriminating photos of. The man she had To get said incriminating photos of to get out of her crappy job. Niall Horan. If her cheeks were not already red from the cold outside she would have been blushing at her stupidity. She tore her stare away and looked out the glass as the elevator began its climb.