pretty little liar // brad simpson

one

"We want you."

It had all started with three words, over the phone as Spencer's leg bounced waiting to hear back from the agencies she'd visited. And finally, after days on end of waiting, her phone buzzed with the news that an agency wanted her.

She went in, she signed the forms, dotted her i's and crossed her t's, and then, suddenly - although she would have seen it coming had she actually read her contract - she was sitting in a chair next to a pop star, his impossibly tight jeans tugging at his skinny legs and a leather jacket squaring his shoulders.

"You need to go through your Twitter and Instagram and delete any bad words, mean comments, negative opinions, racy photos or remarks." The man across the table instructed, his elbows crossed and resting on the desk. He was old, and his wrinkles sat so deep in his face that he looked like a bulldog in a suit, which Spencer might have found cute had he not been so intimidating.

She nodded, pulling out her phone and getting to work. She filtered her searches for any curse words or negative phrases she used, deleting one post after another. Then came her Instagram, photos of her in any skimpy outfits being removed, captions being corrected, tagged images being blocked, and followers being reconsidered.

The agent was reprimanding Brad - that's his name, Brad Simpson, teenage pop sensation of The Vamps - about how to behave, appropriate and inappropriate ways to advertise their new "relationship" to the paparazzi, media, magazines, radio shows, and any friends or family. It was all business between the two, and suddenly a wave of nausea flowed over her.

"Are you alright?" She turned, looking down at the hand on her arm and then followed it to Brad's face. Spencer shrugged his hand off, pulling both arms across her lap and nodding.

"I don't feel great, so I'd like to get finished as soon as we can for the evening." She responded quietly, glancing up at the man from beneath her lashes.

He nodded, his face forming into enthusiasm. "Now, Bradley, what would you do? Imagine you're in a restaurant, she's under the weather, what do you do as her boyfriend?"

"I don't turn her into an example, if that's what you mean." Brad shot back, sending a glare towards the man across the table.

His face hardened, if but for a second, and then he cross his arms and leaned back in his tall leather chair. "If you feel you've looked over your social media well enough and presented yourself in a way that seems appropriate to the public, then I suppose you can both be on your way. I will monitor your progress in the news - that's to say, I'll throw in a word if I think you need to progress a bit faster, however I believe that you two teens know better how a teenage relationship goes. Be smart, and you won't hear from me unless there's a serious issue."

Spencer nodded, leaning down to grab her bag and pulling it up onto her legs. Brad sat up straighter, nodding a few times before standing. He slid his hands over his jeans, dusting them off, before leaning over and shaking the manager's hand. "Are you ready?"

She glanced up, realizing he was addressing her, and got to her feet, waving lightly at her overseer before sliding between Brad and her chair and towards the door of the office. In tow, Brad held a hand a few inches behind her back as he guided her towards the door. It was like he radiated warmth, for she could feel his hands before they touched her, and it made her nearly wince like she'd been singed.

"Would you like me to walk you to your car?" Brad suggested, pushing the front door open so that the pale grey light seeped into the office, forcing Spencer to blink a few times to fend it off.

She shook her head, crossing her arms protectively across her middle. "I took a cab."

"I can drive you?" Brad persisted, trying to match her pace. She tilted her head, letting her long hair act as a shield between them. It was weak, but she felt safer when his gaze was slightly obstructed. "Or I can call you a cab?"

"You can drive me." She responded after a moment, looking up at him with a nod. "I live on Seventh, past Marion street. About ten minutes out."

Brad nodded quickly, hurrying to pull his keys from his pocket as he started off across the lot towards his car. His hands figeted as he undid the locks, pulling the door open and letting Spencer get in. 

He reached to close the door after her, but Spencer held out an arm to stop the door. "Brad?"

"Yeah?" Brad asked urgently, jolting to a still position expectantly.

Spencer smiled, grabbing the door and beginning to close it for herself. "Relax."