The Arrangement

Intro

I grudgingly handed over my credit card to the snippy lady behind the desk, cringing a bit when she snatched it out of my hand. She swiped the card and stuck it back out towards me, offering a fake smile and saying "Have a nice stay, Ms. Andrews."

"Thanks," I muttered, returning her fake smile.

I just blew $350 on a hotel room for one night. One night. What am I gonna do tomorrow? I am lost in New York, and my family thinks that I am attending Columbia University this coming Monday- which I'm not because I just dropped out.

I mentally slap myself in the face for making such a dumb decision, when suddenly I am pushed out of the way as a screaming, loud crowd of people shove their way into the lobby. I stand to the side, a little offended by the fact that I was just pushed, and watch the scene take place.

Camera flashes light up the room and cheers come as a tall, smiling guy walks in.

"That's it?" I ask myself aloud. This was why a huge group of people just stormed in here, for some person?

Annoyed, I turn around and begin to find my way to room 517.

---

513... 515... 517! I sigh a deep, heavy breath of relief as I immediately shove my card in the slot and walk through the door of my overpriced room.

"Jesus," I mumble under my breath as I look around. The ceiling is taller than my house back home in Iowa, not to mention the furniture that probably cost more than my first semester at Columbia. I explore the rest of my room for the night, and find myself in the bathroom, beginning to poor a bath in the gigantic tub. I feel so fancy as I sink down into the hot water.

I had peace and quiet for about five minutes until something stirred me back to consciousness. There were voices coming from the other room!

I hop out of the relaxing bath and gasp when I realize I left my clothes in the bedroom on the other side of the suite. Frantically, I grab a towel and pull it around my chest, then tentatively sneak down the hallway towards the voices.

"I'll be right down the hallway, holler if you need me."

"Alright, thanks, Sam," a deep voice responds.

I peer around the corner of the wall to see that guy from the lobby shutting the door to MY room. I watch as he walks over to the kitchen and grabs a water out of the fridge. I glance over at the bedroom across the room and decide to make a run for it. I made it halfway before slipping and falling into the table in the living room. "Woah!" I scream and try to catch myself on my arm, failing, and losing my towel in trying to do so.

The guy jumps out of surprise and drops his water bottle.

"What the heck, who are you?" he asks.

I look around and grab an expensive blanket off the couch, wrapping it around myself.

"Ow," I mumble, not responding to his question, as I hold my arm against my chest and watch as blood begins to flow out of a large scrape.

The guy begins to take out his cell phone to call security, which then infuriates me because HELLO THIS IS MY OVERPRICED HOTEL ROOM NOT HIS, and I am a crumpled, bleeding, naked mess on the floor, what does he think I'm gonna do, ask for an autograph?

"What the hell you asshole, go get a band-aid or something!" I yell, trying to keep the blood from getting on the very nice, and now wet, blanket.

He shoves his phone back down into his pocket and frantically begins searching through drawers in the kitchen. He finds a first aid kit and walks it over.

"Okay, um, band-aid band-aid band-aid," he says, throwing stuff to the side as he searches the tiny kit. "Band-aid!" he yells, handing me a tiny band-aid, too tiny to even cover the large gash.

"Oh, just give me that," I pull the box away and start tending to the wound. "Can you please just get out of my room, I'm kind of naked."

"Your room? This is my room," he states, looking at me questionably.

"No it's not, now go grab my robe, it's hanging on that bedroom door," I say, looking up and pointing across the room.

He sighs and looks at me annoyingly, then gets up and walks to the other side of the room. He pulls the robe off the door and then hands it to me.

I close up the first aid kit and then take the robe. After a second of staring at each other, I say, "Now turn around," and make a twirling movement with my finger.

He again lets out an annoyed sigh and spins around. "Seriously, who are you?" he asks, now angry.

"Who am I," I say as I turn around and drop the blanket around my ankles. "Who are you?"

"I'm Shawn Mendes, 18-year-old Canadian singer-songwriter," he gloats a bit. "Who are you?"

"I'm Cally Andrews, 17-and-a-half-year-old College drop-out," I say, pulling my robe around my exposed body, praying that he can't see my naked back. "Why are you in my room?"

"Because I'm starting my tour and have appearances to make before then, why are you in my room?"

"You don't get to know why now turn around," I say, now looking at the back of his head.

He turns and looks at me, and now I can see how aggravated he is. I kind of begin to laugh a bit at his anger, then quickly shut myself up.

He opens his mouth to say something when suddenly the door to my room bursts open and a big guy walks in, followed by a nicely dressed, middle-aged man.

"Mr. Mendes, you called then hung up, are you okay," the big guy asked.

"Yeah, Rex, I'm fine," Shawn replied, a bit of annoyance still present in his tone.

"Shawn you scared us half to death with that call, and who is this?" to middle-aged man says, looking at me.

"Sam, this is-" Shawn begins, but I cut him off; I can answer questions from big adults now.

"Cally Andrews and this is MY room, why is everybody in it?"

"No, this is MY room, why are YOU running around naked in it," Shawn battles back, causing us to ramble on, fighting for a few seconds until we are cut off.

"Okay, everybody quiet!" Sam yells over top of us. "Sit on the couch."

We both obey, like two angry little kids, and go and sit on two opposite ends of an expensive white couch.

Sam and Rex sit on a couch opposite of us sit quietly. Sam studies Shawn and I, looking from him to me, and back. Rex then leans over and whispers something to Sam. Sam nods and after a few moments breaks the awkward silence.

"Well, we apologize, Ms. Andrews for the mix up in rooms, but in light of the subject, we are glad we encountered you," Sam smiles officially.

"What?" Shawn and I ask at the same time.

"What does that mean?" I ask, confused by his words.

"On behalf of Shawn Mendes' management, we would like to offer you a contract," Sam begins.

"A contract?" I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling exposed again underneath my robe.

"Yes, a contract. Just for a month, though. Maybe longer, but we'll have to see how the media reacts with this."

"Sam, what are we giving her a contract for?" Shawn asks, just as confounded as me, and we both hang on, eager to hear his answer.

"I was just getting there, Shawn," Sam replies. "Cally, we would like you to be Shawn's girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Shawn and I yell in unison.