Professional Publicity Stunt » Shawn Mendes✔️

six: it's not allowed.

A/N: *to the tune of "...Ready For It?" by Taylor Swift* baby, let the drama begin.

Despite being in the elevator, now out of the view from fans, Shawn still holds onto my hand. I don't have the heart to take my hand away, pretending to go through my purse for something – or I could be answering Sidney's texts, dammit. But I don't.

Elvis does his morning show on the fifth floor, the quiet elevator ride being more awkward than it is lengthy. Once we finally reach our floor, though, Andrew walks out first, guiding us to the room where the magic happens.

I've been here before, obviously, so walking these halls is nothing new to me.

What is new, is the subtle reminder Elvis has to throw my way as soon as we enter the studio.

"Rylie! I didn't know you'd be joining us today."

I chuckle. "I know, I'm everywhere."

Elvis eyes our hands for a moment before raising his eyebrows at me. "The camera isn't on."

"Oh, right." I laugh awkwardly, then play it off by adding, "Give me a hug, man, it feels like it's been forever since I've seen you!"

This gives me an excuse to let go of Shawn's hand, wrapping my arms around Elvis in a hug. I don't know him extremely well, but I've seen him enough and he knows the real story behind what work I do, so that automatically makes him close to me – if that makes sense. Not many people know exactly what I do, they just think I am genuinely an assistant or actually the person's girlfriend. But Elvis knows that this is a job, and that these relationships are all fake.

Which is why his knowing smirk worries me.

Shawn follows behind me, giving Elvis a hug before getting situated in his chair with his pair of headphones. I sit off to the side, behind the camera a little so I'm not in its view. Andrew sits with me, Shawn's security guard standing off in the corner.

"Please welcome back to the show, the unbelievable Shawn Mendes!"

While he is occupied with the interview, I take the time to pull out my phone and answer Sidney's texts.

>Sidney: Checking in. How's it going?

Him and his check-ins. It's barely been a day. But I can't blame him. I've had some jobs turn extremely dangerous after barely a day, so I understand his lingering concern, even if Shawn is probably the sweetest guy I've had the pleasure of being a fake girlfriend to.

>Everything's good. How the husband? Give him a hug for me

It doesn't take him long to reply.

>Sidney: He's good. He misses you

I smile. I miss Justin too. It feels like it's been forever since I've been over at their place for dinner.

>Sidney: I will call you later tonight. Need to talk some work stuff with you

I nearly roll my eyes. "Work stuff" almost never means a good thing.

Well, that's a lie. It's not that it's bad when we talk about work stuff, but it's also not good, either. Normally, we don't have to. The past two relationships I have worked, we didn't have to. In fact, I think Sidney was on the verge of telling us to dial it back a little on the PDA if the media didn't react as wildly as they did – but the media ate it up. But I know what he's going to say tonight. I can already hear it.

This job is about consent. It always has been for me. I never do something to make the other party uncomfortable because this isn't real in the first place. It's acting. And that's hard for some people to really grasp and let loose and do. But in that, there also has to be a balance of something to get the media talking. Normally, the client and I would be making out on street corners by now. Going to brunch and hanging off one another so much it feels gross. Going shopping and coming out with armfuls of bags of stuff (that I never keep, by the way), but so it looks like they're "treating" me or whatever.