The Rockstar's bodyguard { A Bethanny Mcnarie novel }

Chapter 3: The Sister and the Soul { Aaron }

I drove up to the high school, looking around. Bethanny was right about the security. I decided to get out and walk around, trying to look casual. I didn't know if it would be a while before I saw Blake, or what I'd say. How did one strike up a conversation like that? "Hey I'm going to stalk you because I need the money, but I am not a creep." It didn't seem legit. I saw a girl walking with a giant stack of boxes, and she was about to fumble. I walked over and prevented her from spilling her cupcakes everywhere and she smiled. I realized a moment too late that it was the girl I was looking for, Blake Mcnarie. I could see the resemblance between Blake and her sister, the blue eyes and perfect smile. But Blake was older and blonder, what most people found stunning. She was pretty girl, but I felt nothing when I saw her. Which was probably for the best, since I didn't need another pretty minor following me around.

"Thank you," She said, catching her breath. "You saved my cupcakes."

"No problem," I said.

"Hey, do I know you? You look familiar somehow. Maybe we have a class together."

I handed her the box of cupcakes, and she straightened out.

"I don't go to school here," I said. "I was just passing by."

She looked me up and down, changing the soft lines of her face into an expression that could have made Hitler cry.

"Oh," she said. "Well, you know, it would have made a better picture if I had fallen down. I bet you'd make big money on that one."

"I don't like to sell those kinds of pictures," I said. I didn't know what kind of pictures I liked to sell, honestly. "Look, I hate my job. But I was thinking maybe I could introduce myself, promise not to take any creepy pictures of you, and we could be friendly."

"Friendly," she laughed. "With a paparazzi? That's rich. A photographer once crashed my sixth birthday party. He dressed up like a clown and snuck in, and then tried to photograph me in the swimming pool. I've never really gotten over my fear of clowns. Who do you work for?"

"Radar," I said. "I just need the money. But I'm not a jerk, and I'm definitely not a creeping clown man. My name is Aaron, by the way."

My hand hung the air, un shook and unwanted. I guess I tried.

"If you want my advice," Blake said. "You need to re-evaluate your career choice. If you want to make it as a paparazzi, you need to be a bigger asshole."

I laughed harder, finding that all of the Mcnarie girls had a certain spunk. I had to win her trust, and I knew I was worthy of it.

"I think I am onto something here, Blake. I'll make you a deal. I won't take any awful pictures of you, but you have to give me some scoops."

"I don't think so," She said. "Besides, there is nothing to scoop. My life is boring, and the only way anyone thinks I am interesting is by fabricating these stories. I mean, do I look pregnant to you?"

"No. You look good, I mean, nice. You definitely don't look pregnant."

Smooth talking, I thought to myself.

"Stop talking," Blake interrupted. "My point is, your bosses printed a story about me being pregnant last week. So either you're full of it, or you're going to get fired. They want money shots, and I don't intend to give them."

"Ok," I said. "But for the record, I just do what they say. I don't mean anything by it. I will try to respect your space, and I apologize for the times when I can't."

"Ok...well... this has been strange."

"Yes, it has. Have a nice day, Blake Mcnarie."

"You too, Aaron the paparazzo."