Pain and Pictures

Chapter 8- Flat

I let out a low whistle as we pulled up to the apartment building.

"Ms. Monroe, do you want to get out here? Or would you prefer the back?"

"Erm... I think the back, actually."

"Why? I don't see any cameras, well other than the one I'm holding."

My smile widened at the sound of another growl from the driver's seat.

"She can get out wherever she wants. Paparazzi or not."

"It's fine, Lance. Take me round back, please. I prefer the lift back there. That's all."

I smiled again at her words. Lift. She's lived in the States for five years, you'd think she'd be saying elevator by now.

"Yes, Lancelot. Let's take the lift, up to the flat, before we get on the tube."

I did my best (which is terrible) British accent. I expected her to scoff at my teasing, but instead she laughed. Hot damn! Have you ever had a gorgeous celebrity laugh at your jokes? I highly recommend it. Seriously, my ego was through the roof!

We pulled up to the back of the building, there was already someone there waiting. I guess they knew she was coming. All I know is that I really did feel like I was with royalty. Seriously, were they just waiting by the door for when she came back?

As much as I hated the paparazzi gig, I was getting a shit ton of ideas for where to catch a glimpse of celebrities.

As we got out of the car, the person waiting took the keys and proceeded to park. My head was spinning. You'd think with all the time I'd spent (recently) watching and waiting for some well known faces, I would be used to their constant excess. But I'm not.

She probably lives in the penthouse and has ten servants, all vying for her praise. I felt like if I rolled my eyes one more time, they'd be stuck that way.

We got into the 'lift' and I was surprised when we didn't head for the top floor. Maybe she was stuffing me in her servants quarters, or something.

When she got out her key and walked into the apartment, I was still confused.

"Is this your place? It's way smaller than I'd have guessed."

For a second she looked insulted. Then she sighed and explained.

"I don't like my home to be too big. It's just me and two others, after all. Plus, I have to have three different locations. I live here, Los Angeles, and London. No use having a large home that no one lives in. Don't you think?"

That made a lot of sense. More than I would have thought.

"Yeah, I guess. But where do all your serv.... I mean hired help sleep?"

"I only have Lance. I've a personal assistant, as well, but she's currently in London. They each have a room in all my homes."

"Oh, okay. Um... where do you want to do the interview?"

"We'll have to start tomorrow. I'm completely knackered. You'll understand once I've explained everything. Oh, Lance? Would you be a dear and make me some tea? I'll be in my room."

"Wait! Can I get blankets and stuff for the couch?"

"You can sleep in Janettes room, it's the second door on the left. The toilet is the first, if you need a shower. Goodnight."

Lance had been standing by the door, like he was expecting me to run. As tempting as that was, the idea of sleeping in a real bed was way too good to pass up.

He walked towards the open kitchen, and started (I'm assuming) making the princess her tea.

It was almost midnight, but I was still wide awake. For months I've been working late and sleeping in. So all I really wanted at this point was a drink.

"Hey Lancelot? Do you think she'd mind if I snagged a beer? Or some other drink? It's been a long evening!"

"My name is not Lancelot! And Ms. Monroe doesn't drink, there's no alcohol here."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Oookaaaay..... can I go get some?"

"No."

Fucking prick.

"I actually think I can. Unless you plan on tying me down, I don't think you can stop me."

"If you want to remain untied, I'd recommend you shut the fuck up and get some sleep. Do not leave. Got it?"

"Yeah. I got it. Asshole."

I mumbled my response, but he obviously heard me. Good. I'm not happy about being here! Yes, I'm getting an exclusive with an extremely sought after actress, but I still felt like a prisoner. All because I took a picture.