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I stand on tiptoes, trying to get a clear shot through the wall of photogs who are very intentionally blocking me out. I rushed straight over to Club Fit from Huntley, only to find the place already swarming with paps.

They pounced as soon as they realized who I was, blinding me with their flashing cameras and bombarding me with questions about Liam. It didn't take long for them to lose interest though. Without Liam, pictures of me aren't worth much.

Now the other photographers seem intent on making sure I can't get any photos of my own. I tried to sneak my way past earlier, and one of them actually elbowed me in the sternum. Not only did the guy not apologize, but he stood there, leering at me and said, "Better be careful, Darlin'. Your boyfriend's not here to watch out for you."

Chivalry is so far beyond dead in the world of the paparazzi it would give Vincent Price nightmares. It's no wonder there are hardly any women in this profession with all these scumbags running rampant.

I shift my weight from foot-to-foot, back aching from being out here so long. This job is ninety percent standing around waiting and ten percent heart-pounding exhilaration. I twist my shoulders, making my spine pop. It's nice to be standing in the shade for once. Greenwich Street is quaint for New York standards with its brownstone buildings and tree-lined sidewalks.

The tinted, glass door of the gym swings open, and the smell of sweat and steel wafts through the air. There's a flurry of cameras being raised. A bewildered looking girl with unicorn-colored hair walks out, wearing a t-shirt that reads, 'Use of the Word Can't Will Result In A 10 Burpee Penalty.' Clearly a trainer on her break.

She pushes her way through the throng, and an idea hits me. I glance back at the other photographers, who're trying to one-up each other with tales of their latest celebrity encounters.

I reach into my bag, fishing out one of the business cards I had made and hurry after her.

Most successful photogs have several tippers throughout the city. Tippers are usually employees at trendy restaurants, shops, and hot spots celebs frequent. They'll call paps when someone famous shows up, and in exchange, the paparazzi will pay them part of their commission.

Having a tipper working at Liam's gym might score me some exclusive shots. She might even have intel that could help me figure out what he's hiding.

"Excuse me," I holler after her.

She turns, glancing at the camera in my hand and wrinkling her nose.

Ugh. I'm grateful she doesn't seem to know who I am, but I'm also getting real sick of everyone acting like I'm some kind of monster for taking harmless pictures. I need to try to win this girl over though, so I channel as much of Elodie's charm as I can muster.

"I'm so sorry to bother you. I had a quick question."

"What's that?" Her mouth twists in distaste.

"I was wondering if you could tell me if Liam Anders is inside?"

"Is that who you're all waiting for?" She glances over at the swarm of paparazzi. "Liam isn't coming in today."

People will sometimes lie to 'protect' celebrities from us photogs, but this girl looks genuinely confused.

Why would Liam post about going to the gym if he wasn't? Unless, of course, he was trying to get us out of the way, so we wouldn't follow him wherever he was really going. I wonder what he could possibly be up to.

I hand the girl my card, which she reluctantly takes. "I'm a celebrity photographer. I'd love to get some shots of stars coming out of your gym. Maybe help promote your business?"

She frowns down at the card uncertainly.

"If you call me with tips, I'd also give you half the commission from any pictures I sell."

That gets her attention. Her eyes light up, and she tucks the card into a pocket in her leggings. "I might be able to do that."

"Really?" I'm half stunned, half ecstatic.

"I guess. So do I just call you or what?"

"Call. Text. Email. Whatever's easiest for you. What's your name?"

"Cassidy."

"Alright, Cassidy. I'll talk to you soon then."

She nods before disappearing into the flow of people maneuvering down the sidewalk.

Clapping a hand over my mouth, I try to hide my smile. I can't believe I landed my first tipper like a legit paparazzo. This job is such a rollercoaster, but I'm climbing my way back to the top.

Lady Gaga's "Paparazzi" starts playing from inside my camera bag. When I see the name lighting up my phone, my heart leaps inside my chest.

It's Liam.

I take a few extra steps away from the pack of photogs in case any of them are smart enough to try and listen. "Hello?"

"Where are you right now?" Liam's voice sets my pulse racing.

After getting chewed out by Agnes, I shouldn't be letting myself get wrapped up in him, but suddenly all I can think about is how it felt to have him whispering in my ear outside Rockefeller Plaza.

"Standing in front of Club Fit." I look back at the other paps. None of them glance in my direction. "The question is, where are you?"

"I had something I needed to take care of." His tone is clipped like he doesn't want to talk about whatever he's been up to. It has to be something big if he was trying to throw off the paparazzi.

"That's mysterious," I say, not wanting to push him too hard and have him shut down entirely.

"Yeah. Listen, I'm heading back into the city. Have you had lunch yet?" His phone crackles like he's driving through a tunnel or something.

"Not yet. Why?"

"I was thinking about going out to eat and thought you might like to join me."

My stomach flips so hard, I'm surprised my frappuccino doesn't make a reappearance. And I must be the world's biggest idiot, because for just a second, I thought Liam was asking me on a real date. But obviously, this is just another publicity stunt. I'm sure he'll have a horde of paparazzi waiting to take pictures of us before I even get there.

That idea makes something inside me ache, but I try to play it off. "Wow. You really can't go a single day without seeing me, can you, Superstar?"

I hear a smile in Liam's voice as he says, "Don't project your feelings on me, Ace. This is a business lunch."

"You know you're obsessed with me."

Liam laughs. "Again, projection. I'll text you the address. See you soon?" He sounds hopeful, almost like he genuinely wants to see me.

"Fine. I'll be there." I hang up the phone, trying to ignore the fluttery sensation that's highjacked my heartbeat at the thought of spending time with Liam, but I can't. Because I'm not so sure that what I'm feeling for this guy is entirely fake anymore, and I don't know what to do with that.