Climbing onto the shoulders of a beautiful stranger, I ask myself, Are there no limits to the humiliations I’ll endure for a paycheck? As a tabloid photographer, I’ve abandoned my dignity on the quest for trophy shots to bring my boss, a certified A-hole, who doesn’t think I’m cut out for the job.

To prove him wrong, I’ve got my camera trained on an A-lister, shopping with her kids, when this oblivious jerk comes out of nowhere and photobombs me.

“Who are you shooting?” He stares at me like I’m more interesting than the celebrity up the block, who… has been swallowed up by a crowd. Dammit.

I wave at my lost opportunity. “Nobody, now.”

A slight smile plays on his gorgeous lips. “Need a boost?”

Honestly, he’d make a better photo with his golden hair, bright blue eyes, broad shoulders, and tanned skin—like some model for a California travel agency—but I don’t get paid for pics of random hot dudes.

My shark of a boss would say: Get the shot at any cost. And just like that, fear of losing my job overcomes my self-respect. Photobomber drops on his knee, and—I can’t believe I’m doing this—I climb this mouth-wateringly delicious man and ride him like a parade float.

And maybe I am an incompetent paparazza because I have no idea the dude between my thighs is Micah Sinclair, guitarist for the band The Most Wanted and notorious publicity whore.

Adding insult to injury, by the time I return to the office—without pictures of the actress—social media posts of yours truly atop a bona fide rock star have emerged. My ruthless boss, thinking I’ve made a connection, gives me a new assignment: use Micah to get inside his world and dig up dirt.

But once this charming musician takes me in, I’m not sure who’s side I’m on. And I think he might be using me.