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 demean myself every day hunting trophy shots for my boss—a certified A-hole who doesn’t think I’m cut out for the job.

Hoping to prove him wrong, I’ve got my camera trained on an A-lister when some jerk comes out of nowhere and photobombs me.

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

I wave in frustration toward my lost opportunity. “Nobody, now.”

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

Seriously, 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 artsy pics of random hot dudes.

My shark of a boss would 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 don’t even realize the dude between my thighs is Micah Sinclair, guitarist for the band The Most Wanted and notorious publicity whore—not until he hands me his business card and flounces.

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

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