"Hi, this is Rachel Eaves returning a phone call for Lydia Farrow."

They had decided at the account's beginning that it would be easiest for Rebecca, as the account's general manager and agent, to keep her last name so that she could sign 'R. Eaves' on any legal forms that came up and they would be legitimate without giving themselves away. But using her real first name seemed a bit too stupid, so they had decided to go with 'Rachel.'

After the issue with the news article, Rebecca had spent the rest of her Sunday looking through the different emails and text messages she had received as Drew Parley's manager, asking for collaborations. Most of them seemed too sketchy to risk sending Kennedy into, but there were a few that seemed normal. Rebecca wanted to start small, though, so she had decided to only go with one offer for the time being—enough to put any possible rumors to rest without rocking the boat too much.

Lydia Farrow, from what Rebecca could tell, was a famous and legitimate model who had contacted the girls asking to do a photoshoot with Kennedy, because she thought the two would look good together in an ad. It seemed innocent enough, and Rebecca had decided to go for it.

"Eaves?" The girl on the other end of the phone repeated, "From Drew Parley's management?"

Rebecca tried not to sigh too loudly.

"Yes, that's the one." She replied, "May I speak with Ms Farrow?"

"I can get things set up for the two of them." The girl replied, "I'm May Fairweather, Lydia's assistant."

That sounded like a fake name, but Rebecca shrugged to herself. Drew Parley was a fake name.

"Great." Rebecca answered, "How about we find a time for Drew and Lydia to do a shoot together? We received contact from Lydia showing interest in the idea."

"We would be honored to do so." May replied. Rebecca decided she didn't like the girl; who was 'honored' to work with an Instagram influencer when they were a successful, household-name model. "What day works for Ms Parley?"

Rebecca thought for a second. Weekends, since Kennedy happened to actually be a college student who needed to pass her classes—regardless of whether or not she enjoyed showing up for said classes.

"This upcoming Saturday or Sunday would work best." Rebecca offered, "My client has prior commitments during the week."

"Ms Farrow could do Saturday." May responded, "Does Ms Parley have any requests for the shoot? Anything she is unwilling to do?"

"We would prefer not to do any lingerie or swimsuit shoots." Rebecca answered immediately, "We feel that Ms Parley's first collaboration shouldn't be so...risqué."

She could hear May stifling a laugh from the other end of the phone.

"No risqué shoots. Got it." Typing echoed from the other line, "Should we say to meet around noon? We have a shooting location in Henderson that would work great for the two."

Rebecca quickly typed 'Henderson' into her search bar to make sure it was a drive they could reasonably make. Henderson, North Carolina was an hour and a half from Clemson.

"Yes, noon would work. Can you send over the address of the shoot?"

"Sure. I'll email it along with a copy of the contract. We'll have you sign it to ensure that we have Ms Parley's commitment to be at the shoot at the agreed upon time."

"Great." Rebecca replied, "Thanks for your time. We'll see you on Saturday."

She hung up the phone without giving a proper goodbye, because she felt like that was how professionals did it in the real world. But seeing as Rebecca Eaves was not a professional, she felt guilty immediately after for being rude and briefly considered calling May back to apologize.

She got over it when an email popped up in her 'Drew Parley' inbox. She opened it and electronically signed the contract, not paying too much attention to it before sending it back to the email it had been sent from.

A knock sounded on the apartment door before it opened. Rebecca turned around to see Kennedy walking in, holding one venti Starbucks cups in each hand and looking like she had walked straight out of a Gymshark ad.

"Here, I got an extra." She said, setting one of the cups down on the table next to Rebecca's laptop. Rebecca took a sip as Kennedy sat down at the table next to her, sighing loudly as she did so.

"Intense workout?" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah. Full-body day."

"Wow."

"Yep."

Rebecca tried not to appear too excited as she pushed her laptop to the side and set both hands on the table in front of her.

"I have good news."

"Yeah?" Kennedy asked, sipping her coffee, "What?"

"I set up a photoshoot for you. With a model."

Kennedy perked up immediately.

"You did? That's great! Who's it with?"

"Lydia Farrow." Rebecca replied, "She's this model who has a photoshoot location in Hen—"

"No." Kennedy shook her head immediately, her expression changing in an instant. "Absolutely not. Find someone else."

Rebecca raised her eyebrows.

"Excuse me? I already booked this. For you. I signed the contract and everything."

"Well, un-sign it." Kennedy replied, standing up. "I'm not doing a photoshoot with Lydia Farrow."

"Kennedy, this is insane. She's super well-known and wants to work with you. She reached out to us. This will completely cancel out that stupid article that said Drew Parley was fake, and it'll be great exposure for the account. This could lead to more money and more followers—"

"Is that all you care about?" Kennedy snapped, "How much money we make from this account? So much so that you don't even run my first collaborative photoshoot past me before signed a contract?"

Rebecca felt her face turn red.

"I was just trying to point out that we have this opportunity and—"

"Well, I just told you that I'm not doing it." Kennedy replied, "So get out of the contract and find something else."

Rebecca sighed and pulled the contract up on her laptop. She scanned it quickly before seeing a number jump out at her: $10,000.

"It's a $10,000 cancellation fee." She told Kennedy, "So if you want to fork that cash up, be my guest. Otherwise, you're doing the photoshoot."

Kennedy was silent for a second. And then another. Rebecca felt like she could see the wheels in the other girl's head turning, trying to figure out if it was worth it.

"Fine." She replied, starting for the door.

"Fine?" Rebecca repeated, "Fine, what?"

"Fine, I'll do the photoshoot." Kennedy replied, "But I don't want you to book a single thing without my approval from now on."

Rebecca barely had time to nod her understanding before Kennedy was out the door, both Starbucks cups with her. Rebecca turned back to her computer in confusion, opening a search engine to try and figure out what Kennedy's massive problem with Lydia Farrow was.

Lydia Farrow.

There were millions of search results, but one of the top ones seemed like it might give some clues.

Model Lydia Farrow's Fairytale Wedding.

Rebecca opened the news article and started reading. Lydia Farrow had gotten married to a plastic surgeon from Virginia five years earlier—a man who looked a good deal older than her in all of the pictures. Kristopher Abrams.

Rebecca felt her heart stop. Kristopher Abrams. Kristopher.

Kristopher from Kennedy's phone had been her father. Which made Lydia Farrow Kennedy's stepmother.

And they were going to do a photoshoot together. In person. On Saturday.

Fun.