Code of Ethics

I rubbed my hands together as I struggled to get some blood running through my ice-cold finger tips. I was sitting at my kitchen table, shaking my leg up and down as I waited anxiously for Harry to arrive. We had another date, and it was going to be the first one where we were going somewhere public and open. I was terrified of the outcome, but Harry had told me with tenderness in his voice that the paparazzi was a major part of his life.

“If they want a story, they’ll find one, whether it’s true or false,” he said with a somewhat cynical tone. “So if they want to spread what you do for a living around the country, then they’ll do it. Please, don’t worry about my image. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

But it wasn’t just his image I was concerned about, although that was part of it. I didn’t want his young fans to start coming after me because I was corrupting their perfect little cupcake, and I didn’t want tabloids to start ripping him limb for limb because he was scraping the bottom of the barrel for trash like me. After all, it couldn’t be good for anyone that one of the most recognizable stars in the world was going out with some poor, lowly stripper.

I was also concerned about my own image. Nobody, other than the other girls at the club, knew about what I did to make money for university. Not Marie, not my professors, not anyone I went to school with. That was the way I wanted to keep things.

If my secret was published in every tabloid in the country, then everything I struggled to keep hidden would find the light. No one would look at me the same. They wouldn’t care about my motivations for why I would take the job I had, that it was the only way I could pay for any of my bills. They would just label me a slut who had no self-respect and ridicule me.

Not to mention they would automatically assume that I was after Harry for his money. “Strippers have no self-respect,” they’d say, sticking their pompous little noses in the air. “I just hope Harry doesn’t fall for whatever she’s trying to pull. It’s just indecent.”

Sighing to myself, I rubbed my eyebrow and tried not to think about it. Although it wouldn’t be hard to figure out the truth about me, it was possible that they wouldn’t try. Maybe they’d take pity on me, some unknown no-name, and keep my personal life, like what I did when I wasn’t going out on dates with Harry and my tax statements and bills, private.

Probably not, especially with the kinds of people who were obsessed with One Direction, but a girl could dream.

My phone buzzed in my pocket with a text from Harry, alerting me that he was waiting outside for me. Leaving my worries in the flat, I locked the door behind me and hurried down the hallway, pulling my jacket tighter around my torso.



My stomach was in knots as we pulled up in front of the restaurant. I could already see the paparazzi swarming like a bunch of bloodthirsty mosquitoes, their cameras flashing like strobe lights. I knew that in a matter of seconds, my face was going to be published around the internet, and the whole world would know me as Harry Styles’ new plaything. And while I’d accepted that reality and whatever consequences would come with it, how the sweet look on his face made everything feel worth the trouble, I was still nervous.

Harry seemed to sense my hesitation and leaned over the console in his SUV, grasping my hand with his. “Take a couple deep breaths,” he directed in a low voice. “They’re going to scream my name, trying to get information, but don’t look directly at them. Just hold my hand and keep your head down and let your hair fall in front of your face. They can’t go into the restaurant because they’d be a distraction, but outside is fair game. You think you’re ready?”

I wasn’t. But I nodded anyway, knowing that he wanted to see me as strong, and I climbed out of the car.

Before the soul of my heel even touched the surface of the pavement, people were screaming Harry’s name. My heart started to pound in my chest, and I knew that when Harry took my hand, my palm was slick with anxious sweat. For a second, I felt awful that he had to hold my hand when it was clammy like that, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just followed his own advice, keeping his head down and storming toward the door without paying the photographers and reporters any mind.

His professionalism shocked me. There he was, a young, nineteen year old boy. Other boys his age were sitting in their dorm rooms at college, playing videogames and cursing each other out. But he had to deal with constant screeching by all people, and he handled it with a sort of grace that shook me to my core. I knew I’d never get to that place, where he just handled the situation without so much as glancing up at me for comfort.

As it was, I followed his directions the best I could, although my teeth had latched onto my bottom lip for dear life, and I was squeezing the living daylights out of his poor hand.

When we finally reached the lobby of the restaurant, I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “It gets easier,” he promised me with a whisper, pressing a soft kiss against my forehead. “I’m sorry you’ll have to deal with that.”

“Too late to go back now,” I replied with a small, forced laugh. They were like vultures, those people, and I had no idea why they took so much pleasure in terrifying normal human beings.

“It’s never too late to go back,” he corrected, but before he could finish his statement, the host cleared his throat, waiting for the name of the reservation. “Styles.”

The host nodded and reached behind him to grab a couple of menus, leading us through the dining room to a table set in the back, far away from any windows where the paparazzi would be completely unable to capture our images.

Once the host left us, saying that he hoped we had a good meal, Harry stared at me and said, “Tara, if the pressure ever gets too much for you, don’t hesitate to let me know. I’m not going to say it won’t hurt, but I’m not going to put you through something that you’re not ready to handle.”

I swallowed. “I’ll deal with it,” I promised him. “Because if I was crazy enough to give you a chance in the first place, then I should be crazy enough to deal with all the insanity that comes with you.”

Harry smirked, his beautiful lips pulling up in the corners just slightly, and told me, “I’m really glad to hear that. Just be ready for a bumpy ride.”

“Trust me. I am.”