Code of Ethics

I pulled my trench coat tighter around my torso, making sure the bow was secure as I climbed the front steps of the mansion. The place was massive and white, looking almost like a palace or something else worthy of royalty or people of the highest social standing. It was incredibly hard to believe that someone as young as Harry lived there. Where could he have gotten all that money?

Unless, of course, he still bummed off his parents. Wealthy parents must have been fun to have, ones that could throw money around and burn it in the fireplace by the thousands and still have spare to give to their son enough dough to purchase palaces for the whole family.

Struggling not to be judgmental, I knocked hard on the door, shifting from foot to foot to get some blood pumping through my veins. It was downright frigid in the suburb just outside of London, and whoever was going to answer the door was taking his sweet time doing it. He had to know that I was not wearing anything to bundle up, so why wouldn’t he hurry?

Just as I was able to knock again, much more impatiently, the door swung open to reveal Harry. His curls were already a mess, and I wondered what, exactly, had caused them to look that way. “Hi, Tara,” he greeted with a wide smile, stepping back to admit me through the doorway. “Welcome to my home.”

So I’d been right about the owner of the house. I figured, considering he said money was no object to him. Instead of answering, I looked around the foyer, noting a starch cleanness of everything and a solid marble statue in the corner. I was almost afraid to walk in the place, scared that I’d mess something up or knock a carefully-placed object out of its niche.

“The party’s in here,” he eased, shuffling slowly toward a doorway, probably trying to make sure he had my attention before he disappeared.

I snapped out of my trance, locking eyes with him for a second before following behind him. Together, we made our way through a long series of rooms, turning so many times that I knew I’d never be able to find my way back out. I felt like a lab rat getting put through a maze to test long-term memory or something.

Finally, I entered what looked like the fifth living room I’d seen walking through the house, where a large group of twenty-something boys were lounged around on various pieces of what looked like ridiculously expensive furniture. They all had some kind of alcoholic drink in their hands, and they were laughing just a little too hard to be natural.

“Everybody, this is Tara,” Harry introduced, gesturing toward me to emphasize his statement.

Completely uncomfortable, I gave a little wave while the group of boys turned toward me. My eyes raked over each of their faces, taking in their features, trying to see if their intentions would be good, if they’d try to grab me when my back was turned.

But they looked sober enough. Some of them were starting to look a little glassy-eyed, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.

Another thing I noticed as I evaluated each of their faces was that some of them looked somewhat familiar. Not like I’d met them before or anything. It was a subtle kind of recognition, the kind that was almost like a whisper in the back of my mind that refused to speak any louder to help me understand.

“Louis!” a blonde Irish boy laughed, knocking the boy to his right in the shoulder. “Are you going to say hi to your birthday gift?”

And then it hit me. Harry, Louis, an Irish boy. Money not being an issue for Harry. The gigantic house that looked like it could eat my apartment a hundred times and still have plenty of room for dessert. The cap that he wore at Starbucks to disguise himself.

Holy fuck. I was going to be dancing for One fucking Direction.

I felt the blood drain out of my face and a knot form in my stomach as I stared at them with wide eyes. Part of me wanted to walk out right then. I just knew that pictures would end up all over the internet, with them showing off about being able to hire a stripper, or taking pictures where they’d pretend to grab certain parts of my anatomy. And the whole world would know who I was and what I did.

But the money would be great. And serving famous people wasn’t one of my rules that I refused to violate. Maybe adding it to list would have been a good idea…

“Tara, are you okay?” Harry asked, his long eyebrows furrowed. Clearly, he noticed how close I was to passing out.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I replied in a strained voice, heading for the door.

I could hear his noisy footsteps behind me, probably a product of his incredibly large feet, even though he’d never answered in the affirmative. The second we entered the next room, he shut the door behind us, cutting off the curious whispers of his friends.

“What’s the-?” He tried to start, but I cut him off with an explosion of, “Why didn’t you tell me you were famous?!”

He let out a long breath before saying, “Well, if I were that famous, then you would have recognized me. Right?”

I glared at him, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I felt so incredibly naked, and I wished that I’d worn regular clothes to get to the party and changed into my work clothes in the bathroom. “No, that’s not the case. I don’t even know if I can do this.”

His face fell noticeably as he took a small step back, almost as if he were desperately trying to find a way to stop breathing the same air as me. “That makes me pretty sad,” he admitted slowly. “For some reason, I just figured that you’d be the last person in the world that would care whether we were famous or not.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I mean, we’re paying you, right? So it shouldn’t matter who we are. I swear, your pay for this will be incredible, there will be no pictures or videos anywhere, and it’ll be worth it. Just please? This is for Louis’ birthday. He’s one of my best mates, and I don’t want him to be disappointed.”

He was giving me a guilt-trip. I knew quite well that was what he was doing, but it didn’t stop me from getting affected by it. The thought once again entered my mind to leave, to get the hell out of that place, no matter how much money I was leaving behind.

Then reality started to shove my insecurities away. What about my books? My rent? Did I really want to let down a guy on his twenty-second birthday? Plus, he promised no pictures or videos, so there was no way anyone I was involved with in school would know.

“Fine,” I agreed, letting out a long breath. “But I swear, if I see one mention of this on the internet…”

“I’ll tell you secrets of mine that you can sell to the tabloids,” he promised. “Thank you so much, Tara. You’re the best.”

I smiled and nodded before following him back into the room, leaving my worries and stresses at the door. I wasn’t regular Tara. I was doing my job.