&. veronica stone / @v-stone location: rodeo drive, beverly hills
Chloé had despised Beverly Hills long before she was chased out of that corner of the city, it was too neatly manicured, too crowded, too haunted. That was, admittedly, what she wanted, perching outside of one of the boutiques that stood, imposing, along the famous Drive. A good photographer was like a ghost, and Veronica Stone was a spectre, taunting her by disappearing when she turned to look for her. Now, she was waiting for the girl to come to her. A few pictures of her, still so out of place and deeply unwanted in the lavish quarters of Los Angeles, would be worth a few hundred dollars, maybe. If she was optimistic. Her worth had peaked when Serena had killed someone. A few sentences would be worth more. If she was optimistic.
But Chloé had been merciless in chosing a slow day, one where celebrity traffic had slowed to a crawl. She had made her proposition, posting a photograph she should have deleted. She lifted her head as the girl approached. It was easy to forget they were the same age. Veronica had a swagger to her walk, she thought, one she had earned. “I want to work for you,” she said, as soon as she was in earshot, letting the sentence dangle, “Pro bono. Your house, your office. Your choice.” Friends close, enemies closer. It would benefit the both of them.