The break in

It was a warm summer day in London. Emma couldn't believe her eyes. It had been raining the past three weeks, but now the sun was finally out. She glanced into the mirror, repositioned her hair and grinned. For a couple of seconds, the dreadful moment that was fast approaching seemed to be miles away. She put her lipstick on and muttered to herself,

"Let's go, Emma. You can do this!"

Her heart started pounded as she grabbed her keys a few minutes later, heading out the front door. Her mind went over every detail of the day ahead, over and over again. If this should all work out, she had to be in total control of things. She couldn't leave anything to chance, she reminded herself and made her way to London's city center. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the young pap, who was following her down the street.

Peter was stunned when he saw Emma. She had the appearance of a normal twenty-something. It stood in stark contrast to her red carpet events, he thought, where she always appeared to Peter like an untouchable diva. Some of his colleagues had talked about her appearing normal, but he shouldn't be fooled. Ben, Peter's boss and now head of Britain's biggest paparazzi photo agency, had his own opinion of her. For a long time, he had managed to find her wherever she was hiding. He had pictured her walking through Oxford, London, Manchester, Glasgow, and Brighton – to name just a few. He even bragged about getting shots of her kissing a bloke somewhere in Sandbanks. But the agency never sold such pictures. In fact, no one ever found such files on the agency's cloud. His friends all joked behind his back, claiming that Ben had only dreamed about getting his hands on such material – which would have given him, a 41-year-old man living in Stoke-on-Trent, a very nice paycheck. Getting any shots of Emma had become much more difficult in recent years. In fact, these pictures of Emma, leaving her home, were probably the first candid shots of her in quite a while.

An elderly lady bumped into Peter at a corner. She excused herself and then moved on. Peter's heart skipped a few beats. If his target would turn around now and see him, it would all be over. His camera might be stored in his backpack now, but she could sense a pap from a mile away – or so the saying goes in the industry. If that were to happen, he wouldn't get any splashy pictures of her at all today. Then Ben wouldn't extend his expiring contract and Peter would be skint at the young age of 31. He saw his life fall apart in front of his mental eye. He needed this. Fuck, he had slept with a chubby councilwoman, fifteen years his senior, to get Emma's address.

She stopped. Was someone following her? It sure felt like someone was constantly walking behind her. Her blood pressure rose at the thought of it. She pondered whether to peak over her shoulder and find out. No, she told herself, she was already running late, and George had a tendency to simply leave a coffee shop when his "date" didn't show up on time. So, Emma simply decided to increase her pace. If nothing else, it might help her to still arrive on time.