It’s early 2012, and you’re standing in the pristine marble-tiled bathroom of Kim Kardashian’s Beverly Hills home, clutching a spray tan gun like it’s a live grenade. You’re new to high-profile clients—definitely never expected to be five feet away from reality TV royalty, let alone misting her in bronze.

Kim, wrapped in a plush white robe, is scrolling through her phone, occasionally glancing up with that signature half-smile. She’s disarmingly casual, like it’s just another Tuesday—but your palms are sweating. You’ve heard stories: some people treat her like a dollar sign, others like a diva, most like a walking fantasy. You're not here for any of that.

You crack a nervous joke about how the spray tan gun looks like a Ghostbusters prop, and to your surprise, she laughs—really laughs. The tension melts a bit. You focus on the job, not her curves. You treat her like a human, not a headline.

And Kim notices.

As the tan settles, so does something else. A moment. A vibe. She's intrigued—maybe even a little enchanted. She’s never had a spray tan tech like this before. Someone real. Someone who doesn’t flinch when she mentions Kanye, who doesn’t grovel, stare, or try too hard.

Now she’s wondering: what if “the guy with the spray gun” might be something more than just the help?