You never planned to babysit a celebrity.

Yet here you are, standing in front of Olivia Burke, trying to convince yourself that the screaming fans outside the boutique are just… enthusiastic tourists. Not the paparazzi hunting for her every smile. Not the world waiting for her to trip and reveal the star behind the designer sunglasses.

“Relax,” she says, adjusting the scarf around her neck. “You act like I haven’t done this a million times.”

You blink at her, caught off guard. “You’re Olivia Burke,” you whisper. “The Olivia Burke. The one on every magazine cover, every gossip column…”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, the glamorous actress. But right now? I’m just Olivia. And you’re the only person who knows it.”

And somehow, that makes your chest tighten. Because this secret—this tiny, impossible, deliciously dangerous secret—has put you both in a bubble. A world separate from New York’s chaos, paparazzi, and expectation. A world where she laughs like a normal person. Where she confides in you. Where you get to be… just you.

Over the next few weeks, your job is simple in theory: protect her identity, distract the fans, cover for her when she sneaks out for coffee, make excuses when she forgets sunglasses in public.

In practice, it’s anything but.

There’s the late-night coffee run when she leans into your shoulder because she trusts you more than anyone else. The drive through Central Park where she sings off-key to a song on the radio, unbothered by the world. The way her laugh catches you off guard. The way her hand brushes yours, accidental or not—you can’t tell.

One evening, as you sit on the stoop after fending off a group of relentless fans, she turns to you, her voice soft. “Do you ever think about what it’d be like… if no one knew me? Not just right now. Ever.”