He inherited Blue Hill, a small record label, from his father some years ago and has felt inclined to ruin it. His recent conquests include signing Ashton Richards, a solo artist who is about as talented as a half-empty bottle of lube. Richards looks like an unfortunate cross between a male model, a hobo, and a One Direction dropout. He can carry a note like I can carry a fecking pyramid on my back. Saddled with the vocal range of a battered whale, he relies on auto-tune and his baby blue eyes.

Which brings me to Jeff Ryner’s second conquest—yours truly. I’m supposed to write songs for Richards’ next album, for the modest sum of one million euros. I say modest, because there’s no price for my dignity. Yet, here I am, stripping myself of poise for the greater good. Another thing she is responsible for.

Thanks for that, Aurora.

“Jenkins! I see you’ve met the man of the hour.” Ryner slow-claps as he zigzags his way to us, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He looks like Humpty Dumpty in a Technicolor suit, his sweaty upper lip glistening like garbage juice. “This is Malachy Doherty. Mal, this is Rory, our junior photographer. Mal, Rory shot the cover for Fiona in Wonderland’s new album.” He waves in her direction.

That cover was brilliant. The pop princess wore a gas mask and a full-blown wedding dress, standing in an open field.

I wonder briefly if it was Aurora’s concept before deciding I don’t care. So, the traitorous lass turned out to be decent at what she does. Call the fecking press.

“Rory, Mal is one of the biggest poets of our time. He’s sold some of the best songs on the billboard, including ‘Finding you, Losing Me’, ‘On Drury Street’, ‘Underneath the Stars’, and ‘Princess from New Jersey’.”

If she connects the painfully obvious dots together, she doesn’t let it show, and for that, I’m grateful. Dumb or heartless? My bet is on the latter, based on what I know about her.

“Pleasure,” she clips sarcastically, her eyes boring into my skull, trying to make a dent.

She adapts well to the shifting atmosphere. I can tell no part of her is glad to see me again. That’s all right. I don’t want her to be a willing participant in the game. I just want her to partake in it. It will make everything so much messier, and messy is fun.

“I called you here because I have a good opportunity for you, Rory. Jake, our senior photographer, is with Cold Blaze on their last leg. Once he’s done, he’s going to stick around in New York for a while—his girlfriend’s having a baby. So we need a photographer for this next project.”

“I’m your person.” Aurora turns to him, nodding.