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Breakfast was every morning at 8:30 AM.
Lunch was every afternoon at 12:30 PM.
Dinner was whenever she got around to it.
It was something of an American dream to make a cross-country move to Los Angeles at the tender age of 18 - - whether to pursue a career as a singer, actor, model, or any combination of what proved to be the three most popular occupation choices in the entire city. The Hollywood lifestyle wasn't for everyone, but for some, it stuck like glue. Stephanie McMahon's life plan had called for a move to LA, in addition to the set tasks of attending an expansive list of casting calls and landing as many modeling gigs as she could muster. What Stephanie received, instead, was a flying curve ball of a full-time job that had been hit straight out of the ballpark of fate and into her awaiting lap.
Against her better judgment and the wishes of her parents, the split-second high school came to a close, Stephanie made her escape from the posh Connecticut town she had grown up in for almost her entire life and flew across the country to California. Los Angeles practically hailed itself as the reigning land of opportunity and, as an exuberant 18-year-old in 1994, not a single obstacle bore the skill to hold her back from her dreams. After six years of depending on wired money from her parents and accepting paid modeling gigs on the side, Stephanie came to terms with the realization that it wasn't going to be as easy to make it in the world of runway modeling as she had hoped. It wasn't until she had one foot out the door, so to speak, and was fully prepared to tuck tail and dash back to Connecticut that Joel showed up.
Her fellow Californian had tried his hand at modeling and ran in the same circles as Stephanie, striking up a conversation with her at a casting call, and after an affinity formed between them and Joel felt relaxed enough to approach her with an idea, he invited her inside the often-scandalous world of the paparazzi. It wasn't a profession Stephanie ever dreamed for, but she gathered the money was solid - - so she would no longer have to rely on her parents in excess - - and it would beat scrambling on top of hundreds of gorgeous, slender girls to win over the uptight agents at model castings. The rest was history, and from then to present day 2007, she clung to the bumpy ride Joel was taking her on, occasionally partaking in a joined effort while other times she spied solo to snap some of the most sought after celebrity pictures imaginable. With their budding, round-the-clock camaraderie, it was a wonder it took them so long to recognize they shared a connection worth exploring.
Showing her support of the home team in the form of a Los Angeles Lakers ball cap, Stephanie jumped to attention when her cell phone vibrated in her left pocket. Without discarding the high definition camera in her hand, she fished her phone out and answered the call without looking. "Hello, Stephanie McMahon."
"Wow, so formal. How are you this fine Friday morning?"
"Sorry, I didn't check to see who it was. Howdy, partner," she bantered. The owner of the suave voice on the opposite end of the line was her longtime boyfriend and business partner, Joel, and an inadvertent blush warmed her cheeks as he followed her greeting up with a lecherous purr. While their relationship began in a platonic enough fashion, after a stretch of chasing after celebrities and basking in the joy of snagging the latest shots of them, their friendship had matured into a much more special bond, and their past seven years of superstar hunting and three years of dating had been the happiest in both their lives.
"What are you doing, baby?" Joel quizzed, although it was fruitless since he knew exactly what she was up to.
"What do you think?" she questioned coyly, with an unconscious tilt of her head. Even when she wasn't there to see him in person, Stephanie's body language always took on a sexually suggestive tone when she spoke to Joel. He brought out the sassy fire in her.
"Spying on some celebs?"
"You win!" she laughed. "It's funny how I've been doing this with you for seven years but I still feel guilty about watching people. I've read comments online where people are like, 'the paparazzi are one of the lowest life forms around. Why don't they just get a life?', and it makes me feel bad about what I do sometimes. Am I too old for this?"
"You're never too old to chase celebrities around. This is like a dream job, Steph," Joel reminded her. "Think about it - - we set our own hours so we can stop and start working whenever we want, we work for ourselves so there's no boss telling us what to do, and we make damn good money selling this stuff to the tabloids. Don't start getting a guilty conscience now."
"I'm not. It was just something I was thinking about, that's all."
"No worries, we all have our doubts. Who have you gotten today?"
"So far?" Stephanie paused and bit her bottom lip self-consciously. "Actually, I haven't gotten anyone today."
"Are you staking out somewhere?"
"I'm outside of the Hilton in Beverly Hills. A few bands are playing at Whisky a Go-Go tonight, and I got word that some of the guys from those metal bands are staying here. I haven't seen any of them yet, but it's almost lunch time, so I figure they'll be coming out soon to go eat. I'll even move my lunch back a little if I need to."
"Nah, don't bother. Tell me what you want for lunch, I'll bring it to you, and we'll check the hotel out together until we get some shots of the guys. We're too experienced to go home empty-handed today. We have to get pictures of someone."
"I know."
"So what does my brilliant, beautiful girlfriend want to eat?" Joel followed up.
The midnight blue Escalade slipping into the parking space beside her about half an hour later, just in the nick of time for her self-scheduled lunch slot, alerted Stephanie to Joel's arrival. Though his tinted windows prevented her from having a decent view into the vehicle, Stephanie raised her hand to wave, nonetheless. In the time it took to position her camera in the backseat, Joel had exited his vehicle and was slinking around to the passenger side door of Stephanie's. She pressed the automatic locks to allow him entrance and salivated when the spicy tang of sesame chicken infiltrated her senses.
"Hey, hop in," Stephanie motioned Joel forward, and he stepped in eagerly, but not without pausing to lean across the seat and drop a kiss onto her lips. The crunch of the brown bags sounded as he balanced them on his lap while reaching out to shut his door.
"Just to forewarn you, I got a whole lot of extra food, so we'll have leftovers tonight if you get hungry again."
"Well I just might eat it all right now because I'm starving," she exaggerated, stretching the word out agonizingly slow as she reached across the seat for one of the bags in Joel's lap.
"Where's your camera?"
"I put it in the backseat when you showed up," she jerked her thumb in the general direction, and he reached back to retrieve the item while she rummaged the contents of their lunch. Stephanie pulled out the first carton she came across and discovered the very sesame chicken she had been after. While she was busy enjoying her lunch, the metal group that would soon become the object of her camera's affections were consorting in their hotel room, hidden just beyond the confines of a rather lush display, as to what their next move should be.
"It feels weird to be in a hotel room instead of on the bus," Rich expressed.
Between his index and middle fingers, he held steady to a tuft of the flowing curtains covering the lone window in the room he was sharing with Chris. They always chose each other as roommates whenever the decision arose, but it wasn't a shot at the other boys. Chris and Rich's friendship extended to nearly a decade prior, and along with that kind of history came a shared solitude that couldn't be duplicated. Paul, Billy, and Frank understood their bond and made it a point not to take it personally but, rather, realize they didn't share the same rapport. It was for that reason the other three had nary a problem rooming in the suite just across the hall, and perhaps it was for the best, because the constant drumming of Chris's fingertips against the wooden kitchen table would have been enough to drive them from the lull of a restful sleep and straight into the brink of madness.
"Are we gonna go rehearse, or what?" Chris asked, more agitation seeping into his tone than intended.
"In a few hours, but the gig isn't even until tonight. Calm down, dude," Rich released the curtains from his grip and turned around, a half-full coffee mug tucked away in his right hand. The worry lines etched into Chris's forehead were a dead giveaway that his whole vibe was off. He wasn't the type of person to grow anxious before a gig - - not with the tenure they had as performers. "Why are you so petrified over something we've done a million times?"
"I'm not petrified," Chris shot back, his fingers forming air quotes as he repeated the word and scowled from the bad taste it left in his mouth. "It's just that I have some of the guys coming to see me, and I want us to be good."
"Who's coming?"
"Miz and Maryse, MVP, and a whole bunch more people I can't think of."
"No reason to lose it. Our music is gonna kick everyone's asses, but only in the best way. Let's go grab food before it gets too late, 'cause I don't think I can wait much longer."
"Should we check one more time to see if the guys are up?"
"They weren't up ten minutes ago when I went over there," Rich shook his head. "Tell you what - - you go downstairs and get the car started, and I'll go across the way and wake them all up. It shouldn't take more than five minutes, and if we're not down there by then, you can leave without us."
"Sure I can," Chris rolled his eyes and chuckled. Pushing off the sides of the chair he had been occupying, Chris reached across the table to grab the rental car keys they had tossed there earlier. After stretching his arms, he turned to the clock and spied the time as he let out a satisfying yawn, discovering it was well after noon. It was no wonder his stomach was grumbling so loudly and begging for the satiation of what had grown into an overwhelming hunger. "See ya soon."
"Yeah," Rich replied over his shoulder as he stepped out of the room first and strolled across the way with the key card for the room opposite them.
Hands shoved in pockets and mind wandering to the uncertain events that would play out when evening fell, Chris shuffled to the bank of elevators at the end of the hallway and stepped inside the unoccupied car, pressing for the ground floor. The steel tiles of the elevator floor were met with a series of aimless kicks from Chris's shoe and escaped the abuse only when he arrived on the bottom floor and made a swift exit. The keys jingled in his hand while Chris used his free one to adjust his black-and-white plaid scarf. Growing up in Canada, he learned if you wore a scarf pretty much year round then you would never fall sick, and that was paramount for him as a lead vocalist.
For as long as he could remember, Chris had been known solely as a wrestler, but while stepping away and taking a desired rest, he, and the rest of Fozzy, gained respect as a group. A bright future lay ahead of them in the music industry, and to keep that momentum soaring to its fullest potential, Chris had to protect his voice by any means necessary. Alcohol had always been one of his main vices, but he was making a conscious effort to slow down on the booze, avoid cigarette smoke inhalation, and keep from raising his voice too often. The latter of those options was apparently going to be the harder of the three, which he didn't realize until he walked out the door and fell, instantly, into the path of a forthright photographer.
Not bothering to give the pest a single glance, Chris continued to his car. On a different day at a different point in time, he likely would have been much more accommodating to what she was after, but the mixture of hunger and exhaustion was clouding his better judgment. The scratch of gravel underneath his shoes mingled with the exerted breathing of the woman taking his pictures, and he would have much preferred the chirping of birds or rush of traffic to what he was hearing. If the woman had known what was good for her, she would have sealed her lips because, while picture-taking could be tolerated, conversation-making could not.
It appeared she hadn't received that particular memo.
"Hi, Chris, it's great to have you in town. Are you and the rest of Fozzy excited to play tonight?"
His angelic side longed to give her the polite answer and send her on her merry way, but the devilish side of him had come out to play. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, right?" he answered shortly.
"How has your time in LA been?"
"It was great before you shoved your camera in my face," Chris snapped, knowing full well he was taking his nervous energy out on an innocent bystander.
Be it gumption or plain old oblivion, she forged ahead. Giving the woman the cold shoulder was rather hard since his peripheral vision was awarding him a decent view of her. The sight that met him from the corner of his eye was an attractive woman with long hair, and while he generally preferred blonds, she seemed to be making a case for brunettes quite well. Even that wasn't enough to save her from his growing wrath.
"So do you have any—"
"Look," Chris interrupted, holding a hand up to shield himself as he stood directly behind his vehicle, "I'm not in the mood to talk, so take the pictures you need and scram or, I don't know, maybe go find a real job or something."
Stephanie was crestfallen, her greatest worries about her job confirmed as she lowered her camera, and when Chris finally got a clear view of her, she was...
Alluring.
Stunning.
Breathtaking.
It wasn't Chris's MO to present himself so crudely to fans, paparazzi, or anyone else he came into contact with, and while he wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, he knew one thing for certain - - his behavior had been a huge mistake. Her lengthy tresses fluttered in the wind, offset by her steely blue eyes that were glossed over with an emotion he presumed to be mortification, and that brought them into a rather odd standoff. Chris staring at her, her staring back at him until, finally, she spun around on her heel and rushed away. It wasn't yet obvious to him where the intense pangs of attraction were emanating from, but they were getting stronger all the time, bringing him to one final conclusion.
Chris had to know her, and, yet, he felt as if he already did. There was a familiarity in their shared gaze, the intangible kind he couldn't quite find the words to describe, and his mind began to fragment bits and pieces of past times together to help him along in his journey of uncertainty. The woman had been a pretty face, absolutely, but there was a quality that drew him to her that was wholly outside of her physical appearance. It only took a few seconds more to click, and when it did, it was like a punch to his gut.
Vince McMahon had a daughter Chris had only met in passing on scant occasions, and although it took him a while to recall where he had seen such a strikingly beautiful face, the memory never left him completely. In all the discussions he had taken part in with Vince, the one thing that stood out to Chris was the disappointment in his boss's eyes whenever he mentioned the life his daughter had chosen. The job itself wasn't what upset him so much as that she hadn't cared enough to stay close and be a part of the family business the way Shane had. When Chris combined all the facts, he concluded that Vince had a daughter who lived in Los Angeles, which was precisely where he was at that very moment, and she worked as a paparazzi and bore a remarkable resemblance to the woman he had just blown off...
The photographer wasn't just a regular old paparazzo.
It was Stephanie McMahon - - and he had torn her to verbal shreds for no reason other than his own atrocious mood.
"Hey," he lowered his hand, but she was already darting away, so he raised his voice. "Excuse me! Hey, would you wait a minute?" he called out. Stephanie carried on without missing a beat, and after shoving the keys into his pockets, Chris started to jog after her. "Hey, hold on!" he cupped his mouth to increase his volume, but his run came to a screeching halt when he slammed into a solid body and found Rich staring up at him in a daze.
"Who the hell are you talking to, bro?" he asked. The other guys were standing behind Rich, and they all seemed to be scanning the entirety of the parking lot to find the object of Chris's attention but were unsuccessful. She was already gone, and with her escape, she sunk Chris's heart in a matter of seconds. He would not rest until he found her and apologized, and not just because his discovery of who she was, but because it was the noble thing to do.
"Nobody, it's nothing," Chris replied distractedly as he pulled the car keys back out of his pocket and made a listless attempt to guide the guys in the general direction of the car. "Come on, let's go eat," were the words he spoke, but his eyes gave away his preoccupation with something entirely different.
As his gaze fell further down the parking lot, he caught a glimpse of her once more, but it was only long enough to make out her backside as she rushed into an awaiting vehicle and subsequently pulled out of the parking lot.
Come rain or shine, sleet or snow, he was going to find Stephanie and make things right.