After that fun little encounter with the Birds of Prey – heh, speaking of women no one would cross twice – Jay's trip to his safe house became more urgent. Not only did he want to hit Babs up for details on his current case, he had questions to ask about the stranger who'd just called him 'hon' while tossing him around with more speed and strength than a girl her size should've had.

First, the run-of-the-mill research. It was always better to know something before asking questions of the woman who knew everything. Jay followed the news in Gotham, both the mainstream Gotham Gazette and the official blogs, as well as a couple of half-crazy bloggers who were more often right than wrong. One of those ran a TMZ-wannabe called Capespotting.

Whoever ran Capespotting was obsessed with Batman. Had every single official appearance written up, had notes on uniform changes, hell, even had a pretty accurate piece comparing the performance and style of the various Robins over the years. Dickie-Bird was first and best, as always, but it was still gratifying to see his own strength and courage written up so admiringly.

When Jay first started working with Oracle, he'd asked her if she knew who ran Capespotting. Her response had been typical Babs. "It's not one person, it's three, and one of them works for Cobblepot. The other two are independent civilians with an obsession. I think Penguin's man infiltrated them somehow early on."

"Okay, and why are you letting them report on everything we do?" he'd grumbled, scrolling through the article on himself, titled Red Hood: Bad Guy Gone Good?

"There's nothing there that an astute observer couldn't get from the mainstream news, a police scanner, and a few phone calls," she'd said dismissively. "Besides, since I know who they are, and their information is trusted by many of our rogues, if necessary I can use them to spread misinformation."

He had scoffed, and called her too smart for her own good, but he'd followed Capespotting regularly after that. At least, the Gotham section; they also reported on Metropolis, Star City, all the major caped locales. It was an easy way to keep tabs on Dickie-Bird and Timmy and Daddy Bats, after all.

As Jay expected, he was now seeing a new face on the site. Or more correctly, a new name – the Blur rarely let herself be photographed. Witnesses just reported a fast-moving, person-sized blur of speed that arrived, and left the bad guys bagged and tagged, in a few seconds. Enough people had caught glimpses to know she was a girl, she dressed in all black, and she wore a plain black domino. The only other thing the public had on her was her supposed romance with Superboy, which Capespotting had a whole article on.

Jay knew better. He had gone with Kyle and Donna on the search for Ray Palmer, a search that didn't stop at crossing countries and oceans. No, it turned out there were whole other worlds out there, places just like this one except for one or two critical details out of sync. And under exactly the right circumstances, someone could cross into one of those other realms. The three of them had seen wonders, and horrors, and a whole lot of familiar places that were just different enough to make Jay's brain itch.

He also remembered Donna throwing a hissy fit that most other worlds had a Supergirl, 'while we just have the Blur'. That was enough to tell him that their Blur was some kind of Kryptonian, though not Big Blue's cousin Kara. Near as he knew, their Big Blue didn't have a cousin. And Jay was smart enough to look up information on Clark Kent next, whom he'd known was Superman since his Robin days, and realize that Clark had two kids with Lois Lane. Twins, boy and girl; the boy was a good match for Superboy. He knew all the same tricks of hairstyle and posture and expression that kept people from realizing Clark Kent was actually Superman. Heh, some clone, Superboy was Superman's son.

The girl was Kala, and that was only one letter off the Supergirl he and Donna and Kyle had met while dimension-hopping. She was wearing nearly all black in every photo he could find of her, and photos were damn easy to find, because she was a fucking rock singer. Jesus fuck, was there a worse job for an undercover hero?

Eh, maybe it wasn't so bad. Her fans usually saw her in so much makeup that they might not recognize her on the street, much less zipping past at the speed of sound.

And the whole Superboy/Blur thing – there was fanfic about them linked on Capespotting, and Jay stayed away from it. He'd once clicked one of those links about himself, back when he'd first found the site, before backing out and blocking it from his mind – it was less action adventure and more porn parody. But the whole supposed relationship, that made sense, too. If you didn't want people to wonder about Superman's ex's two kids maybe being two heroes, let the world think those two heroes were a couple instead of siblings. Pretty slick. Pretty sneaky, for a Super, but then Babs spoke of Lois Lane with respect, and Babs was the second sneakiest person Jay knew.

Babs was also the best-informed person he knew, and when he saw the first headline that came up under Kala Lane-Kent's name, he had enough data to call her up. "What the fuck is Blur doing in my city?" he snapped. "More importantly, what's she doing in the Roost with the bullshit 'charity work' story that's a thin excuse for gettin' a slice of D? Jesus fuck, I thought we were done with Supers when her brother mostly packed it in and stuck to Metropolis."

Her digitized voice laughed at him. "So you know her real identity. What else do you know? By the way, Canary said hello, and you need a shave."

Yeah, yeah, just remind him that he'd bumped into their operation while undercover. This was Gotham, the place was so thick with crooks he could've shot in any random direction and probably hit someone who deserved it. Jay spun in his chair, brooding and thinking about the new girl. "I know she's the front for a fuckin' Goth band. What, she thinks she can get more grimdark credit hanging out here? And since when does B let D bring his flavor of the week home? Hell, what the fuck was her dad thinking?"

"That she needs training, and B promised he'd provide," Babs said. "D has nothing to do with this. They hadn't even met, except briefly when she was a kid, until she got off the plane here."

"Yeah, well, they look too damn friendly in the promo pictures," Jay growled, scrolling through several sites that showed his too-handsome big brother draping his arm around the pretty singer. "Watch 'em, O, I may not be on D's side lately, but I'd hate to hear he got his 'little d' lasered off by an angry papa."

"Blur is an adult, and her father knows it," Oracle sighed. "Are you going to be difficult about her working Gotham? Even though we're keeping her off your turf? Because there are already two of us who consider this 'our' city and want to control access to it. And it's already hard enough coordinating between B and me."

"If speed is all she's got, she damn sure shouldn't be here," he spat, not answering the question. "This city's too fucking dangerous. And there's too much k on the streets."

"She has more than that going for her. Check my database," Babs replied.

He grinned. "I did. Nothing shows up. So much for my all-access pass, huh?"

Babs scoffed at him. "I never said you were getting everything. I gave you clearance for everything pertaining to Gotham City. But you're right, I hadn't switched her file from the Metropolis cluster to ours yet." A couple of keys clicked. "There you go, impatient."

"Bullshit," Jay said, even as he typed in his passcode and brought up the girl's file. "You're too organized and too borderline OCD not to have switched her over when she set foot in Gotham. Were you hiding her from me, or someone else?"

The information scrolled up, and yeah, she had more powers than just speed. Flight, heat-vision, invulnerability, strength, with notes saying that some were only part of Superman's capability. For fun, he pulled up Superboy's file too, comparing. The boy had more strength, less speed, and the frost breath thing. No flight though, that was just Blur's.

Blur also had a link in her file to something called the Nevada protocol, and Jay clicked it only to see 'Access denied' pop up on the screen. Babs had never answered him, so he asked another question. "What's this Nevada protocol?"

"Need-to-know only, and you don't need to know," she replied. "Anything else you'd like to complain about having my assistance?"

"Yeah, you're late on my regular shipment of cookies," he shot back. "Fuckin' customer service sucks ass. You know I'm in the middle of something here, O, just keep the trainee Super out of it, okay?"

"You're tracking the disappearances," she said. "B and the rest are leaving it to you. There are no plans to involve her in any of that."

Jay still grumbled. "She has no business in Gotham, period. Supers run on sunlight; it's too smoggy here."

"B and I both approved her training here – with both of us. You're been outvoted two to one." Babs sounded pretty decisive on that, and Jay decided to let it go.

For now.

As long as the Goth Super – wasn't that a fucking oxymoron – kept out of his orbit, he didn't need to worry about her, anyway. What he did have to worry about was the kids on the Gotham streets whom no one else gave a shit about. "I got two leads for you on the disappearances," he told Babs. "It's a gray van with four guys in it, one of two business names on the side. I got a few more names – real names – of people missing, too."

"Hit me," Babs said, and her interest was clear even through the digitizer.

After rounds, Dinah, Helena, and Kala all headed back to the Clock Tower for debriefing. Kala was alive with curiosity; so the guy she'd yanked out of the way turned out to be the infamous Red Hood. Good thing he'd taken off when he did. She still owed him at least one solid punch for Tim spending a week in the hospital.

They found Babs scrolling through information on five screens simultaneously, at a rate that left Kala dizzied. "What's up?" Dinah asked curiously.

The light from the monitors washed over Babs' intent expression. "Hood gave me something to search for on those disappearances in the East End. You bumped into him as he was on his way to contact me."

"Correction: a car almost bumped into him," Kala said, with enough of an edge that Dinah turned to look at her.

Babs said absently, "It takes more than a speeding car to put him out of commission."

Dinah simply chided, "You don't know him, Kala."

She crossed her arms and looked at the three of them. "There's a whole helluva lot I don't know in this town. But I was here the night he put Tim in the hospital. I found Steph before she could catch up to him. And Jase told me he tried to kill Bruce. Last I heard, the guy's unhinged."

"He seeks vengeance," Helena told her. "Our paths haven't crossed, and I cannot say I admire his methods, but I think … I can understand why he would see Tim as an adversary."

Babs paused the scrolling to lean back. "Not an adversary, a replacement," she said, with a sharp glance Helena's way. "Once you've bled for a uniform, it's a slap in the face to see someone else wearing it. No, I don't approve, but he hasn't gone for Tim since. And I've got at least a slight rein on him now."

"You would know about reining in hotheaded vigilantes," Dinah said with a smirk.

"Perhaps too much so," Helena added archly. "Sometimes you come close to criticizing my breathing."

"Well if you'd just hold the inhale a little longer, and flatten out the exhale," Babs began, but she smiled, and Helena rolled her eyes with a muttered imprecation.

Kala raised her eyebrows, deciding a change of subject was in order. They were all being close-mouthed about the ex-Robin, so she'd have to find other ways to figure out what his deal was. Besides, Helena's accent was intriguing. "Is that Italian? And does it mean the same thing as the closest cognate in French?"

Helena just smiled her way. "My surname is Bertinelli," she said, the cadence of her syllables more noticeable. "I spent a good portion of my youth in Sicily. And how does the daughter of Superman, the All-American hero, speak French?"

"I was born in Paris," Kala said. "Mom tracked Dad there; it was the last place he was seen before he disappeared off planet. Once she was there researching, she found out he'd left a little something behind, with her. So I grew up speaking French and English."

"She has two other languages," Babs added. "Spanish and Kryptonese. The last of which I'm still trying to get someone to teach me."

"You can't really speak it if you're not part Kryptonian," Kala said apologetically. "There's a couple sounds in it that the human larynx doesn't do. Mom tries, mostly so she can tell off the AI of my grandfather when he gets a little too 'mere mortals' about humanity."

"You are more interesting than I'd thought," Helena mused. "And don't mistake me, I knew you would be interesting. These two would tell me no more than your parentage."

Kala shrugged. "They wouldn't tell me your name, so I guess we're even."

"Not everyone dives right into giving out nicknames and phone numbers like Mr. Grayson," Dinah teased, smirking at Kala.

She rolled her eyes, and Helena spoke with reluctance. "I did see your last public appearance with the Waynes. Dick Grayson is a very good man, but …"

Kala held her hands up to forestall any further warnings. "Look, guys, the whole public flirting thing is just us both being showboating divas. Dick and I like hamming it up for the camera, and we both look good doing it. No harm done to either of our reputations. But for the last damn time, I did not come to Gotham for a summer fling!"

"And if you had, you've done more flirting for our team than the boys' so far anyway," Dinah cut in, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Helena gave a shrug. "I suppose Dick was amused by that. He's certainly not accustomed to a new arrival seeing anyone else in the room except him, at first."

Dinah grinned. "Confused, maybe. She hit on Babs in front of him. Hey, do we have that on camera? Hel, I know you're well over the guy, but it's still funny watching the most eligible bachelor in town get shut down."

"I was making a point," Kala protested, while filing away that little tidbit about Dick and Helena. Apparently Timmy's acid remarks about Dick's popularity held a grain a truth. "I just didn't want you thinking I'm a goody two-shoes, okay? Jason's the good twin."

Babs chuckled. "We know better, but you couldn't have known how much I knew at the time. And I wouldn't call that 'hitting on', Dinah. She was making an aside – and even I know we could use some humor in this town."

Helena was looking at her curiously then. "So she researched your entire history, too? Rather uncomfortable, isn't it?"

"Very," Kala agreed. "I was pretty pissed off, to be honest. But I got over it."

"So did I," Helena said, and the little bit of distance and reserve Kala had sensed in her melted then. "It's quite discomfiting to think you've hidden your identity, and your family's connections to organized crime, only to be met with someone who knows exactly who you are and everything your family has done."

"I knew who you were," Babs cut in. "You've made your own name since then, Helena. And you know all that sins-of-the-father stuff doesn't cut it with me."

Dinah stepped in then, adding, "Besides, you're more the mob's worst nightmare these days than Mafia princess."

"It's useful," Helena replied. "I still fit in among them. Which reminds me, if we're going to trade quips instead of debrief, I have a cover to keep in place. I need to make a call sometime tonight."

"You're still safe?" Dinah asked. "Frankie doesn't suspect?"

Helena waved a hand at her. "Frankie doesn't see past my cleavage. I don't think he'd notice if I grew another head. Once we have what we need, I'll be happy to get out, but I can deal with him until then." She chuckled. "He's far from the best man I've ever dated – that honor is probably Dick Grayson's – but he certainly isn't the worst, either."

"You really need to raise your standards, hon," Dinah said, sounding concerned.

Babs smiled sweetly. "No one's standards are as high as yours, Songbird. Remember Ray?"

"We're not bringing that up again," Dinah said hurriedly.

That had the sound of an old not-quite-argument, and Kala sighed. There was just too much history for her to get caught up on. Helena stepped in to save her. "Let the lovebirds quarrel," she said. "I am going out to make that call. There's nothing important in our work so far tonight, the jewel thieves were working alone, and I know a good all-night Chinese place. Kala, join me? We can trade stories of family legacies over lo mein."

"Gladly," she replied, but caught Babs' eye to make sure they weren't really needed.

Babs waved them both off, adding only, "Ask her about her day job, Hel."

"This makes no sense," Tim grumbled over the comm. He and Dick had been tracking Black Mask's men for most of the night, but they weren't doing anything. So far the two men they followed, whom their intel indicated were fairly high-ranking, had just driven around the better parts of town, stopping briefly in a few hotels to talk to a few men who were staying there under obviously false names. Telescopic lenses showed that the men they met with were nervous, but not obviously twitchy like addicts. Or overconfident like dealers.

It didn't look like drugs. But the conversations they'd picked up, from bugging the car and using directional microphones, sure sounded like drugs. The men talked in low voices about product, and delivery, and shipping schedules. They never named what the product was, and that was typical of drug deals. Still, there was nothing that quite fit the data, not completely.

"I don't like it either," Dick replied. He touched his comm, and asked, "O, should we bring them in?"

"No," came the answer, but it was Bruce who spoke. "Keep them under surveillance. Eventually they'll slip up."

"In the meantime, I'm running all the leads I can," Babs added. "I've got one hit on the facial recognition software for the first group of men, the blond with the mustache. He's a surgeon, and interestingly enough, he's currently under investigation for medical malpractice and his license is suspended."

Tim leaned forward, interested. "We're seeing a lot more prescription drug abuse, lately. Maybe Mask is getting into that market? These doctors could be writing prescriptions for heavy narcotics for a fee."

"Mask certainly has enough people, and enough money for fake IDs, to make that work," Dick mused. "Robbing a pharmacy seems more his style, though."

"Maybe he's setting up his own clinic," Babs offered. "Most of the pain management clinics are legit, but some of them are just fronts. They employ doctors and pharmacists and fill the scripts in-house, and they take cash. I'll see if I can match the rest of the faces to medical professionals."

"It's a longer con than Mask usually goes for," Dick said thoughtfully.

"He wants out of the local stuff," Tim supplied. "He needs money to play on an international scale, and his last run-in with Hood all but wiped him out. This is an expanding, profitable market and one he can take anywhere in the state. If it's successful, he can open more elsewhere, with doctors licensed to practice in other states. Not to mention, if they fill their own scripts, he could be adulterating the pain meds with illicit drugs."

Their targets left the hotel, and Dick and Tim moved to follow them. Tracking the men was easier than tracing their employer's thought processes, yet still they tried to do both.

The next morning, Kala woke up early and groaned. She had stayed up late, after picking up really good Chinese takeout from Helena's favorite place – which was now also Kala's. They'd even been nice enough to bring food back to the Clock Tower, though Babs was deep in three different lines of research by then and paid no attention to the continuing conversation between Helena, Kala, and Dinah. She only ate because Dinah threatened to feed her, bite by bite.

Babs' comment about her day job had prompted Helena to ask about it, and the dark-haired woman had wrinkled her nose at the answer. "A singer?" she'd asked, confused. "With all you can do, why choose that profession?"

Though she was discovering she quite liked Helena, Kala couldn't help but bristle at the implications there. God, if people knew how much she hated that. "One, because I've wanted to be a singer since I was four years old and had no idea who Superman was," Kala had shot back. "Two, have any of you ever wondered why Dad is a reporter? He has all these powers, but he chose a job where they don't matter. Where he competes with the same qualities as the humans working alongside him – intelligence, writing ability, intuition, courage, integrity. Same deal for me. Yeah, I probably have better breath control thanks to my heritage, but being able to put my heart in my voice and make people feel something when they hear me sing? That has nothing to do with being a Super, and everything to do with being me."

That had led to further discussion of childhood dreams and how they'd been achieved or shelved over time, which led into the trials of growing up as they all had, and eventually led to Kala realizing the sun would be coming up soon and she had a photo shoot scheduled.

Which was why she was now splashing water on her face and cursing herself. At least none of them had been drinking, so she didn't have a hangover on top of sleep deprivation. As it was, she'd only managed about four hours before she had to head out to the studio, borrowing Tim's car this time because he'd rolled his eyes the most at the idea of photo shoots. Four hours of sleep would've sufficed, if she could've taken twenty minutes to hover in the sunlight high above the Earth, but that was off limits.

So she drove, and had the sense to show up at the studio with just moisturizer on her face. It was rare for Kala not to at least have eyeliner and lip gloss; these days, she felt naked without it. Less than a year ago, face and hair had been her own work, sometimes even extending to getting the boys presentable before head-shots and performances. The current state of things added a sheen of luxury to everything; since the promotions had begun earlier this year, Kala had had to remind herself that this kind of fame came with its own perks, so she willingly flopped into a chair and let the hair and makeup stylists work their magic with the sweetest smile she could manage while sleep-deprived. Time to switch gears and become KLK again.

Her phone rang, almost immediately, and Kala groaned at the name displayed. She answered it though, putting it on speaker so she didn't disrupt the stylists' work. "Hi Jenna," she said. "I'm here, I'm on time, I'm plainly not having a diva moment. What's up?"

"Just checking in. I'll be there in ten," her agent replied, and they chatted for a few moments. Once she'd established to Jenna's satisfaction that she wasn't going to go off the rails during the next few minutes, the agent let her go again, and Kala sighed heavily.

"Careful, you're gonna give yourself frown lines," the makeup guy warned, but he smiled at her to show it was just a joke. Kala chuckled, and tried to relax.

Of course, her phone rang again, but this was a call she looked forward to. The inconsistency of her schedule lately, plus the hours she was keeping, was making it impossible to have any real contact with anyone outside of rushed texts. For far, at this point, she was only managing one call out a week to anyone. Looked like Sebast had gotten the text about Kala's Day Out. Either that or Jenna had poked him so she'd remember her responsibilities. She found herself really hoping for the former. "Hola, Chupi," she said as she answered.

"I'm going to start this call out with the important stuff and you better have a good excuse. Mamita, why didn't you tell me you were gonna be living in a house full of hot rich boys?" Sebast complained, the familiar tone of petulant crabbing making Kala grin. "I just saw those photos of you and Officer Grayson. Mm, turns out I do like a man in uniform. Unf. Your 'Uncle Bruce' ain't half bad either, he's got that silver fox thing going on. Clearly, querida, you don't love me as much as you say."

She had to lean back from the stylists and laugh out loud. Kala had expected absolutely nothing less from the moment she had made the decision to come out here. Really, she'd been lucky he'd been too distracted to research before she had left. "Sebast! Oh my God, you … there are no words for you. See, this is why I knew not to bring you anywhere near here. Ever."

"Tough luck, babe, we have two stops there on the tour," he shot back with a laugh. "Yeah, can't blame you, all of 'em are too damn good looking. I need to make you take up designated hitter again." Kala could almost hear this eyebrow waggle that she knew from experience accompanied the comment. "So you got the photoshoot for GQ today?"

"Last time I was your designated hitter, it wound up being a two-year relationship," she retorted with a laugh of her own. "Yes, I'm actually already here, and I think my awesome makeup guy and hair stylist are about to chloroform me so I'll get off the damn phone and hold still," she teased. They both laughed at that; Kala was already gaining a reputation in the industry for being particularly considerate and appreciative of the support staff. It bought her a few indulgences, like yakking on the phone when she should've been getting ready.

"I know, mamita," Sebast sighed, his tone changing. "I just … I miss you."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. Memories flooded her mind: playing pranks in school, bad horror movies and ice cream after breakups, singing their hearts out together in every dive bar within four hundred miles of Metropolis, dyeing their hair to match, the big party after getting signed by the label, going on the tour as the leaders of the crazy little pack that was their band. Always, always Sebast at her side, with deep affection and wicked sarcasm and everything she needed. They called each other platonic soul mates for a reason. Even if it wasn't quite so platonic anymore. That, in itself, hurt. Her voice was husky when she replied, "I miss you, too, Sebast."

"Try to call me once in a while, then," he told her softly. And before she could protest, he continued, "I know, I know. You're running crazy this summer. You call me more than you call your parents. I understand. I'm not trying to guilt-trip you."

She winced just the same. How could he understand what was going on with her when there was no way to explain any of it, not even the personal side of things? Kala just couldn't chance it. "Chupi, I wish I could've brought you with me," she told him, heartfelt. Hell, she wished she could've just told him the real reason why she was in Gotham. As close as they were, Sebast didn't know one of the most important things about her.

No one from her real life did, except family. And they kept it that way for a reason. The Blur didn't have any specific enemies, not yet, but the nature of being a superhero meant that someday someone was going to make you their preferred target. When that happened, it was for the best if no one even guessed the truth. Especially about Kryptonians.

"I'll let you get to work, beautiful," Sebast was saying.

Kala took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Homesickness was never worse than it was after a phone call from him, which was one of the reasons calling was so hard. Her emotions were too up-in-the-air with him lately. She just had to take some time. "It's only two months now," Kala said, soothingly. "I'll be back before you know it."

He chuckled at that, seeming to sense he was bringing her down. "I live for that moment, querida. Do you have any idea how crazy these boys are? Robb and Ned got Morgan – Morgan, who won't go onstage without a mani-pedi – to go bowling with them. Bowling. I didn't know bowling alleys were still a thing."

Kala chuckled at the image of their notoriously-meticulous guitarist in an alley, house ball in hand and those hideous bowling shoes on his feet. Oh, this she would have to see at least once. "He had to be bored out of his mind to accept."

"He says it was fun. We need you, Kala. Without you we're degenerating into deviancy." And then, in a low mock-horrified whisper, "They want me to go bowling with them this weekend. It's starting to sound fun."

She laughed out loud, shaking her head. "I don't even wanna know. I love you, Sebast. Be good, or be good at it."

"Oh, I'll be good at bowling, I'm used to swinging around big balls," he said, and she snorted laughter. "I love you too, Kala. See if you can't sneak one of those pretty boys home in your luggage."

"The only one who'd fit is Tim, and that is so not happening," she teased, then they both hung up. With a sigh, she looked up at the patiently-waiting stylist and makeup artist. "Sorry, guys. He misses me."

"And you miss him, clearly," the stylist said with a grin. "It's not a problem, we've got a few extra minutes. I think your agent is out in the hall talking to the photographer."

"Oh joy," she murmured, tipping her head back to let them work. There was something soothing about letting someone else fuss over her hair and makeup – though it had taken a while to get used to anyone else doing so.

Meanwhile she listened in to Jenna's conversation with the photographer in the hall. "Give up on pastels," she advised. "Don't shoot her in all black, either. Yeah, she's a Goth singer, but she'll wear some color. Just nothing too froufy. She likes royal blue, and green, and vintage stuff."

"I've got some vintage and some designer," the photographer replied. "I've never shot her before – is she good to work with?"

Kala smirked a little even as Jenna replied, "Oh yeah. She's a doll. I mean, she won't wear anything she hates, and God himself couldn't make her, but she still thinks all this is fun. And she's nice – unless you really piss her off somehow. Which I've only seen happen once and it was ugly. That guy got called out by a few other celebrities for being a little handsy with posing. KLK warned him once, then laid him out on the floor with one hit, and walked out. Apparently she did karate as a kid."

"Shiiiit," the photographer replied, sounding impressed instead of scared. Kala frowned; she hadn't wanted that particular story repeated. "I think I know who that was. He deserved it, the bastard. Okay, I've got this one set in green, and I think we'll play against type with a lot of white. How much skin is she gonna show?"

"It is a men's magazine," Jenna replied, while Kala tried not to frown and mess up the makeup guy's work. GQ wasn't Maxim … or Playboy, for that matter, and she'd considered doing an article for the latter if the accompanying photos were very much clothed. Jenna continued, "But her parents are both big-name reporters, and they're gonna want signed copies. Nothing too crazy."

"No worries, I'd rather do artsy anyway," he replied, and at that Kala relaxed.

"Okay, look up," the makeup artist said, and she concentrated on holding very still so he could line her eyes. In a moment they'd both be in here anyway, and she had to pretend she hadn't heard them through a solid wall.

Luckily her eyes were done, and she could sit forward a little and beam as the photographer walked in. He gave her a bright, professional smile, and came toward her with his hand extended. "Ms. Lane-Kent, it's a pleasure to meet you. Or do you prefer KLK?"

She took his hand and gave him her most winning smile in return, wanting to prove that Jenna had been right. In this industry, being a professional meant being gracious and helpful to everyone – and not letting your fame go to your head. That, she was damn good at. If ever she started to believe her own hype, Jase could bring her down just by laughingly calling her Mothra.

Meanwhile she greeted the photographer by name, and continued, "You can call me Kala. And yes, it's my real name. Blame Mom, it's an obscure family in-joke. It's a pleasure to work with you as well."

"All right, let's have some fun," he said, beaming.

And that was plan she could definitely get behind, after weeks of serious training.