Chapter Seven
Mason
I beat Viola to the elevator, but I don’t try to get on without her. I’m not that much of an asshole.
Also Dave, the security guy, wouldn’t go down without her anyway. Not with her only a few steps behind me. He waits till she steps up next to me, gives her a smile and says, “How are you, Viola?” as he hits the call button.
I scowl when she gives him a sunny smile, the lush pink lips that I’ve had the pleasure of tasting only to be denied repeat access to them pulling wide. “I’m great, Dave. How about you? Ready to fend off the crazies tonight?”
He chuckles, and I wonder if she enjoys the sound of his low baritone. His shaved head. His oversized muscles. He’d probably talk to her about his meal plan and shoulder day and how important leg day is for a well-rounded physique.
Or maybe that’s just my trainer, and I’m projecting my misplaced jealousy onto our security guy who’s only ever been polite to me.
But I hate the way she seems to sway toward him, gives him all her attention, pretends like I’m not even here.
I clear my throat. “So, you guys are friends?”
Dave gives me a funny look. “I’m friendly with all the tour members. And Viola seems lovely, but I can’t say we know each other as more than acquaintances.”
Viola doesn’t even turn her head to look at me as Dave answers, instead she reaches out and squeezes his arm. Like she’s just looking for an excuse to feel the bicep that bulges beneath his suit jacket. You’d think that we pay these guys enough that they could afford suits that fit over their muscles.
“I’m sure we’ll get to know each other well enough with all the time we spend together,” Viola says, her voice warm and affectionate, like they’re sharing some kind of inside joke.
Dave cuts his eyes to me, and like the smart man he obviously is, gives Viola’s hand a little pat and shifts away from her. She lets her hand drop, seeming unaffected by his subtle rebuff.
The elevator finally arrives, closing me in a small space with Viola and Dave. Dave positions himself in the corner and stares at the buttons, while Viola stands in the center between the two of us. The tension is so thick, it’s hard to breathe in here, but I seem to be the only one affected.
Damn this chick and her ability to get under my skin without even trying.
I clear my throat. “Vanessa, I’ll need you to book me a private room at a club for after the show tonight.”
Dave coughs, hacking loudly as Viola stands in the middle of the elevator, humming to herself and watching the numbers changing on the display as we go down to the basement where the cars are waiting for us. Completely ignoring my request.
“Vanessa,” I snap.
She slowly turns her head, blinking at me. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”
“Do I look like I’m talking to anyone else?”
She gives an exaggerated shrug, her face bland. “I’m not sure. You were speaking to a Vanessa. I thought maybe you were on your phone.”
“My phone’s in my fucking pocket.”
“Bluetooth technology is amazing, isn’t it?” She spreads her fingers, wiggling them a little like she’s almost but not quite doing jazz hands, her eyes wide.
Dave coughs harder. We both ignore him.
“Am I wearing a fucking bluetooth headset?” I growl.
She makes a big show of examining my ears. “I suppose not. But I wasn’t looking at you the entire time in the elevator. You could’ve put one in without me seeing to call this Vanessa person you were speaking to. But clearly you’re not on the phone. So who is Vanessa?”
The elevator slides to a halt and the doors open, but we’re all frozen inside, Viola and I locked in a staring contest. But I’ll be damned if I break first and call her by her name.
“You. I’m talking to you. You need to find me a private room for after the show.”
“And where would you like me to do that?”
The elevator buzzes in protest as Dave holds the door open button, waiting for us to get off. Still, neither of us move.
“How should I know? I’m not from here. That’s your job.”
She hums. “Is it? I don’t remember that being included in the job description.”
“You’re our assistant. Your job is to do whatever we tell you to. I’m telling you to book me a party room at a club for tonight. I’m sure you won’t have too much trouble if you put your mind to it.”
Without waiting for a response, I stalk off the elevator and head for the waiting car, where Marcus is watching the entire exchange with a frown on his face. But I’m not interested in Marcus’s take on the situation. Or anyone’s for that matter.
Scuttling footsteps on the concrete let me know that Viola’s catching up, once again several steps behind.
A smug smile climbs my face as I get in the car. It stays in place the whole way to the arena. Viola keeps her face in her tablet, frantically tapping away, hard at work to get me what I want.
As it should be.
Chapter Eight
Viola
“Your job is to do whatever we tell you to,” I mutter to myself in a snotty voice in a terrible imitation of Mason as I follow the guys into the bowels of the arena, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to make this happen.
Once they’re all safely ensconced in their dressing rooms with adequate water and food, I head to the greenroom so I’m at least out of the way of the backstage crew finishing up for tonight.
It’s not all that private either, though, because the opening act, Golden Enigma, shares a dressing room, so they tend to congregate in the greenroom before they go
