Marcus is the one I have to follow around all morning, managing his schedule, keeping the various appearances and meet and greets on track. While I do that for all of them, as the frontman, Marcus has a busier schedule than the others.
And even though I like Marcus and Danny and Aaron, none of them invite me in to chat. So what could Mason want to talk to me about? He doesn’t even like me.
Eventually my circular thoughts give way to the exhaustion dragging at my body, but when I’m woken by a knock on my door, it feels like I’ve only just gone to sleep, despite the brightness creeping around the edges of the blackout drapes.
Scrambling for my phone, I check the time. Ugh. It’s after ten in the morning, which isn’t early, but I wanted to sleep till at least noon. One o’clock if I could pull it off.
Another insistent knock sounds on my door, so I drag myself out of bed to see what the emergency is. Though if there were a real emergency, wouldn’t I have texts and missed calls too?
Going up on tiptoe, I peer through the peephole to see Mason looking as groggy and rough as I feel. Only now, that’s compounded with anxiety, because I never did come to any conclusions about why he’d want to talk to me. And if he’s coming to my room before noon on our day off, it makes me think it’s serious. Serious plus Mason doesn’t seem like it equals anything positive for me.
Nerves zipping through my veins, I shout, “Just a minute!” and scramble for clothes to pull on. I do not need Mason coming in when all I’m wearing is an oversized tee and panties.
I pull a bra off the floor, take my arms out of my shirt to put it on, then shove my arms back through the sleeves, pick up the leggings I wore yesterday, make a face because they’re gross, then grab a fresh pair from my suitcase. A glance in the mirror shows my hair’s a mess, but there’s not much I can do about it right now. I don’t have time.
Maybe looking pathetic and exhausted will make Mason feel sorry for me and not do … whatever it is he wants to do to me?
Or, more likely, it’ll only make him more vicious.
I grab the Cataclysm baseball hat out of my suitcase just as he knocks again. “Is everything alright in there?”
Instead of answering, I yank the door open and force a smile. “Sorry. I just woke up.” Because you woke me up. But I don’t say that, because Mason doesn’t care about me. Not really. Not as long as I do my job, which is whatever he tells me to do.
Opening the door wide, I gesture him inside, closing it gently behind him because I’m still too groggy to handle the loud slam it makes if I were to just let it go.
He glances around at my room, but there’s not much to see. The suitcase sits on the stand at the foot of my bed, but I stuffed everything in there and closed it when I got out the hat. My dirty clothes are in a bag in the corner. Otherwise, there’s just my messenger bag overflowing with their supplies and schedules on the floor by the desk and a case of water and boxes of their favorite protein bars on top of it. The rest of their snacks are kept with the equipment.
“What do you want, Mason?” I ask, standing in front of my bed with my arms crossed, a clear bite to my tone. I should try harder to be polite. Professional. Non-antagonistic.
But I’m too tired right now. And I can’t bring myself to care about keeping up my neutral front.
Chapter Thirteen
Mason
The edge to Viola’s question draws my attention back to her, my eyebrows jumping in surprise. “Are you feeling alright?” The question is out before I can think better of it. I came here to talk to her, apologize, and leave. I haven’t asked to sit because I’m not planning on staying that long.
I barely slept, planning my apology, hating that she wouldn’t let me get it out last night.
But somehow dragging her into my room when she clearly didn’t want to go didn’t seem like the best way to stage an apology.
Now that I’ve barged my way into her room, I’m not sure this is any better.
She raises a hand to her face and rubs her fingers across her forehead under the brim of her hat. “No,” she admits in a grumpy voice. “I’m not alright. I’ve been staying out till all hours making sure you don’t do anything stupid, then I get a few hours of sleep before I’m up again with Marcus, going with him to appearances and interviews. I get another two or three hours of sleep in the afternoon most days, but it’s not enough. I’m exhausted. All I want is to sleep. And you came banging on my door and waking me up and I will seriously start crying if you don’t just tell me why you’re here so I can kick you out and go back to bed.”
Red-rimmed eyes spear me in the chest, and she drops her hand from her face with a loud sigh. “I’m too tired to pretend you don’t piss me off. Are you happy? Is this the reaction you wanted when you kept calling me Vanessa and Violet and Virginia? I know you know my name. Viola. Say it with me. It’s not hard. Only three tiny syllables. Vi-o-la.”
Her pink lips form each syllable carefully, and my own lips part in unconscious response, but I don’t say anything.
She stares at me, waiting, then snorts in disgust and turns to
