“Sean and I crossed a professional line,” I said, which was about as sugarcoated as sugar coating can get. “I don't feel comfortable working with the band anymore, so I'm going home.”
Brad's jaw tensed. “Excuse me?”
“I take full responsibility,” I said quickly. “I know that this is a huge inconvenience for you, but I'm sure there are tons of photographers who would kill to take my spot. And of course, you can have all of the pictures I took.”
Brad took a deep breath in through his nose. I wondered if this was a special technique of his to calm down. When he did it again, I realized it must be. This made me nervous. Was he about to lay me out to dry for this?
“Do you plan to file a lawsuit?” Brad's dark eyes narrowed at me, studying my reaction.
My mouth dropped open in abject horror. “Of course not! I told you – I take full responsibility. I just don't want to be here anymore.”
Brad ran his tongue over his top teeth and dropped back down into his chair, gesturing for me to take the rickety metal one opposite. “Sit.”
I did, gulping nervously.
“Here's the thing, sweetheart. Professional boundaries in this business are bullshit. They just don't fuckin' exist. Everybody is fucking everybody. You're all young and beautiful and full of hope. What the hell else are you going to do?”
While I appreciated his words of reassurance, it wasn't working. Professional boundaries may not have meant anything in the business, but they meant something to me. It was fine for everybody to fuck everybody, but that just wasn't how I operated. There wouldn't be anything he could say to make me feel differently.
Brad shook his head with a bemused grin. “I would have been more surprised if you and Sean never slept together. He sleeps with all the hot girls.” Brad shrugged. “Why do you think you were hired in the first place?”
“Are you trying to make me less uncomfortable?” I asked with a pointed glare. “Because it's not working.”
Brad's eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth. “I'm not trying to make you any less uncomfortable.” He shrugged and pressed his fingers against his temple. “What the fuck would be the point in that?”
I blinked in confusion. Was he high?
Brad saw my miscomprehension and sat forward, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him. “Do you know how pearls are made?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Pearls?”
“Yeah, as in pearl earrings.” He winked. “But not a pearl necklace.”
Nothing could have made it more clear that he wasn't trying to make me comfortable. But I did have a feeling I knew where he was going with this.
“Yeah. A bit of sand gets in the oyster, and because of how irritating it is, the oyster coats it in pearl.”
I blinked. “Are you trying to say that this situation is just a grain of sand I haven’t yet turned into a pearl?”
“That's something your guidance counselor would tell you,” he said, waving me off. “What I'm saying here is that even a fucking oyster, an animal without a closed circulatory system, has learned to put up with an uncomfortable situation better than you. And all they have to show for it is a pearl, which isn't even valuable to them. Oysters would probably prefer not to have pearls. But you...” he pointed at me, “you have the opportunity to ignore your own grain of sand and come out on the other end with a lifelong career in photography. And isn't that your dream?”
“Well, yes,” I said, feeling the pull toward what he said. “But – “
“No buts!” He slammed his fist down on the desk dramatically, rattling the pens scattered around it. “You slept with the talent. Big deal. You don't have to cover it in nacre for the rest of your life and deal with it. You only have to ignore it for the next three months, and then you'll be free of Sean forever. The photos you've taken are already all over the internet.” He started ticking off a list on his fingers. “Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, Facebook. And I was going to save this, but...”
Brad started rooting around in one of his drawers while I processed everything he told me. My photos were being that widely distributed? Was he serious? The closest I'd ever come to having a photo go viral before was having wedding photos shared on Facebook by the bride's large extended family.
Brad straightened up and tossed a magazine onto the desk in front of me. “It hasn't gone out yet. This is just a proof. Pretty great though, right?”
My jaw sagged open. The magazine sitting in front of me was the Rolling Stone. And the photo filling up the front page was the one I'd taken of Sean standing on the bar, spouting champagne off in every direction.
And in the corner, in small white type, “Photo by Hazel Hunter.”
“Brad...” I looked up at him. “I don't know what to say.”
“If you're about to thank me, don't bother. You weren't hired because I wanted you, and you didn't get this far because I've been promoting you. You're on track to become a renowned photographer because you're talented. And you were hired because this little shit…” he tapped a meaty finger on Sean's face, “wanted to get in your pants. Is it not worth a little discomfort knowing that, even though he got his way, you got yours?”
“I guess so.” I tapped my lips with my fingers, scrolling through the pros and cons in my head. “I hadn't thought about it like that.”
“'Course you didn't. None of you ever see the forest for the trees. That's why you hire smart guys like me to do the thinking for you.” He grinned. “So, do you want my advice?”
“Actually, yes.”
I'd come to him with every problem in my life if I could, and I promised myself that if I ever needed a manager, Brad was first on my list. No wonder Flagship Inferno and all of Brad's other clients were so successful. His methods weren't the most palatable but shit if they didn't work.
Brad smiled and pulled the magazine away from me, popping it back in the drawer and sliding it closed. I wanted to make grabby hands as he did and keep the magazine as long as possible. I'd never get over seeing my photo on the cover of the Rolling Stone.
“You slept with a rock star. First piece of advice? Enjoy it. Don't get caught up in the emotions. Second piece of advice? Keep it professional from now on. Getting more involved with him will only end with you back up here, and I've got better shit to do than give you pep talks day and night.”
I nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Finish the tour,” Brad said. “Sean's a dick. I know he's a dick. He knows he's a dick. Everybody knows Sean's a dick. But we keep him happy because he's a dick made out of money, and he's got enough talent to keep the green flowing in for years to come. But when the tour is over, you don't have to work with him anymore. There are other artists who could use a set of skills like yours – ones who aren't giant dicks made out of money. We'll find you a new job, a better one. Shit, you can take pictures of folksy feminist lesbians if you want to. It's your life. But before you do that, you need to put on your big girl panties and learn how to tell Sean 'no.' Trust me. It's the only way to stay sane around here.”
This chat had not gone the way I expected it to. I thought I'd be halfway to the airport by now, but instead, I was sitting here wondering how this little angry man could be so inspirational.
Brad was staring at me. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be responding or not.
“Thank you, Brad.”
“Yeah, you're welcome. Now get out of my trailer. I've got work to do.”
I rose and did so without another word, slipping back into the increasingly chaotic nebula of debauchery taking place just outside.
I was glad to reach my trailer again.
I collapsed onto my bed, a maelstrom of emotions circling through my mind. I felt encouraged by Brad's speech, but I was a little sad. Still, no amount of sadness over things being through with Sean would sink my determination. I was going to succeed in my goals, and nothing – not even a sexy rock star – would get in my way.
Thirty-Four
Sean
&nb
sp; The tour moved on early the next morning. I slept through most of the drive, awakening just in time to witness the Houston skyline rising in the distance. Another long day lay ahead of me, but it seemed even longer knowing that I wouldn't get to see Hazel during it.
Even if she hated me now, even if she wanted nothing to do with me, I still felt something itchy in my chest when I thought about her. Unused to such a sensation, I chalked it up to indigestion and tried to go on with my day. There was no point in moping around because the girl I liked thought I was scum. I was Sean fucking Morris. The world was my stage. I'd forget her soon enough.
I had to.
Imagine my surprise when we parked in the lot of our next venue and Hazel came around to photograph us during our afternoon interviews. I was distracted by the snapping of her camera the whole time and barely answered any of the questions. I let the other guys take them instead, and they were more than happy to take a little of the limelight.
I watched her as she circled the scene, wondering what had made her change her mind. Was it me? Was she giving me a second chance? Maybe she'd come to her senses and realized that she couldn't separate my rock star persona from the real me. Lord knows I'd tried. We were two sides of the same coin, and if she wanted me, she’d have to deal with him too. She had to understand that. Everybody else did.
After the camera crew left, I approached Hazel while she was looking through some of the photos on her camera. She barely glanced up at my approach.
“Hey.”
Hazel's eyes flicked up at me and then back down at her screen. “Hey. Can I help you with something? Your lunch order maybe?”
I wanted to fire back a saucy quip, but her cold tone told me it would not be welcome.
“I guess I'm just surprised you're still here,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “What changed?”
Hazel looked up at me and held my gaze this time. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But I realized that I have to finish the tour if I want my career to ever go anywhere.”
“Sure,” I said with a cocky smile. “It's just the tour you want to finish.”
A faint blush rose on her cheeks, but her tone betrayed nothing. “I need this, Sean. That's the only reason I'm still here. And from now on, I'm off limits, so please don't even try. I'm your tour photographer.” She slung the cord of her camera around her neck and let it hang. “And that's it.”
Her words hit me like a bucket of cold water to the face. Hazel's abrupt change in attitude was almost as surprising as it was impressive. It looked like I wasn't the only one who could live a lie for the sake of my career.
“Whatever, babe.” If she wanted to play like this, I was game. She was the tour photographer, and I was the star of the show. “You do whatever your little heart tells you to.”
My demeaning comment caused her jaw to tense, but she didn't take the bait.
“Bye.” Hazel turned and began walking off toward her trailer, leaving me standing by myself.
I watched her go, trying not to feel disheartened by our talk. So what if she didn't want to fuck anymore? That didn't matter to me. I'd already gotten what I wanted from her. I could just as easily distract myself with another bit of pussy, right? Another show tonight, another party after, another girl to sink my cock into.
I turned to leave and saw Brad side-eyeing me while he talked to someone on the phone. I bet he had something to do with Hazel's decision to stay and her subsequent change in personality. Fuck that guy. He was always sticking his nose where it didn't belong. He thought it made him a good manager, and maybe it did, but it wasn't winning him any points from me – his client – at this moment in time.
I strode past him, intent on grabbing a drink or two before rehearsal. And maybe later I'd have something a little stronger.
That was something to look forward to at least. Even if I couldn't have Hazel, there were plenty of other girls and vices to easily fill her place. Easily.
There had to be.
Thirty-Five
Hazel
It was one of the biggest parties yet.
We were set up in a beautiful hotel near the arena with views of the nearby golf course. The massive suite was packed with grinding, sweating bodies, and I did my best to capture the thrill of the atmosphere on film as I waded through the crowd.
There was a diverse array of fans, many of whom had loved Flagship Inferno since their debut album and were nearly in stitches about getting to actually party with the band. I chatted to lots of them, and we made toasts and did shots in the name of Flagship Inferno's glorious legacy and all the years of greatness to come. And then we made toasts and did shots just because it was fun, and because we would never be a second younger.
I was having fun, much more than I normally did at these parties. Maybe it was because I wasn't on edge, waiting to see what was going to happen with Sean – what he'd try to pull tonight.
Maybe it was just that I desperately needed the distraction, and it was easier to fling myself into the middle of the party than it was to sit on the sidelines and watch Sean and the rest of the world pass by the other side of my lens while I did nothing.
Either way, I was having a good time. I was a bit tipsy, a little giggly, and a lot distracted.
Until I stumbled into the path of a petite blonde rock star with a pixie cut and an attitude that seemed to form a cloud around her.
“Shit, sorry,” I said, inspecting Jasmine's leather jacket to make sure I hadn't spilled my drink on it. I hadn't.
“Not a problem.” Jasmine looked me up and down and narrowed her charcoal-lined eyes at me. “You're that girl who walked in on Sean and me the other day, aren't you?”
She was direct, sure, but I didn't think she was trying to be rude on purpose. I offered up a tight-lipped smile.
“Yep, that's me.”
Jasmine nodded. “Then shit, girl, I better get you a drink.”
“Already got one,” I said, waving my Jack and Coke in front of me.
Jasmine snatched the cup out of my hand and downed it in two swallows. I watched, equal parts stunned and impressed. She tossed the cup into the crowd and grabbed my hand.
“Looks like your drink's empty. Care for another?”
She didn't wait for an answer before she started leading me through the crowd toward the bar. What was I getting myself into? Should I try and lose her?
The last person I wanted to be talking to at this party, besides King Douche himself, was King Douche's ex. I didn't know her, and maybe I was being unfair, but I didn't understand why she'd have any interest in talking to me if it wasn't to rub in my face that she was going to get Sean back, or that she already had.
It was unfair, but I'd learned not to expect kindness from rock stars. It would only lead to disappointment.
At the bar, Jasmine grabbed two cups and handed me one. It was too busy for the bartender to keep up with individual drink orders, so he'd started just putting booze on the table for people to grab. If they didn't like it, tough.
“Enjoying the party?” Jasmine asked.
I shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “Yep.”
Jasmine frowned and smacked the bottom of my cup, sending the dark beverage sloshing over the side. It missed my t-shirt by a hair's breadth.
“Hey!” I said, gaping at her. “What the fuck was that for?”
“To get your attention and to get you to actually fucking react to something.” Jasmine grinned. “You'd be surprised how easy it is to go from getting under a person's skin to getting to know them.”
“And why would you want to get to know me?” I asked. If she wanted under my skin, she was there.
She shrugged. “Curiosity, mostly. I've never seen Sean so hung up on a girl before.”
“So, what? You're jealous?”
Jasmine let out a bark of laughter that caused me to step back in surprise. “God no. Sympathetic, perhaps, but not jealous. Being jealous of you would be like coveting a spot on the Hindenburg. But it
looks like you've got your shit together, which spurs my curiosity even more. Who wouldn't want to get to know the girl who prodded at the Rock Star's heart and lived to tell the tale?”
I quirked a brow. “Thanks?”
“You're welcome.” She clapped me on the back, making me almost spill my drink again.
“I'm still not sure if I'm supposed to be deeply offended or not.”
Jasmine winked. “People usually aren't when they first meet me. You'll figure it out eventually.”
Oddly enough, I kind of liked Jasmine. She reminded me of my Cora, who I missed like crazy every single day.
I caught sight of Sean across the room and couldn't help but stare. It wasn't Sean at all. He'd gone full Rock Star and was presently taking a shot from between some girl's boobs. I sighed.
Jasmine saw me looking. She grabbed my jaw and turned me back to face her. “For what it's worth, he can't help it.”
I wriggled out of her grasp. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that he can't help but hurt people. He doesn't know how to love anyone. Trust me. I know.”
My jaw ticked with irritation. I didn't know what had gone on between Jasmine and Sean, but I did know that it had nothing to do with what happened between me and him.
“That's a brutal thing to say about someone,” I snapped back. “Sean can love. Every person can love. He just maintains an act that he can't because his whole life is a show. But I know he does care about some things and some people deeply.”
“Is that so?” Jasmine's lips curved with amusement. For some reason, this pissed me off even more.
“Maybe you just didn't get to see the real Sean,” I continued. “Or maybe you didn't want to. Maybe you were too hung up on the Rock Star to ever think to look for the man hiding just beneath the surface.”
Jasmine's muddy brown eyes studied me. Assessed me. Unlike me, whose face was all bunched up with irritation, she looked positively serene. I wondered how she did it.