Page 75 of I Just Want to be Yours

I stare after her, unsure of what that even means, but I have no interest in asking her to explain further. With a small nod, I give a tight-lipped smile and head into the break room. I stand, staring at the beautifully plated cookies for a moment and wishing Derek were still here so I could ask him what the hell I’m supposed to do now.

I wait for the sound of Karah closing and locking the front door to snatch the cookies off the table and march back into my office. My fingers punch the keys as I type in my password to log back into my computer. I pull up the story on the bookstore and glare at it. How is this not my best work? This is the story I’ve been most passionate about for weeks. Karah saw the original and seemed fine with it. Once I learned it would get more page space, I had to add to it.

Reaching for my phone, I debate texting Jackson. We’ve been texting more since New York. I think the trip is what we needed to fall back into a sense of normalcy. I thought I would feel distant from him now that we’re apart again, but I haven’t. He’s always within reach with a push of a button. I just wasn’t utilizing it enough before.

It’s a Friday night, though. I don’t even have to look up the tour dates to know he’s probably doing sound checks and warming up with the band. Plus, if I don’t want to be here all night, I need to work on this. Calling him will only delay the weekend at this point.

Instead, I unlock my phone and text Rae.

Margot:

Working late tonight.

The three dots appear right away.

Rae:

Noooo. On a Friday? That shouldn’t be allowed.

Margot:

I know! I’ll tell you about it later.

She likes the message, and I turn my phone face down so I can get to work. I scan over the words I carefully curated, trying to figure out whatmy voiceeven is, so I can know if I’ve lost it somewhere along the way.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been working, but I’m completely lost in what I’m doing. My fingers type away at the keys as I try to insert more of myself into my work, but I still don’t fully understand what she meant, and it’s making this a slow process.

A knock on the front door jolts me from my thoughts, and I stare in that direction even though I can’t see the actual doorfrom here. I’d have to turn down a small hallway to get to it, but I’m suddenly gripped by panic. Reaching for my phone, I turn it over to check the time. Who the hell would try to get into this office right now?

The knock sounds again. It’s slow, not aggressive, but that somehow makes it more eerie. My heart races because IknowI shouldn’t answer that door. I’ve seen enough crime documentaries to know that. But at the same time, all the lights are still on in the office. If I even walk out there to get a better look, whoever it is will likely see me.

Maybe it’s Derek? Maybe Karah told him she wanted me to stay late to redo the story and he plans on offering some help? As nice as he is, I think that would be a little too generous, even for him.

The knock sounds again, but this time it’s accompanied by a voice. “Margot?”

45

jackson

It’s after the show,and Brian insisted on buying us all drinks. He’s in rare form tonight. He keeps smiling and throwing his arm around anyone’s shoulder who will let him—he even kissed Dave on the cheek at one point. Usually, Brian sits in the corner, wears his suits, and makes sure none of us get too out of line. Tonight, he’s a different man, and I can’t figure out what the hell he’s celebrating.

Sure, we had a great set, but we do most nights. The place was sold out, but that’s not new either. Everything about tonight’s show holds up to how our shows have gone for most of the tour. The only thing different is the fact that it was Brian who suggested we hit the bar down the street and not Marty.

It’s a nice place—definitely nicer than any bar I would have walked into on my own. The guys seem to feel right at home, but I’m just pissed no one asked to see my fake now that I finally have one. Maybe we’re starting to be well-known enough for them to not want to risk turning us away. If we all left, I have a feeling most of the people here would do the same. The bar probably figures letting me drink is worth the risk at this point.

I’m still standing at the bar, watching Brian live like a king in a booth toward the back, when Mya brushes past me. Catching her by the elbow, I pull her closer so she can hear me over the music. “What the hell is up with your uncle tonight?”

She looks over her shoulder to spot Brian before she looks back at me. “He’s having fun.” Placing both hands on my chest, she adds, “Maybe you should try it.” She gives me another playful pout as a dismissal before sliding up to the bar next to me and ordering her next drink.

She’s right. I probably shouldn’t be unsettled by it. Maybe Brian’s just excited that so much of the tour has gone well so far. He’s entitled to enjoy a night out as much as the rest of us. Hell, he may have earned it the most out of all of us.

Grabbing my whiskey from the bar, I head toward the back where most of the band sits with our suspiciously happy manager. Marty is the only one missing, but that’s nothing new. I don’t even have to look for him to know he’s finding the next girl willing to fuck in the bathroom.

When I approach the table, the three guys cheer. It only takes a second for me to spot the array of shot glasses in front of each of them.

Sliding into the booth, I nod to the mess of scattered glasses on the table. “You know it’s not a race, right?”

“You want one?” Brian sits up straight like he’s ready to flag someone down and order more.

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