Page 24 of New Year's Faye

- This is just another interview

- Everything is under control

- Sam's thumb stroking my shoulder means nothing

- Stop adding notes about Sam

Current Status: T-minus 60 minutes to interview

Threat Level: Escalating

Personal Note: This would be easier if he'd stop looking at me like that

Secondary Note: Stop making notes about how he looks at me

Final Note: I am a PROFESSIONAL. This is FINE.

"You're doing it again," Sam murmured, sliding a fresh cup of coffee across the small table in our shared tour bus kitchenette.

I didn't look up from my laptop where I was crafting our first official interview responses. "Doing what?"

"That thing where you forget to breathe when you're stressed."

I'd worked with Sam for five years. I'd seen how he anticipated the band's needs before they voiced them. How henoticed when Justice's voice strained or when Radley's wrists ached from too much drumming.

It shouldn’t have surprised me how much he observed. And yet….

I glanced up to find him watching me with soft brown eyes. He wore a plain black t-shirt that hung loose on his frame, his dark hair still damp from his shower. The early morning light caught the wedding ring on his left hand as he lifted his own cup to his lips.

My heart did a strange little flip that I blamed entirely on a caffeine overdose despite having yet to take a sip of my second cup.

"I'm not stressed," I lied. "I'm energised."

His lips twitched. "You've rewritten that email six times."

"You've been counting?"

He shrugged, taking another sip of his tea. "You pull your bottom lip between your teeth when you're overthinking, and your left eye twitches when you're lying."

I reached up to touch the corner of my eye, scowling when his grin widened.

"Made you look."

"Shouldn't you be warming up or something? The interview's in an hour."

The band were slated for a morning show interview and performance. Tomorrow night would be their first performance on this leg of the tour, and in the craziness of the last day, I’d completely blanked on this interview.

Thankfully, Liz had remembered and called a band meeting. We were due at the studio around eight for a nine o’clock performance, followed by a nine-thirty interview. Which meant I had precisely twenty-one minutes before all hell was about to break loose.

"I'm good." He settled back in his chair, still watching me with that infuriating mix of amusement and concern. "Want to tell me what's bothering you?"

I gestured at my laptop. "Other than crafting responses to deeply personal questions about our relationship while trying to maintain professional boundaries and not tank both our careers?"

"Other than that."

A laugh escaped before I could catch it. That was the thing about Sam—he had a way of making even the most stressful situations seem manageable.

I closed my laptop, wrapping my hands around my coffee cup. "I don't want to mess this up for you. For the band."

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