Page 74 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

“You know Vince is going to grumble the whole way, right?”

I laugh softly. “Probably. But I think he’ll come around once he sees the results.”

Sam’s smile widens, and for a moment, the weight of the tour lifts.

“Come on,” he says, holding out a hand. “Let’s grab some lunch before we hit the road again.”

The day spent at the hotel felt like a precious interlude of quiet serenity. The band members split off to enjoy their downtime—Luke and Vince hung out at the pool, and Nate disappeared intohis room, probably on his computer, checking out his next stock investment. Cass spent time with his family. Sam and I managed to steal a quiet moment for lunch together, and the tension in my shoulders finally began to ease.

But the reprieve is short-lived.

When we arrive at the next location, the venue manager waits for us near the loading dock, his arms crossed and a scowl plastered across his face. The moment I step forward to introduce myself, his expression twists further into annoyance.

“Emily Wild?” he asks, his tone curt.

“Yes,” I reply, keeping my voice professional. “I’m the band’s manager. We’re looking forward to tonight’s performance.”

His eyes flick over me, unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Let’s get one thing straight—I don’t have time to babysit. So stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

I blink, caught off guard by the hostility. “Of course. I’m here to make things run smoothly, not cause problems.”

He snorts, clearly unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.”

Standing a few steps behind me, Sam stiffens, and I can feel the tension radiating from him. I shake my head subtly. Now isn't the time for confrontation, though his protective instinct makes my heart warm.

The manager barks a few orders at his crew, barely acknowledging me as he storms off toward the stage. I exhale slowly, forcing myself to focus.

“Don't let him get to you,” Sam murmurs, his hand brushing against mine. That simple touch sends warmth through my entire body, his quiet support more steadying than any words could be.

“I won't,” I lie, though the pit in my stomach tells a different story. But with Sam beside me, his fingers lingering against my skin, I feel stronger and more capable of facing whatever comes next.

As the setup begins, I throw myself into the work. The crew is efficient, but a few minor issues crop up. I handle each problem quickly and decisively, coordinating with the venue staff and ensuring the band stays on schedule.

But the venue manager doesn’t make it easy. He hovers nearby, his arms crossed and his face set in a perpetual sneer.

“You think you’ve got this under control?” he says at one point, his voice dripping with skepticism. “Let me guess—your brother pulled some strings to get you this job? Or was it your husband?”

I stiffen at his words that carry the sharp sting of insult and doubt. I square my shoulders, refusing to let him see the impact.

“Cass hired me because he knows I can handle this job, not because we’re related.” I say curtly, “And I’m doing it well despite your lack of cooperation.”

His eyes narrow, but before he can respond, one of his crew members approaches with a question about the seating arrangements. He grumbles something under his breath and walks off.

As the evening progresses, the band arrives for soundcheck, and I make sure everything is in place. Sam catches my eye from across the stage, his expression questioning. I give him a small nod, silently reassuring him that everything is fine.

But it isn’t. Not really.

The manager’s earlier comments stick with me, gnawing at my confidence. Where did he get the idea that I didn’t earn my position? Has someone been spreading rumors? Or is it just his own bias coloring his opinion?

Fifteen minutes before the show starts, a frantic tech bursts out. “Emily, we’ve got a problem with the pyrotechnics!”

My heart lurches. “What kind of problem?”

“The control panel isn’t responding. The entire system is down. We can’t run any of the cues.”

The flames and fireworks are a crucial part of the show’s finale; without them, the performance will fall flat. I follow the tech to the control room, where a cluster of staff huddles around the malfunctioning panel.

“What’s the issue?” I ask, scanning the equipment.

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