Page 81 of Before Now

“We’re leaving.”

Between the barked tone and the muscles of his jaw rippling beneath the skin, not a damn person in the room attempts to argue. He steps out onto the catwalk, giving me a wide berth to pass, and then I cross to the stairs. Colton’s in an arms-crossed stance by the front door. He shrugs when my eyes ask,What the hell?

“He barreled in, demanded to know where you were, and then sprinted up there.”

Me? A harsh knot solidifies in my chest.

Our twenty-minute return ride to the buses remains silent other than road noise. Foster’s arm brushes mine after I crawl out of the van, and my lips turn up when his do.

“Miss Sinner.” Christian’s monotone, adjusting the cuffs of his baby blue dress shirt. “I need to have a word.”

Devooos like I’ve been called to the principal’s office, and with theMiss Sinner, I feel like I was. Christian Vero’s nearly exclusively called me Sinner with a handful of Remi’s tossed in through the entirety of our relationship. The onlyMissI recall was when he dismissed me in Prague after the band said no to working with me.

“Yeah, of course,” I tell him.

“We’ll talk on the band’s bus.” Then he adds, “Would you be more comfortable if someone is present with us?”

His question takes me aback, and I realize he hasn’t looked at me once since the bungalow.

“What’s going on?” Foster asks, stepping beside me.

Christian looks up at him, face of stone. “Adams.”

Nothing else audible passes between them, but Foster seems to understand perfectly and nods before tossing a concerned glance at me. I give one in return, the knot twisting and growing exponentially.

“Miss Sinner, would you like someone with us on the bus?” the manager asks again.

I shake my head. “No. We can talk alone.”

He turns on his heel and strides away. “Take them somewhere, Colton.”

After a mixture of confused mutters, the band loads back into the van, driving off by the time I board the bus. He stands at the far end of the aisle with the black drape at his back, and now he’s locked on to me. Not an ounce of emotion tells on his face, and yet his eyes convey a myriad.

But the most striking is hurt, which only throws me off more.

“Christian, what’s going on? You’re actually scaring me.” I drop onto one of the couches and pull a throw pillow onto my lap. The one with the frayed tag from me messing with it so much the past several weeks.

“There’s nothing to be scared of Miss Sinner. Not me nor the band nor anyone else employed on this tour should make you feel otherwise. I’m deeply sorry if anyone’s comments or actions, including my own, have made you feel uncomfortable.”

My skin numbs at an apology I fail to understand. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You have my word,” he continues, voice slightly strained, “as well as that of Mac Records, any unfavorable behavior will be dealt with immediately. If you wish to speak to legal counsel or the label’s HR, I encourage you to do so. I’ll gladly get you in touch with them.”

As his implication hits me, my eyes bulge. “You think the guys are making me uncomfortable?”

He flexes his hands, and then a disturbingly vacant smile appears. “I’m not here to speculate, Miss Sinner. I’m here to guarantee you feel safe on this tour and can complete your work without being subjected to comments or behaviors that are unwelcome. To help facilitate this, the label and Mr. Erickson have requested an addition to your crew as well.” Directed pause. “In case you’re uncomfortable with me handling it.”

“Heath’s involved?” I squeak it. My thoughts are spinning, my head shaking. None of what he says makes sense. “Christian, what the fuck is going on?”

He has a moment of hesitation, an almost imperceptible tightening in his forehead before a return to distant, disconnected. “Mr. Erickson brought concerns to the label and myself after speaking with you and others. He recommended bringing in an assistant to … ensure everything stays aboveboard from here on out. The label has agreed. You’ll be moved to the other bus once we resume the tour. Unless you prefer different sleeping arrangements immediately? If so, we’ll provide a hotel.”

“No,” I say. And I mean more than the goddamn hotel. “None of it’s necessary. Nothing has happened to warrant any of this.”

His gaze darts out the window to the parking lot, nostrils flaring. “Your assistant has arrived.” Attention flicks to me. “Thank you for allowing me to attempt to make things right for you, Miss Sinner. Please don’t hesitate to bring any concerns to me so I have an opportunity to act.”

The last part has a bite. A slip of the hurt. He believes I went to Heath and the label behind his back about being—what? Sexually harassed? I’ve never considered anything as such, and I’m certain if I’d displayed the slightest bit of unease, whatever had been said wouldn’t be said again.

Christian marches past me and leaves without another word.

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