Page 93 of Before Now

The animosity I wished for earlier swims in his eyes now. Disdain paints his expression, similar to the look he gave me on the bus when he claimed what we had before wasn’t real. I blink, redirecting to the gray metal door in front of me, the push bar across it. But I still feel him. Forever tugging.

“You’re with me, Remi.” Colton grasps the strap to my camera bag, and I let him take it off my shoulder, smiling at him in thanks.

Foster lets out a derisive breath. “They brought the wannabe in to protect you, yet it’s my security doing the job, first out there and now here.”

I take in a steeling breath to counter his. “Interesting you would say that, considering I handed you the spy glasses for shots of the event, but Felix wore them.”

He refuses to hear me out. It doesn’t mean he can treat me like shit without pushback.

I look over. Our eyes meet, his cold, cold, cold. The tension’s different again, and not back to the way we were before the bus. It’s a new one, missing the heated base notes present since Prague. No glances at my mouth or lower. No warmth at all. Foster might actually hate me.

Colton’s doing a final check when Foster smirks, not in challenge, but in warning. I fight off a shiver.

“I’ll tell you what, director.” He tips his head back on the wall, closes his eyes. “I’ll do my job once he does his.”

* * *

The drivers movedthe buses to the venue while we were gone, so the vans take us there.

Colton called it. The fans showed no interest in the crew. Of Men and Wolves walked out, and they lost their shit. I watched out the back window while security moved the barriers to let us leave, and people surrounded the other van. It took the event detail walking in front so Colton could safely get them out of there.

Christian’s already on the phone when we cross paths in the parking lot, upping security for future appearances and shows. They need to adjust for the band’s ever-climbing popularity and reactions to them. Mac Records might have all but taken over the tour from him, but Christian remains the one looking out for the guys in the end.

Keeping up with the cold shoulder, the band and associates go straight inside to their dressing room. I need to time it right if I want to try to explain I had nothing to do with the label and Heath. With Xander. Hours ahead of a concert is far from right.

Plus, I still have nothing to explain until I talk to myassistant.

And when I walk into the lounge after showering and getting ready, that time has come, apparently.

Xander shoots up from being sprawled on the couch where he slept on last night. “You can’t avoid me forever, Rem.”

I shrug. “That has yet to be determined.” But then I sigh and gesture to the front of the bus. “Ready to carry stuff inside?”

His lips quirk up, and he nods. “Absolutely, boss.”

I roll my eyes and nudge him out of the way. I climb to the loft and snag my camera bag.

We work as light as possible during concerts, just our bags and anything specific shots might require. Both Glory and Xander will need extra equipment tonight, so we gather his from the other bus’s storage.

I also keep a duffel of backups with me—along with a couple of my favorite lenses. A filter or two. Maybe a recorder for ambient noise. And the projector for a shot I’m dying to get of old band footage playing on a wall or curtain as the guys walk in front to the stage.

All vital shit, really.

Xander snatches the duffel from me, slinging the strap over his shoulder on our way inside. He tosses me a grin. I narrow my eyes in return, and he groans, exasperated as security opens the door for us.

I check the handy venue map on my phone for the band’s dressing room. Christian sent them for every show so I could plan logistics and scenes. They save me more often than I care to admit.

Xander catches my arm as we cross the backstage area. “Can we please talk this out? I hate you being mad at me. And I really hate you acting like I’m a bad guy in your movie.”

“The misdirection would work so well, though. The pretty face, close proximity as my roommate, the friends-to-hookup-to-friends threaded into the storyline. You’re perfect for the villain.”

I flash a wry smile but then take pity on him. I drag him with me, backing out of the way from the stage. We stop beside an empty dolly and spare amps, and I face him, chin tipped to glare at him properly.

“Go ahead. Tell me why you’re accusing people of sexual misconduct. Or, with how Christian was acting, was it assault?”

Xander jerks back and then ducks closer, his voice hushed. “Jesus fuck, Remi. I didn’t do either. You think I’d baselessly cry assault on someone? The thought might have crossed my mind, but I never voiced it.”

I believe him, the shock from him seeming genuine, the hurt too. “Well, you clearly voiced something.”

---