9
Ihad already made it back to the studio when I realized I'd never gotten a bottle of water. With Liam at my back, it was too embarrassing to turn around and backtrack. I'd just have to wait until our next break.
When I made it back to the music room I found Gael and Nathan huddled together, staring down at their phones with frowns on their faces.
"Bad news?" I asked, dread filling my chest.
Gael's head shot up, slightly panicked look in his eyes. "No," he lied.
I immediately pulled out my phone and checked my messages.
"Oh shit," I murmured, staring down at the newest email from the label's marketing department. All thoughts of Liam fled.
Nathan and Gael looked at me cautiously, as if waiting for an outburst. My heart sunk as I scrolled past the latest comments on a local music blog's latest post.
A cold nudge against my fingers startled me. Liam placed a bottle of water in my hand.
"Don't want you to strain your voice," he said with an imperceptible smile.
I took it from him gingerly with a muttered thanks before looking back at my phone.
"What is it?" Liam asked, noticing the tension in the room.
"It's just a bad review," my brother said. "Not the end of the world."
But it wasn't the review that had bile rising in my throat.
"They're trashing us in the comments," I told Liam. "Someone's saying our last performance was one of the worst they'd ever seen. That I—" I cut myself off, nausea taking root in my gut. I felt sick, queasy — and above all, angry.
"Cerise?" Liam prompted when I failed to speak. "What's wrong?"
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. I didn't even want to say it out loud. I turned my phone around and showed it to him.
Liam winced.
"Shit," he cursed. "You shouldn't read things like this. Don't listen to those kinds of people."
The commenter on the blog post had written that the only reason Cherry Lips got a record contract must have been because I'd—
And at this part, the anger in my chest turned into pure rage.
—because I'd fucked one of the music execs.
"Why would somebody say something like that?" I paced back and forth furiously. "Why would somebody write that for everyone else to see? It's horrible and disgusting and—" The more I continued speaking, the faster and faster the words tumbled from my mouth. "No one would accuse any of you guys of sleeping your way to the top,” I spat. “It's revolting sexist bullshit and—"
"Cerise." Liam placed a hand on my shoulder. I cut off my rambling with a snap of my jaw. His hand was soothing as it ran up and down my arm. It was similar to our first meeting, when he had touched me in the artist lounge. This time there was nothing sensual about the motion. It was meant purely for comfort.
My heartbeat began to slow with every stroke of his palm.
"Ignore those people," Liam told me. "They're just internet trolls. They're jealous of your success. If they could do what you do, they'd be the ones up on stage and not the ones leaving shitty comments on some stupid blog. Don't pay attention to them."
"But—"
"I understand wanting to know what people are saying about you, but it's only going to act as a distraction," he said.
A distraction.
Liam was right. It was a distraction.
