My entire face furls. “What? One of mine?”
“No, but you’re in it,” she says. “Check your messages.”
I put her on speaker and slide over to my messages, and when I pull up the photo, my knees almost give out.
It’s a shitty photo. The person who took it got lucky enough to grab it when the strobe lights were highlighting us from behind.
It’s Maddox. Kissing me.
There are no discerning features on his face, at least. Just the hood over his head. However, it’s clear that the girl is me with the ‘press’ lanyard and camera in my hand.
“Mother fuck—”
Cynda sighs heavily. “Upper management has already called. They want to know how many other bands you’ve been sleeping with on assignment—”
“I’ve never done that before,” I argue.
“Yeah, well, luckily I was able to convince him that even if you were sleeping with all of them, you are still a damn good photographer and do your fucking job like a professional,” Cynda says. “Either way, they want you in on Monday to chat.”
“What did Decay’s manager have to say?” I ask.
“He said Mads slipped out of his sight and that he hasn’t seen you act unprofessional all week,” she answers. “Seems like he likes you.”
“It’s a temporary assignment,” I argue.
“Doesn’t seem like it’s about this one particular band. All upper wants to know is if you’re doing this with every band, and if you’re taking any photos off the books that might compromise one of their clients.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I snap.
Cynda sighs. “We’ll take care of it, Andi,” she assures me. “Go back inside. I just wanted to call you and give you a head’s up before someone ambushed you after the show.”
My heart is in my throat. “Thank you,” I tell her. “I’ll call you tomorrow to get details on Monday.”
“Have fun tonight,” Cynda says, and she hangs up before I can reply.
I press my hands into the railing and take a deep breath. My insides are twisting to the that point I feel like I might puke.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
God, we’re fucked. So fucking fucked.
We have to tell Reed before he gets his phone after the show. I need to tell my dad, Tina.
Footsteps brush over the gravel nearby. I hear the crowd in a roar. The show must be over. I don’t even look at the person coming my way. I don’t care. I don’t know what to do—
Cold steel presses to my side.
Breath wholly escapes me.
“Do you think you can put yourself back together once I open up these stitches,Sally?”
I cringe, my teeth grinding. I know the voice.
Somewhere deep inside me, I start to panic. Even still, I try to stay cool despite the tears already welling in my eyes.
No one will hear me scream.
