The elevator dings, and I file in along with a slew of others, barely dodging the elbows of a few when they hoist their heavy bags up on their shoulders.
It isn’t that I don’t want the job. I would love to have an assignment as important as this one.
Even still. Going home…
“Andi!”
A familiar voice calls my name from the other side of the doors, and I see my co-worker, Mya, waving frantically at me. I launch forward through two guys and slam my hand on the inside of the doors to stop it so she can shove inside.
“Thanks for that,” she says once she’s on. “Tough crowd this morning. Fucking Mondays.”
“Fucking Mondays,” I say with the same sentiment.
She pulls her earbud out and glances sideways at me. “Wait, I thought you were meeting Cynda at nine,” she asks.
I look down at my phone to check the time. “Yeah, so did I,” I mutter. “Dropped my coffee cup and had to change clothes,” I say. “Maybe she’s in a forgiving mood.”
Mya laughs, her silky black waves falling over her shoulder. “She’ll probably forgive you since you’re wearing a tee with her favorite movie on it.”
I look down at the distressed t-shirt with the movie poster for The Lost Boys on it—a shirt I wore on purpose in the hopes that Cynda will forget about how late I am.
“Oh—did you hear? Jodi got kicked off the Young Decay job,” Mya asks.
Must be the gossip of the morning.
“Ah, I heard the job was vacant,” I reply.
“Apparently, she was harassing their bodyguard. To think, four sexy musicians in front of you, and you go after the bodyguard instead.”
“Maybe she has a type,” I say.
Mya nudges me playfully. “Do you think that’s the assignment Cynda wants you to pick up?”
I may as well go home and pack my fucking bags.
I know she’s right.
Mya laughs as if the reluctance is written on my face. “What’s wrong? Isn’t that your brother’s band?”
“Half-brother,” I correct her.
“Half-brother, whatever.” The elevator door opens, and we step out onto our floor.
The name of the public relations brand of Dead Tower that we work for is spread across the back of the wall behind the front desk.
Heartless Muse.
“That would be fun,” Mya continues. “I mean, think about it. You get to go home, see family, and hang out with the hottest band on the radio right now. Maybe get us a picture of the elusive Mads Tourning while you’re there,” she adds with a suggestive brow.
I almost laugh. We’re at the end of our hall, and I have to go left to see our boss.
“I don’t think any of us are that lucky,” I say. “See you for lunch?”
“Yeah. I’m thinking Thai,” she replies.
“See you then.”
The hall to my boss’s office is lined with signed set lists and candid photos of several bands. Her office is glass, and I can see her on her walking pad as she answers morning emails.
