He sits still for the whole thing, and when I'm done, it's not half bad. It's no cat eye, but it's giving off major hottie vibes, a little dark bad boy, a little secretive quiet dude, and it almost matches the inspiration photo taped to his vanity.
I step out of the way and nod to myself, proud of what I've accomplished with my limited skillset. "There. All finished."
He looks at himself from several angles before the barest hint of a smile curls his lips upward at the corner. "Not bad, Miss Stone. I think you might've missed your true calling when you decided to run social media for spoiled rich brats like myself."
"Debatable," I say with a laugh, trying to deflect his unexpected praise. "You haven't seen what I can do with a burner Instagram and two days' time."
Just then, Sasha comes running over, huffing and puffing like she's just run a marathon. "We're on in two minutes. I don'thave time to—oh." She looks from him, to me, and then back to him again, before settling on me. "You did his eyeliner?"
Does she think I'm after her job?I hope not. Nothing could be further from the truth. "Ah, I just helped out. He's a handful, and you were doing so well—I just figured while I was here?—"
She shoves past me, grabbing his ears to tilt his face up. I almost yell at her to be easy with the merchandise, but it's not my place. I'm just an assistant. I'm not a handler.
"It's not even on both sides," she points out, but if that's true, I'm not seeing it. "You aren't a professional. You should stick to your own job." Those cold green eyes sweep over me, and leave me feeling lacking. "I can do my own."
So much for camaraderie.I thought I was doing her a favor, sending her off for a break, helping her out. Clearly, I've been dismissed, and though I wait for Kai to say something, he sits silently, waiting for us to sort ourselves out.
Looks like I'm not getting any backup from his department. And here I thought we were getting closer these days. Guess I was wrong.
"Cool, sorry I stepped in. I'll just—go do assistant things, I guess."
Okay, so maybe I'm a little dramatic in the way I yank the tablet off the counter and huff as I walk away, but seriously. I thought she'd appreciate it.
Next time, I'll just let her get fired on her own. She was doing such a good job of it before I came along and fucked that up.
The miniature show is just something the company threw together at the last minute to debut new talent, and make the announcement of a new girl group forming, but Kai's solo stage today is the centerpiece of the entertainment break. News of his presence here has spread, thanks to the intentional leaks the company has adopted from the Asian industry's strategies. I suppose that's a good thing and a bad thing all at once, becauseas it turns out, itdoesboost attendance and interest, but it also boosts the number of security guards we need when we show up, and the sheer volume of paparazzi waiting outside of the venue to get a peek at him.
He seemed to think that it was interesting and novel that they stayed behind the barricades. I was almost afraid to ask if companies in his country were really that bad at protecting their talent, or setting boundaries with the fans. And then I searched it up online while I was waiting for him to get into costume, andholy shit.
Stalkers. They call themsaesangs.Fans with no interest in respecting boundaries, who stalk and harass idols at airports, venues, and other public appearances. Who sneak into their homes and steal things, hide in ductwork, take unauthorized videos, who go online and claim to be in relationships with these men and women, who are the sole reason that dating bans and hypervigilance and discretion that would make the British Monarchy proud even exist in the first place.
The things I see while looking into them are disturbing. Members of huge groups making millions a year for their companies being chased by these crazies through airports, no protection, no support, no help in sight. Grown women openly kissing international idols on the face against their permission. Fans sending funeral wreaths to a company with a member's name on the ribbon because he got a little drunk and wrecked a scooter.
I have no idea what's wrong with some of these people, but it's insane to me. Being with kNight Entertainmenthasto be a shock to the system for someone who grew up working in that kind of environment.
The staff lounge, which we've been given access to as employees of the idols present, is hardly a lounge and more like a closet, but there are chairs, a table, and a cooler filled withbottled water. I've worked under harsher conditions, so I suck it up, pull out my computer, and start on some busywork.
Kai's schedule needs to be adjusted to fit in some shows the company wants him on. Starting on that is easier said than done, though. Without Kai here to approve schedule changes, it means that anything I do can and very likely will be shot down or repositioned after I do all the hard work. But it's gotta get done. I'll deal with the fallout later.
Nobody tells you that when you're managing schedules for a semi-successful singer/actor/model/whatever flavor of celebrity you have this week, how much time you'll spend on the phones, begging for forgiveness, assuring people you'll show, and praying everything can be sorted out to the company's specification and expectation.
It's a lot.
By the time Kai's stage is ready to go live, I've managed to reschedule no less than the next two weeks of time blocks, and pulled some strings to add an additional section in his free time for a meditation and massage session. Maybe that'll be enough to soothe the beast when he finds out the company added in three more appearances for him this week—two interviewsanda variety show.
My phone rings idly as I work with my noise-cancelling headphones in, but I ignore it. If it's important, they'll call the new cellphone the company gave me. When I'm on the official clock, and not on call, I try to avoid answering my personal phone. Everyone important has the new work number now, so whoever it is, isn't important enough to answer when I'm supposed to be focusing on more important things.
Like Kai's stage.
The closet of a break roomdoeshave a TV that plays the stages out front. It's not as fun as being front and center as a social media manager, grabbing stills and action shots andputting them together for some major media appeal. The choice isn't mine to make, though, because here, now, that's not my job anymore.
So I lean back, put my feet up on the table, and shove the chair off two of its legs so I can stretch my calves and see how Kai does tonight.
I'm not disappointed. He's a trained professional, after all. Every move is calculated, every spin and twist and turn elegant when it's called for, snappy and precise when it's not. If I didn't know what he'd been complaining about the other day in practice, I wouldn't know what to watch for, and I'd be hard pressed to find any errors.
But he was right.
When he spins at the chorus, his hand flicks the wrong way, mostly because the way the choreographer wants it to go isn't a natural position for him. When he finishes the turn, his hand needs to swing around, pivoting on his wrist, and he pivots his whole arm instead, which isn't as flexible.
