Not Another Player

8.Bang Whack

Mastermind // Taylor Swift

Once I jump off the bus, I race after Char, my feet pounding down the sidewalk of the rest stop. I catch a glimpse of her slamming the door to the silver bullet when I'm twenty feet behind. Seconds later, I'm pounding on her door.

"Char, talk to me." I don't shout even though I want to.

One thing I know about Char, she hates attention. The girl might be loud and brass when it comes to managing a pop star, especially Bree because the two of them have been tight forever, way before Brianna Royce ever became a household name. But Char's not looking to have the spotlight on her. The fact that she was the topic of conversation between a group of guys might be her worst fear come true. Some managers seek the spotlight—managers like that Kardashian mom—but not Char.

"Please, open the door. Let me in." I speak into the crack of the doorway. "We don't have to talk about it. I just want you to know I won't say a thing to anyone. I don't even know what's going on."

Ten seconds later the door swings out and open, right into my nose which was pressed against the threshold. I lose my balance and fall back.

"Whoa."

"Shit, sorry," she mutters.

My arms spread wide to keep myself steady. Thankfully, Zack's been working on my core like a bitch with all the damn burpee's so I'm able to hold myself up.

Once I'm balanced, I look up into Char's face to find her scowling down at me.

"Is this summer camp?" Char huffs, arms crossed. "I thought I was on tour with rock stars, not playing camp counselor to a bunch of gossipy, pre-pubescent little boys." Apparently, she's already moved on from feeling bad that she nearly took off my nose with the door.

I take a deep breath and shrug. "To be fair, Ryan started it."

Char rolls her eyes. "Exactly." She turns her back to me and marches into her trailer. Notably, she doesn't slam the door in my face, so I take it as a sign I'm welcomed to enter.

Welcomed may be too strong a word. But she's clearly not opposed to it if she left me on her doorstep with the place wide open. Either that or she doesn't want a repeat of the door in the nose situation. I take the risk and step inside.

"Dang, you don't mess around," I say as I take in her accommodations. The interior is as vintage as the exterior without being a tacky retro version. Polished wood cabinets line one wall with a full kitchen set up, practically in miniature. A table reminiscent of a diner with chrome edging and red leather seats is set against the opposite wall. Right in the mix is an overstuffed couch and side table where Char has taken a seat, her eyes on me.

"So...you mind if I sit?" I decide consent is key since I came in without being invited. She answers with a raised brow and a tilt of her head. I take that as a 'sure, Jacob. Have a seat and let's chat for a while.' So, I do.

I look at her. She looks at me. I watch as a medly of emotions plays out on her face, none of which I can pinpoint as the main one. All of them at once is my guess. Her vulnerability is unexpected. I've rarely seen Char let her guard down. I recognize the privilege for what it is.

Minutes of silted silence go by before I make what is most likely a deadly decision to address the elephant in the room.

"I don't really know much," I say not expanding because we both know what I'm referring to. "I saw all the coverage of the original incident, but I didn't know any details. If Zack knows anything, he's never said a word."

I see Char's shoulders relax, the only clue I have that I guessed correctly. She's worried we've been talking behind her back the whole time.

"And, the guys know all of my secrets by now because I'm shit at playing Crazy Eights."