Working in Concert

Chapter 4

A/N: It's definitely nowhere near Christmas in the story (I'm thinking it's around early September, so it's similar in timeline to where the canon books started), but I just made this picture my desktop wallpaper today and I liked it so much that I wanted to share it. I'm hoping to have a few more chapters posted this week as I'm off work on a "staycation," but just in case it doesn't happen, I want to say HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! Thank you so much for reading!

"Where have you been, Sang?"

I can feel bruises forming on my upper arm where he's gripping me. I'll have to wear a long sleeved shirt tomorrow to hide the marks and cover them with make up for the night of the show.

He grips harder and shakes me when I don't immediately respond. "I asked you a question, damn it! Where were you?"

"I went with Mr. Lee, remember? He was showing me around." My voice is quiet as I try to keep him from getting more worked up.

He finally lets me go, pushing me back down onto the couch, and then begins pacing back and forth. "Mr. Lee, huh? Is he as odious as that Mr. Blackbourne? That smug bastard is already on my last nerve. So condescending, lifting his eyebrow and looking down at me. I've been in the business world longer than that asshole has been alive. And that suit! No one dresses like that in this industry, no one! He thinks he's so much better than me just because he's managing the headliners of the tour."

He turns to look at where I'm sitting quietly watching him. Walking over, he grabs a fistful of my hair, using it to yank me up to my feet and pulling back so hard that I feel strands ripping out. My teeth bite into my lip as I struggle not to make a noise.

"This is all your fucking fault. If you had worked harder instead of finishing high school, we'd be the headliners instead of having to grovel to some guy who is barely past being a teenager." He pulls me close so his face is right in mine, and I cringe away from the drops of spittle hitting my cheek. "You will stay away from that man, do you understand? You are here to work, and that's it. I don't need him filling your head with any ideas. He had the gall to suggest changes to your part of the show. It's not happening. I am your manager. Stay. Away. From. Him."

My hair is held so tightly that I can't nod, so I whisper my response instead. "Yes, sir."

Releasing me, he steps back, smoothing down his mussed jacket and shirt. "I'm going out. You have a sound check this afternoon at four, don't miss it. And don't come back to the hotel room tonight, I'm having guests over. You can sleep on the bus."

With one last glare at me, he spins around and storms out of the dressing room.

I sit back down slowly, my hand coming up to gently probe my head where my scalp is screaming in pain. A few tears manage to leak out. I wish I had remembered to bring some Tylenol with me today. I'll have to find some to take before my stylists come tomorrow or I'll never be able to get through their poking and prodding. I'm really surprised that he marked my arm up. He's usually more careful to keep anything he does hidden, and he knows some of my concert outfits are sleeveless.

Mr. Blackbourne must have really set him off. I'll have to do my best to avoid that man, even though I feel saddened at the thought. We had only met briefly, but I can still remember that millimeter smile he gave me when he saw how nervous I was. Regardless, I can't take the risk of making my father even angrier.

I lie down on the couch, my head and arm aching painfully. Concerned about possibly falling asleep, I decide that I need to set an alarm to make sure that I don't miss the sound check, so I take out my phone from my back pocket. That's when I remember giving the guys my number, as the screen of my phone is filled with new messages.