Chapter Six
"Good morning lassie."
I smiled tiredly as I stepped into the foyer of Muscrove Apartments, "good morning Lewis," I greeted my landlord.
"You look a bit worn out lass, are you taking care of yourself?"
I dropped my bags onto the floor and stepped up to the reception counter, "of course I am. I've just had a bad week that's all."
Lewis smiled kindly, "what happened?"
I groaned, "I've had a few confrontations with Danny Jones. Do you remember him?"
"Of course. The young lad who sold room 302."
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, "That's the one. I'm doing publicity for his band, and the big press junket I've organised starts today, which means a couple of intense weeks in his presence." I paused and frowned, "its just a recipe for disaster."
Lewis looked utterly confused. "But I thought you two always got along so well?"
I smiled sadly, "we did. But then there was six months of blonds, and a fight, and a kiss I regret and…" I trailed off and glanced at Lewis awkwardly, "and you are the complete wrong person to be telling this too."
Lewis smiled at my embarrassment, "so how is the young fellow next door to you settling in."
I sighed gratefully at his quick change of topic. "I don't know. I haven't seen him around much."
"Well make sure you say hello from time to time," Lewis urged me, "he keeps to himself that one. I don't know what on earth he does in his apartment, but he always pays rent on time so it must pay well…" Lewis's musings were cut off by a loud honk, "there's your taxi. Have a good day."
"You too," I replied, as I picked up my bags from the floor and hurried out to the impatiently waiting taxi.
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Half an hour later, I was hurrying around a small conference room (notebook in hand), with about half a dozen people of varied importance trailing after me as they attempted to meet all my demands.
"Can we adjust the lighting? It's too dull. And have you triple checked the microphones? Because there's nothing worse than technical difficulties in a press conference. And I really want to speak to some of the journalists before this starts, because if one of them brings up Lindsay Lohan and Harry then I swear I'll…"
"Amber, don't worry, everything is under control," Julie assured me.
I nodded, "good. Are the boys here yet?"
Julie nodded, "they arrived five minutes ago."
"And the journalists?"
"In the foyer. The catering is perfect."
I let out a deep breath and smiled, "I love it when everything goes my way. In fifteen minutes head into the foyer and invite the journalists to come and take their seats," I told her, "and don't forget the press packs."
"Its all taken care of Amber," Julie told me as she dismissed the crowd of workers around us.
"Good. Then all that's left is for me to…" I trailed off and glanced at the door that lead to where the boys were waiting, "trip over that chair, break my leg and be taken to hospital."
Julie looked at me in confusion.
I shrugged, "its probably a better scenario then what's waiting for me in that room."
"Are you always this dramatic," Julie questioned as she took my folder from my arms and handed me a new one with all the information I was to brief the boys on.
"Always," I replied with a grin.
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It was the single most uncomfortable moment of my life, I decided, as I stepped into the room and all eyes flew towards me. I paused in the doorway and raised an eyebrow, "no need to stop what you're all doing on my account."
Silence.
I cringed at the awkwardness in the air, and avoided looking at Danny, before muttering darkly under my breath. I made the conscious decision to ignore every ounce of strangeness, and let my professional demeanour take over.
"Alright, so in about ten minutes that room out there is going to be flooded with journalists. I've managed to get every critic worth knowing out there, so if you guys just focus on the album then everything should be fine…" I trailed off and stared in confusion at Dougie's shirt. The explicit message across the front was far from appropriate. "Bloody hell, you're not going to wear that shirt are you?"
Dougie glanced down at himself, "what's wrong with it?"
"I don't have enough time to tell you what's wrong with it," I replied, "do you have another one?"
He shook his head.
"You let him leave the house like that?" I accused Tom.
Tom's mouth dropped open, utterly bewildered that he was being told off for Dougie's fashion choices, "you can't be serious Amber."
"Yeah. I like this shirt," Dougie put in.
"It has a picture of a penis on it," Harry pointed out.
"So?"
"So, a bazillion photographers can't print your photo in teen magazines when you have a penis on your chest."
"It's a statement."
"Its porn."
As the boys argued I pulled out my mobile and arranged another shirt to be delivered. Once that was taken care of I turned my attention back to the boys. By this stage Dougie had been tackled to the ground and Tom and Harry were both attempting to tear the t-shirt off him.
Danny, on the other hand, was sitting on the couch, not paying the least amount of attention to the scuffle. Instead he was staring out the window, a small frown marring his features.
I decided to ignore his strange mood for the moment and instead watched the strange scene in front of me for a few moments before common sense kicked in. "Hey," I interfered. "Stop. That's a nice shirt. It's just not appropriate for… OI!!"
My voice echoed around the room, and Tom, Harry and Dougie glanced at me curiously.
I waved my arms at them, "get off the floor. You guys are going to give me a heart attack."
Just as I was about to have a meltdown, Julie poked her head around the doorframe. "Amber, everyone is settled and ready to go."
"Has a shirt arrived?"
Julie looked at me as though I were crazy, "what?"
It was at that moment that I realised why Julie was an assistant, and not higher up the ranks. She still hadn't comprehended the fact that public relations was an industry that practically invented them term 'strange requests'.
A lady I recognised as being in charge of the venue appeared at Julie's side, "I have a t-shirt here?"
I took it from her and tossed it at Dougie. It hit him in the chest. "Get changed."
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Five minutes later I was sitting in the back of the conference hall, shamelessly looking at Danny as I sipped from a large thermos of coffee.
I hated to admit it but I was worried. He looked horribly distracted, and he was still frowning as he took his seat at the long table in front of the journalists. I knew his frown was because of me. I had barely even looked in his direction, much less spoke to him since the incident. That had to be confusing on his part.
Lets see… first we were neighbours, then we were together, then he left for six months and didn't call, and instead dated every blond in the London area. Then he came back, and we fought, and I'm mad, and then we kiss, and now I'm avoiding him.
It sounded bizarre even to my own mind.
I sighed and struggled to get my mind back on the task at hand. As soon as this press conference was over, I would sort things out with him I promised myself, before turning my attention back to the conference and listening carefully as the journalists fired questions at the boys.
It was only after a few questions that I started to notice an odd trend. Not only was Danny frowning, but he was also answering questions with one-word answers.
I sat up a little straighter and frowned, watching as Tom shot Danny a confused look.
I watched and listened carefully as Danny avoided a question all together, before slumping down into his seat and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
After he successfully avoided a few more questions, I slumped down into my own seat and mirrored his stance. "Karmas a bitch," I muttered under my breath before pulling out my ledger and immediately starting a plan of how to smooth this most recent development over with the press.
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By the end of the interview I was nearly ripping my hair out with frustration. What in the world was he playing at? Didn't he know how many respectable people from the music industry were in the audience? What was he thinking?
Those questions all added themselves to; where in the hell were you for six months? Why did you sell your apartment? Why didn't you call? What do you want from me?
I was so worked up by the time the room had started to clear that my hands were shaking.
So, as soon as the room was cleared, my body was automatically acting on its own accord. Unable to help myself I was getting to my feet and storming over to where he was standing, staring at his shoes as Tom spoke quietly to him.
"Excuse me," I said quickly, as I grabbed Danny's wrist and pulled him aside. "Look," I whispered harshly as soon as we were out of hearing range, "I can understand Dougie being quiet throughout an interview, but what in the hell are you doing?"
Danny shoved his hands into his pockets and remained quiet.
I was seething, "do you have any idea how many critics were in this room?" I demanded, "amazing critics who could make or break your album? What in the world are you trying to achieve?"
"I'm trying to get your attention," Danny admitted, finally lifting his blue eyes to meet mine,
"My attention!" I shrieked, "well congratulations, you have it. Now why don't you just get whatever you have to say off your chest?"
"I love you," Danny blurted.
I was stunned. Of all the things he could say to me that was the last thing I had expected. I stared at him in some level of shock for a few moments before I blurted, "Are you nuts?"
Danny blinked, "what?"
I ran a hand through my hair in annoyance, "why would you say that to me?"
"I…"
I shook my head, "you don't love me. Bloody hell…" I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on.
"You don't know what I'm feeling," Danny informed me; his eyes so determined that I almost believed him.
Instead I laughed bitterly, "yeah but you see, as far as I'm concerned the words 'I love you' are used way to commonly in today's society."
Danny frowned in confusion, "what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that words don't mean anything." I shouted at him, "I'm saying that actions speak way louder than words ever will. And forgive me for saying so Danny, but your actions haven't been shouting that you love me."
"That's not fair," Danny murmured.
"Not fair?" I questioned in disbelief, "If you love me so much then why didn't you ever call me in the six months you were gone? Why did you sell your apartment? Why did you date so many people? Why in the world did you make so many promises that you never had any intention of keeping?"
"I did have every intention of keeping them," Danny insisted, his eyes wide. "I did Amber, I promise you."
"Then why didn't you keep them?" I demanded.
Silence. My question hung between us like a cloud hangs in the sky. This was it, the infamous question, and the soon to be infamous answer.
Danny stared at me for several long moments, eyes trailing over my face, before sighing heavily and closing his eyes. "I can't tell you."
I blinked, stunned. Of all the answers in the world that he could have given me, and of all the excuses he could have made up, I found this one so incredibly inadequate that I was shocked speechless.
After a few moments of mouthing soundlessly I managed to find my voice, "what?"
"I'm sorry," Danny whispered, "but I can't tell you. Not right now."
"Not right now?" I repeated, "You can't be serious?"
"Amber please," Danny begged reaching out and grabbing my upper arms, "just let me apologise, and accept my apology. Things don't have to be this way between us."
"How can I accept your apology when I don't have any reasons to accept it?" I whispered.
"You have to trust me," Danny replied, in an equally quiet voice.
"Trust?" I breathed, "you can't ask for trust. You have to earn it." I stepped away from his grasp, "I have work to do," I told him, before walking off.
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To be continued...
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