The first time I saw him perform, I believed I was in love. Lissa and I had spent two hours on the perfect smudged eyeliner with just the right amount of highlight in preparation, paired with outfits that took weeks of planning.
We lied our way there on a school night, so obviously the hardest part was over. And it would all be worth it, of course. We were sure that if he saw us, he'd want to meet us after the show. And as he picked up his guitar and started that first song, I was convinced that once we locked eyes through the stage lights, he'd fall for me too.
Through his 2 hour set, I couldn't look away. There was just something about the way he sang, the lyrics he wrote. Like he understood exactly how I think. And holy crap, even then he knew how to work a crowd.
He was all piercing looks with those soulful brown eyes, running those long fingers through his gorgeous hair as he belted out the lyrics. Like if he stopped singing for a second, we would all cease to exist. Like he was singing just for me, surrounded though I was by the throng of people.
It was a smaller crowd then, before the viral video that ignited his career, sending it into the stratosphere. After that night, I decided to get into production, hoping one day I'd work on one of his shows.
Somehow that thought really stuck, and I busted my ass working late nights for no pay, making contacts with anyone who even had a cousin in the industry, wrapping cables until the ridges they left on my hands seemed like they'd never disappear.
I taped mics to sweaty small time performers, made coffee for too many men who thought sweetheart was an adequate substitution for my name, and slowly started to build myself a reputation that helped me to belong with tattooed late night crews.
When they published the first story calling him out as a spoiled rockstar, I thought it was just something quick and dirty for the sake of selling magazines. But the stories didn't stop, going from bad to worse. He was spotted with this supermodel, that millionaire's daughter, another upcoming actress, with inarguable overlap. He fired his whole crew because they complained when he was always late for practice. He trashed a hotel room, got into one or two public fights. Every time I looked, there was something else about our most recent self-made badboy. So after a while, I just stopped paying attention.
With all the bad press and the passage of time, those shining memories I had of a concert I went to in high school started to lose their lustre. The magical man with his halo of stage lights may be the reason for my career, but I outgrew my infatuation outside of those half lit moments of grief or heartbreak in the solitude of my apartment. Sure, I still know all the words to my old favorites. But I probably wouldn't admit to it now.
And then one day, of course...
"Hello," I answer, cutting off the annoying vibration of my phone against the stale glass of water on my nightstand.
I'm groggy; I was up until 4am setting up for an event. But since Mason was the one who got me that gig, I know he wouldn't be calling for a casual conversation.
"Sorry for the wakeup call, Rose. Last night was a big one and I let you sleep as long as I could."
Despite my exhaustion, I crack a grin. Mason really is the type of guy to keep a client off your back if he can.
"C'mon Mase, you know 4 hours is all I need."
There's a reluctant chuckle. "That I do. Anyway, Rose, I need a favour. I know it's last minute, and I'm sorry."
I stifle a yawn. "I figured. What's the gig?"
"The guy's a pretty big name, but he's been working his way through every crew in the state. Some of the normal team refuse to work with him, so I really need you."
I'm only half paying attention, having chugged the water down with a grimace. But at least my mouth no longer feels like a desert.
"So he's an asshole," I say.
"Pretty much." He sounds defeated. "But the pay makes up for it. I think his label's getting desperate."
I sigh. "Listen Mase, you know this sounds like a shit deal."
"I know Rose. But I figured if anyone can handle themselves against him, it's the girl who clawed her way into our hearts by never taking no for an answer."
My palm proves ineffective at removing the sleep from my eyes, and I'm aware that Mason would never kiss my ass like this if he didn't absolutely have to.
"Fine. But you owe me. I mean it."
"Fuck Hathaway, that's music to my ears. How about I finally take you to dinner?"
I smile. "Okay Mase. But it had better be lobster."
He laughs. "Deal. I'll see you this afternoon."
"Sure, but I'm sleeping for the rest of the day," I reply, already sinking back into the pillows. Then finally, I think to ask:"Who is this guy anyway?"
I hear him lower his phone, and a couple of taps on his screen. Then he's back with the words that come straight from the karmic law of the universe.
"Dimitri Belikov."
Well fuck. Looks like my dream came true after all.
Author's Note
I know, I'm alive and still writing. Crazy, right? This fic stems from our 6 hour road trip we went on to watch Imagine Dragons live. And what I believe is a perfectly natural new obsession with Dan Reynolds as a result. The show was amazing, the band was so dynamic, I couldn't help but imagine Romitri in such a fantastical situation. So here we are!
If you liked this chapter, or if you didn't and want to tell me why, please leave a review. I do write sporadically, so if you'd like to keep in the loop, feel free to follow and favourite.
The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead
