Mason noticeably doesn't react as I approach the desk to grab the monitor kit, but I sense the tension in his shoulders. His proximity makes my stomach uneasy, and I try to grab everything I need and get out as fast as I can. So of course I drop the tape.

It bounces once as I bend down, changing course to roll right against Mason's sneakers. Before I can snag the little fucker, his hand closes over it and presents it to me. He's crouching down in front of me at eye level, and as he looks at me properly for the first time today, he has the decency to look ashamed.

"Rose. I... For what it's worth, I'm sorry. You've been doing a great job today."

I glare at him. Does he seriously think he can just apologize?

"Yeah. I know that," I reply cooly. "I don't need you to tell me."

"I think when it comes to you, I just go a little crazy." He says this with a small smile, like I'm going to tell him he's cute and I forgive him.

Instead it's all I can do not to slap him. I grab the tape and stand up.

"You know, I never did anything differently. The crazy is all on you."

He looks so pathetic crouched there, it fills me with rage. Those blue eyes imploring me to say something, as though he's the victim here.

"You know how hard I worked," I spit. "You know what I sacrificed. You know what you did. And now you know I'll never forgive you."

I want to rage, to kick and punch him. I want him to know how much he sucks. But I've already gone against my promise to myself, and he's the one who made me break it. So rather than continue to talk to him, I go backstage to do my job.

I stop outside Dimitri's door still fuming, I can feel my chest rise and fall with far more force than normal. And after that with Mason, the reckless part of me wants to barge into the room and escape into Dimitri. But I remember all too well what happened last time I entered without knocking, and my self control definitely can't handle that right now. So I do the right thing and knock on the door.

There's definitely an undercurrent of amusement in his response that I should come in.

Cool, calm and professional, I tell myself silently.

As soon as I'm in the room with the door closed, I set the equipment on a table and feel some the tension drain from my back and jaw. Dimitri is there in his black jeans, his bare torso once again trying to kidnap my attention. As much as his body increases my heart rate, his presence has a calming effect.

"You okay?" he asks. He keeps his voice low, but I can hear his concern plain as day. It's enough to make me tear up.

"Yeah," I nod, then clear my throat to regain my voice. "Thank you."

He cocks his head with a slight smile. "Scale from one to ten, how big of a dick has he been?"

I grimace. "Like eight. I just want to get today over with."

"I know, I'm so sorry you're here dealing with all this."

He's so sincere, it makes me pull a smile on my face to lighten the mood.

"And what," I joke, "let someone else mic you up? Not on my watch."

He laughs, but it's warm instead of cocky, and somehow it feels like he's acknowledging my attempt rather than laughing at my joke. It's heartwrenchingly endearing. I turn to unzip the equipment bag in order to hide my expression, and to focus on something other than him. Methodically, I unpack the things I need and line them up on the counter. As though it's enough to distract me from the warmth of his presence behind me.

"I'm all yours," he says with a grin when I turn around. Even though I know he's teasing, it sends a thrill through me. I almost allow myself to imagine what it would be like if that were true.

"Arms out," I say instead and he complies. We're both quiet as I set to work fitting and taping the wires to his back, rotating his shoulder to make sure there's enough slack. I walk around him for a once over, checking that nothing is visible that shouldn't be, and when I'm happy I go to grab the mic pack to clip on him.

Then I notice his jeans. They're already riding fairly low on his hips, and they're a little loose.

"You going to wear a belt?" I ask. "I'm all for giving your fans something to see, but with the weight of this pack on your back it might be more than you bargained for."

I tug a little at his waistband to illustrate my point, fingers slipping easily into the gap between the fabric and his skin.

I look back up at his face, expecting to be met with a grin and a cheeky joke. Instead his gaze instantly locks me in place, hot enough to melt steel. The smile I had on my lips dissolves as my breath comes out in a rush. I realise the context of what I just did, and my cheeks heat.

Suddenly I'm aware that we're alone. I feel the warmth of his skin inches away from me, I bask in the intoxicating smell of him. My fingers are still hooked I'm his waistband, so tantalisingly close to igniting the spark of what we could do.

I am seconds away from giving in to what I want. But against my better judgement, I pull my hand back and turn on my heel at the same time he does.

I step over to my bag on the counter and fumble around just for something to do. Behind me, he releases a string of Russian that I wish I could understand. I hear him moving around and then the jingling of a buckle. I try to gather my thoughts, but it's like trying to catch spidersilk.

I stare at the counter in front of me. Mic pack. Yes. Clipping the mic pack. Okay.

He does up the belt and I return to him with the pack in my hand. I try to clip it to him without tugging or touching his skin, because I'm fairly sure both of us are so close to the surface that a single point of contact will set us ablaze.

When I'm done I put some space between us and zip everything up, taking the bags with me. I don't trust myself to speak, and something tells me he's in a similar boat. He continues to face away from me as I leave.

Outside the room I try to steady myself. I stow the bags with the flight cases I was organising earlier, as they'll be easier to retrieve at the end of the show. And unavoidably, my next job is to assist with the sound check at the desk with Mason. So I reluctantly head back down and try to keep my distance from Mason at the desk. He ignores me anyway, and the dread starts to build in my stomach once more.

Dimitri comes out onto the stage in all his glory; tall, dark and gorgeous. The sight of him shoots through me, presenting vivid flashbacks of the scene in his dressing room. I blush a little, and Mason shoots me a sidelong glance.

On stage, Dimitri slings the guitar strap over his head and stands at the mic to wait for Mason to cue him. It takes me a second to register that I got the height of the mic stand spot on. The small victory smile I allow myself takes on a panicked edge as the dread begins to build in the pit of my stomach.

"All right Mr Belikov," Mason says. "We'll need to start with basic levels check since we're behind schedule thanks to your girlfriend."

My entire body freezes. The whole crew is around, even some of the venue staff. I know he's willing to stoop pretty low, but this? What the fuck is Mason playing at?

If he was hoping to get a reaction from Dimitri, he must be disappointed. Dimitri only raises an eyebrow in confusion, looking mildly perplexed without any reply. Mason's eyes flick to my face again, as though confirming something.

Then he continues. "So I need you to just talk into the mic while I set the levels, okay?"

"Sure," Dimitri replies from on stage, with a brilliant smile that I suspect means he's livid and he has a plan. "What exactly do you want me to say?"

While the checks would ordinarily have been done already, it's not like it's something Dimitri is unfamiliar with. Which means he's playing dumb.

This is not going to be good. And of course, Mason snaps the trap with his response.

"Anything you like, just keep going until I tell you to stop."

Is it just me, or does Dimitri's smile widen ever so slightly? My entire body is tense as I wait for the other shoe to drop. Mason's attention is on the desk sliders, watching the LEDs next to the relevant channels to check and adjust their input. Dimitri leans into the mic a little, grasping it with one hand like he's about to start singing.

"Mason threw a temper tantrum because he wasn't man enough for a little healthy competition," Dimitri begins. He keeps his tone level, as if he's just saying his ABC's into the mic like we normally ask people to do. Mason looks up immediately, eyes wide with shock. I just want to sink into the floor. The entire space is deathly quiet.

On the other hand, Dimitri is very clearly enjoying himself.

"Maybe he always knew he wasn't good enough for this girl," he continues. "But once Mason insulted her because she wouldn't sleep with him, he started sabotaging her career in a classic case of sour grapes."

By this point, Mason's ears are so red with anger, I can almost feel the heat radiating off of him. The rest of the crew is entirely captivated by Dimitri's little performance, but I'm not sure if I want to kiss him or strangle both of them.

Objectively, if it wasn't happening to me, I would find the situation hilarious. Mason said Dimitri could say anything he liked, and he really doesn't have the balls to start yelling at his big shot rockstar client. So he just has to stand there and adjust the levels while Dimitri tells everyone in the room what Mason has done to me, though he doesn't mention me by name.

"Okay," Mason says through gritted teeth. "That's enough, we can move on."

Dimitri shoots him a deceptively innocent smile. "Cool, thanks."

The tension remains as an undercurrent as we proceed, though nothing else happens overtly. Everyone else focuses on their own job, or at least pretends to, as Dimitri starts working through his set. I'm completely on edge as Mason adjusts various sliders and dials, with a silght frown. He bends down, looking closely at the LEDs on one particular channel. Then reaches up to check the XLR cable. He unplugs it, replugs it, twirls one dial, then another. I peer over his shoulder to see that the LEDs aren't showing any input.

A pit forms in my stomach. While this mixer is better than nothing, it's not as good as the one still stuck in the truck. I take a step back, looking over my shoulder to find Gerry ready to help.

"No input for channel 17," I mumble. Can you check the snake?"

He nods and hurries off to the stage while Dimitri carries on playing. But Dimitri seems to have noticed something isn't right, and looks out at the desk. The guitar stops abruptly as he dampens the strings with his palm.

"What's the problem?" he asks into the mic.

Mason immediately bristles.

"17 is dead," he replies to Dimitri. Then to me in an undertone, "Where exactly did you find this piece of shit, Rose?"

And this is the thing that sets my blood boiling. All day he's been trying to put me down in front of the crew. I don't like it, but I get that his pride is hurt and he's lashing out. But this? This he said so only I can hear. His goal is to hurt me. And now he's lit the fuse.

"What the fuck Mase?" I want to yell, but don't want to be overheard. "Would you rather have none at all?"

He glares at me, but doesn't respond. It's so childish, I almost laugh.

"What, didn't think I'd call you out? You thought I'd let you keep treating me like shit?"

"You'd sure know about treating someone like shit." he grumbles.

That does elicit a laugh, but it's humourless. I'm aware that Dimitri is on stage watching us like a hawk.

I meet his eyes for a second and shake my head slightly. Don't get involved, don't come down here.

I just need to get through this fuck up of a gig, and then I'm home free. I just need to keep pretending that the problems I have to fix aren't completely because of Mason. That it doesn't hurt to hear someone who used to be my friend insult me at every opportunity.

I take a breath, trying to hold back the tears of frustration that well up in my eyes. Fuck. Crying makes me look weak, I need to keep it together.

Dimitri's gaze shifts into concern, and I can see Mason glancing between me and Dimitri out the corner of my eye.

It's too much. I turn my back on the scene, trying to gather my composure. My hands keep balling up automatically, and I attempt to shake out the urge.

"Try it now," Gerry calls from on stage behind me. The guitar's open strings ring out, and I hear Mason make a noise of assent.

"Lucky Rose," he mutters. "Otherwise Belikov would have had to discipline you, right?"

My jaw is clenched and my breath is comes fast. I need to calm down.

"Okay, it's working," comes Mason's reply to the crew behind me. "Good job bro. What was the problem?"

"Tricky connection on the XLR this side."

Mason laughs. "Could be. Or maybe someone was in the talent's dressing room instead of doing their job."

And just like that, my tolerance snaps.

As I turn on my heel and let out a breath, all of my anger coalesces into a steely kind of calm. Two strides is all it takes for me to reach Mason at the desk. In the split second it takes for me to draw back my fist, I see genuine fear In his eyes. And fuck, does that feel good. My face splits into a grin. He should have been afraid of me long before now.

"I hope it was worth it Mase," I say through my smile, and let my fist fly.

But it never connects. My feet leave the ground and I cry out, flailing until and my arms are also pulled behind my back. So I start kicking, trying to land at least one solid hit on that motherfucker. An incoherent scream of rage tears from my lungs as I'm carried further away. I thrash from side to side, trying to break free to get to him, but the arms that are holding me are much too strong. And that smell...

"Dimitri you son of a bitch let me go! I swear to god, if you don't let me teach that piece of shit a lesson in how I'm willing to interact with his balls on my terms I'll call your fucking bitch of a manager and tell her what you did!"

There's a low chuckle in my ear and I whip my head back to connect with his skull, but he dodges just in time. Another chuckle, and then Dimitri sets me down in front of him and holds my arms firmly, trying to make me look at him. I crane my neck to get a look at the crew around his massive shoulders. They're far enough away that they won't overhear unless I yell.

"Roza, listen."

"Let me go!"

"I will if you listen to me."

I grit my teeth and glare at him.

"I'm not saying Mason doesn't deserve it, but you have a clean record."

Outrage courses through me, and I renew my struggles. Dimitri just tightens his hold on me once more, those brown eyes holding more enjoyment than they probably should.

"Seriously?" I hiss. "You of all people are telling me to turn the other cheek?"

"I know it's hard, but let me handle this, okay? I have a team of lawyers."

"Since when were you Mr fucking Diplomacy?"

Infuriatingly, he shoots me a grin. "Since he made the mistake of fucking with the woman I care about."

That brings me up short. All traces of anger drain out of me. Did he really mean that?

He takes in my changed expression with a smile. "Mmmm, good girl. I'll take care of this."

He turns and walks away, back towards the desk. It takes me a second, but I follow.

"Ashford," Dimitri says, "You haven't been useful for one single fucking second today. So I hope you understand the delight I take in telling you that you're fired. Get your miserable ass out of my venue."

Mason's nostrils flare, and he steps right up to Dimitri as though he can intimidate him from shoulder height.

"This is my team! You can't fire me."

Dimitri looks amused at the attempt. "I can and I did, you're going to have to get out."

Mason opens his mouth, but Dimitri interrupts.

"And now that you're no longer my employee..."

Mason's face goes slack with terror as Dimitri draws his fist back. But as angry as I am, I step in and put my hand on Dimitri's shoulder.

"Leave it. He's not even worth it."

Dimitri looks down at me. "You sure? It would be my pleasure."

I shake my head and he nods, taking a step back. Mason looks like he's going to pass out from relief, but I turn my back on him and address the rest of the room.

"Sorry for all the chaos, but we have a show to put on."

After a second everyone starts moving, ignoring Mason completely.

And it's with a grin that Gerry turns to me and says, "So boss, shall we carry on the soundcheck?"


Author's Note


Thank you for reading! I never intended for this chapter to get so long! Not that I think you'll complain (I imagine it will be quite the opposite) but I think I'm losing steam on this fic a little. As it stands, this is my last chapter completed in reserve. So we'll have to see if something materializes before next week. That being said, it may be a good time to follow and favourite, if you'd like to stay updated when I post.

The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.