𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀,, hobie brown.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐈.

After that happened, I hurried off without letting him say another word, dropping the guitar pick at the same time. I was holding my breath the entire ending of the exchange, my nerves getting the best of me now. I was doing fine, I was almost calm during the conversation up until he practically said he could get me killed.

I don't understand where the sudden change of demeanor came from. I hadn't seen or heard from him in weeks, I didn't spam him and I damn sure didn't go out of my way to find him. The stars just aligned and I ended up working for him. I wasn't a crazed fangirl.

I couldn't get into my room quick enough, slamming the door and locking in while leaning against it out of breath. I remembered shutting my eyes and putting my head in my hands, that whole experience destroying my ego. I couldn't take in what just happened, what that exchange even was, what it meant and why it made me this upset.

I feel so stupid now, looking down at my mismatched socks and thinking back to the restaurant. How long we talked and got to know one another little by little, waving down a taxi, walking out of the party with smiles on our faces. I wasn't used to this back and forth of hot and cold.

I spent my night getting comfortable; having a shower, getting in my pjs, turning on some music, wrapping my hair up and diving deep into brainstorm for each member's outfits tomorrow. I had to be up early tomorrow, Ares didn't really give a specific time. Or did she? Either way, she preached about how if you aren't up at four in the morning you are wasting your life away.

"I could get you killed." The low voice repeated in my head as I was sitting cross legged on my king sized bed, my spine shivering when I remembered it.

What the fuck does that even mean? He'll try to get me killed when I look the other way?

He says those words so easily, like he has said them before and it got me thinking about the other stylists the group mentioned before me. The videos I have seen of Hobie that circulate around the web are far from what I just encountered. But even the nicest of people have a lot of deadly skeletons in their closest. Or in this case, behind closed doors.

I shook my head and opened up my portfolio to see what outfits I could come up with. In the contract Karl gave me, he stated that I would be issued a black card to purchase any clothing items I would need to style the band. Although I would have a row of clothing in each destination for me to put together, if he thinks I could use more of an inspiration than I can use the card. Since I don't know what type of clothing items they have at tomorrow's interview location and I refuse to set foot outside of my room, I opened up the custom website that I was the only one who had access to it per Karl and started putting outfits together one by one. How they would get the outfits in by tomorrow, I wouldn't know. It's above my pay grade.

I couldn't stop thinking about him taking the guitar pick out of my hand and replacing it in between my two front teeth. Why would he do that? Some weird kink or fetish that he gets off to? He doesn't know me as well as he thinks he does, I could have the flu or carrying a deadly virus for all he knows and now he would have it too for touching all over that. By the way he never shows up, I bet he would love to have a real reason to cancel everything and leave his group to fend for themselves while he gets better. It sent a disgusting shiver down my spine how he didn't think twice to shove that little plastic item into my mouth. What if he had a deadly virus and that is what he meant by he could get me killed.