Demi Lovato Imagines

Betrayal

"Demi wants to speak with you?"

"Me?"

Kelsey looks around the room with exaggeration, never once breaking the unamused expression.

"Yeah, you," she states. "Come on."

She doesn't even give you a second to roll out of your split you were stretching on the floor, turning and disappearing out the room and ten feet down the corridor before you can catch up with her.

"Why?" you puff, yanking the bobble out of your hair and letting the knotty ponytail fall into loose, equally knotty waves down your back.

"She'll tell you once we get there," Kelsey replies in a flat voice, stepping first into the lift and pressing the number for the floor above. The doors slide shut.

"Should I be nervous?" you laugh, trying to abate the awkwardness as your reflections on all four sides stare back at you. She doesn't answer, and flicks her eyes away from you as your smile dissolves.

"Kels?"

When the doors open, she strides straight out and you follow like a lost puppy, around the corner and towards the suite at the end.

"Can you just tell me what the matter is?" you plead, voice breaking as you rush to ask a person you know you can speak to. Demi's nice and all, but she's your boss. And she intimidates the hell out of you.

"She just said to fetch you. I don't know anything," Kelsey mumbles, swiping the card down the lock and pushing the door open. Demi and the rest of them are sitting in the middle of the room, around the coffee table. Makeup bags and hairdryers lie sprawled on the bed, so far untouched. No one gets ready for the show until later in the afternoon anyway.

"Go," Kelsey whispers from the door, pressing her hand against the small of your back. But you don't move. You've made a concerted effort to avoid situations like these ever since you got this gig, knowing you would never be able to keep your cool. Every curtain call, every rehearsal, you've made sure not to be left alone with the singer in fear of embarrassing yourself. Always sticking like glue to one of the other dancers or one of Demi's guests, you've been fine. This curveball just isn't ideal.

"Come inside, Y/n," Demi orders, immediately looking back to Jill to continue the conversation they were having. You're obviously disturbing something but it doesn't look like you have the option to excuse yourself and apologise for being an inconvenience. Eventually, Kelsey just pushes you in, closing the door behind you and walking over to the window seat, a good few metres away from the rest of the group.

"Sit down," Demi speaks again, pointing towards a lone chair that sits across from her. She picks up her phone from the table, holding it in her hands. You lower yourself down shakily.

"Can I ask you a question, Y/n?" she asks. Your name sounds foreign in her voice, your avoidance of her making you think that maybe she didn't even know it.

"Sure."

"Do you like working with us?"

The proposition stuns you, already threatening to bring tears to your eyes. Looking ungrateful is not something you had worried about these past few months. Until right now.

"Yes. I love it. And I'm so appreciative of the opportunity," you say politely, and perhaps too stiffly. The tough leather beneath your legs pulls at your skin, hot and tacky from nerves.

"Huh," she hums, unlocking her phone and scrolling down for a couple of seconds. You feel your heart beating hard against your ribcage. "And...do you still speak to Grace?"