Demi Lovato Imagines

Coffee Runner pt.2

Unable to see through your glasses, you shove your shoulder up against the metal door to get it to open. It's wet too, of course, and so you can't help but curse when the arm of your shirt is soaked through, making you even colder. Finally inside, you let your bag slip heavily off your shoulder and using the hand that's not holding the scalding hot cup of coffee, you pull the frames off your face, rubbing the lenses smearily clear of rainwater. 

"Good afternoon," Tod grins from by the vending machine. 

"Shut up, Tod," you reply with a roll of your eyes, "You know what traffic's like when it's bloody monsoon season."

"That I do," he chuckles, moving closer and taking your bag from you with a sympathetic smile. "Arizona can be such a bitch."

You smirk affectionately at his poor attempt to emulate his daughter's Gen-Z vocabulary. But you knew he was teasing in the first place, anyway. The number of times you've given him leave for his frequent family crises, whether that be a forgotten parents meeting or teenage breakup relief, means he would never be one to pull you up for lateness. Especially considering you're his boss. 

"It's only just gone nine, anyway. To the stage?"

You tip the cup into your mouth, simultaneously nodding and burning your tongue. 

"Uh, yeah..." you exhale, before quickly correcting yourself, "I mean, no! Stage? I have time to dump all this in my office, no?"

Tod crinkles his forehead, as if in apology. 

"Not really. First arrivals are almost here according to the schedule."

"Schedule? It's Monday morning?"

He holds up a sheet of paper between his thumb and forefinger. You take it from him, quickly scanning the words. 

"I know. But Lovato's team booked the arena from today 'til Thursday. Something about wanting more rehearsal time."

Shit, you groan internally, for the second time this morning. You'd completely forgotten about this week's performer. 

"Two days more rehearsal? Sheesh! She's only on Wednesday and Thursday!"

"You don't have to tell me," Tod shrugs with a tired expression. "Her manager was on the phone to me for at least an hour wanting to talk logistics. Acted like we'd never done this before, if you know what I mean. Was half-tempted to hang up on him if I'm being completely honest."

You rub your assistant's shoulder in solidarity. "Well, I'm glad you stuck in there," you tease, "We can't afford any bad press."

You start to head towards the stage before Tod catches you by the elbow. 

"You're a great director, by the way. And I love that you're my manager."

You nod. And although you know there's a high chance he's just saying it to be kind, the way Tod always is, you appreciate it. There's no denying the fact you're young and relatively inexperienced to have this position. And you'd be lying if you thought yourself worthy of the job, having gone from a runner on various concert tours, to a stagehand on no more than three Broadway shows, to suddenly being a music director at one of Arizona's top arenas. You've felt unable to risk pinching yourself over the past year and a half for fear of this all evaporating into nothing. 

"Thanks, T. You're the real GOAT."

He starts to laugh before his face melts into one of total confusion.  

"Nevermind," you say, "Let's just go and face the music."

"Y/n?"