Ouch.
“And yes, his name is Lucas, he’s one of the main rappers, also second visual according to most of the fans. He’s a favorite, but he doesn’t speak to people he doesn’t know. It’s his thing, he’s… difficult. Once he gets over that stage, you can most likely call him by his nickname— Actually, save yourself the trouble. Just use their stage names. You’ll just butcher their actual names and embarrass yourself, then I’ll have to make excuses for you, and it’s just not worth it at this point.”
And the hits just kept coming.
“What about the guy with the red hair again?” I blurted. She’d said everything so fast that I barely caught visual and rapper before nearly having a nervous breakdown.
She sighed. “Just stay diligent.”
What the ever-loving hell did that mean?
She grabbed my suitcase. I had to almost jog to keep up with her as we went back down the entryway and scanned a little card on a door directly to the right of their front door.
She shoved it open with her hip.
It was a small apartment.
One you’d pay two grand a month to live in, back in Seattle.
It had one large window in the sparse living room. Had two leather couches, a fur rug, and a flat-screen TV attached to the wall.
There was a mini-kitchen with a stainless steel fridge and a microwave, which I was thankful for. The sink was next to the bar, which had two metal stools.
And to the far right of the kitchen was one tiny bedroom with a place to hang all my clothes.
The room had one mattress on the floor and a desk.
I wasn’t complaining.
“This is where you’ll be living for the next three months. We keep most of the interns close to the group, especially this one so that you can be at their every beck and call.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
Not one bit.
“But—” I licked my lips and tried not to sound frustrated. “I’ll get to see them record too, right? I really want to see that side of things, the writing, the producing, the process of…” My voice trailed off as her eyes widened to a frightening level. “Sorry, you were saying?”
“You’re an intern. You’re only job is to make sure they’re happy, and they stay on good behavior. No scandals. In the US, a scandal makes you famous. Here, it kills your entire career in an instant—here, idols commit suicide from the pressure, a mistaken dating scandal where they’re caught holding hands with the wrong person. The comments on Instagram alone are enough to send them into a tailspin of depression.” She shuddered. “The production company loses millions, and there is no comeback. That’s why you’re here. You study their profiles down to their blood type.”
Did she just say blood type?
“And you get them what they need before they need it.”
“You mean along with guarding the elevator?”
Her gorgeous face fell. “That’s not typical, but after today…”
“What happened today?” I asked as she handed me a portfolio folder with an iPad on top. Her hands were busy, but her face was etched with concern as she exhaled and then repeated the process like she wasn’t getting enough air.
“Lucas …” Her voice hitched. “…was found with a girl—a fan, kissing. He says it wasn’t his fault that she attacked him, but she said that he’s been texting her, that they have a relationship. It hit the news last week, blew up this week, and fans went wild as if he cheated on the whole world when he didn’t do anything wrong. This afternoon, Soyuja Siu found him… on the roof.”
“The roof? Why? To get away from the chaos?”
Her eyes locked on mine as she shoved another portfolio into my hands. “To jump. He was on the roof to jump.”
I’d never understood the importance of elevator duty so much.
I felt my knees weaken. “I’ll guard the elevator with my life.”
“Good, because his may just depend on it.”
“Shouldn’t he be on suicide watch?” I asked softly, remembering all of the psych classes I was forced to take as an undergrad.
“And make his shame even more public?” She seemed horrified at the thought.
Shame? What did she mean shame? If he was depressed, he needed help! He needed someone to talk to! He didn’t need to be babysat by an intern! That wasn’t the answer.
“It’s about what’s best for him, right?” I tried a different angle. Even though I didn’t know him, he seemed too young to be dealing with that kind of pressure—they all did.
“No.” Her smile was sad. “It’s about what’s best for the group, their fans, and the company. That’s their reality. That’s what they signed up for.”
I couldn’t wrap my head around it. One of the guys in there looked barely old enough to be out of high school. “Forget the group. What about the individual?”