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Margot nods in agreement. “She’s right, Ra. Lacie’s still clearly upset about the show.”
Her agent runs a sweaty hand down his wrinkled face and exhales. “That girl is a menace. But I’ve been in this business long enough to know that it’ll all blow over eventually.”
I grip the back of Kallista’s chair so hard my knuckles go white. Luthor looks at my hands, then up at my face, and sneers. “Just keep her from falling into any more pools in the future, yeah?”
“Sure. If you agree not to book Kallista with shady criminals living on defunct asteroids,” I fire back with a glare.
“General Atraxis is a well-respected veteran and a dear, old friend of mine. He didn’t deserve to have his goddamn tail hacked off by a lunatic!” Luthor’s face turns bright as a cherry, ready to burst at a second’s notice.
I take a step toward Luthor and lean in close to his face. “With all due respect, Luthor, General Atraxis is the number one buyer and seller of all hard drugs coming into the galaxy. Did you know that?”
Margot gasps, and Kallista’s jaw slackens in shock.
Luthor grips the white linen napkin on his lap and twists it into knots.
“You knew, didn’t you? And yet you still booked her. Interesting.” I try my best to keep the fury out of my voice. It may or may not be working.
“Ten million credits,” he chokes out. “Ten. Million. Down the drain now, thanks to you.”
All the color drains from Kallista’s face. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, then says, “Luthor? Do I need to start looking for other representation?”
Luthor’s eyes widen, and a look of shame flits across his features. Didn’t know he had it in him to feel shame, but here we are, I guess.
“No, honey. You don’t need to do that. It won’t happen again,” he says, reaching over the table to pat the back of Kal’s hand. “Next time, I’ll run everything by your new head of security here. How does that sound?”
All of the good nature Kallista had left to spare dissolves. “Like you should have done to begin with,” she says, her voice deadpan. “Get your shit together, or I’m out. You understand? You work for me, remember?”
Margot’s snort cuts through the tension, and Lydia and Luthor take a drink from their glasses. All except for Kallista, who sits there, impassive. I can’t help but feel a little proud of her for standing her ground. Whenever I start to think she’s just another naïve popstar, she does something to surprise me.
“Since that’s taken care of and we’ve all eaten,” Luthor says, “it’s time to get our little star to the venue.”
But I growl low in my throat and lean forward to whisper in Kallista’s ear. “You haven’t touched your food. Do you want something else?”
Kallista flinches and inches away in her seat, then casts a nervous glance at Luthor and Margot.
“I’m fine,” she says, but I can tell she isn’t. She’s too nervous to eat, but she needs something more substantial than soup if she’s going to sing and dance around a stage under blistering hot lights for hours on end. I’ve seen too many of my teammates pass out over the years because they didn’t take care of themselves. This isn’t Terraball, but the same principles apply, I figure.
“You should eat some protein. Steak. Eggs. Literally anything but that,” I say, pointing at the bowl of soup.
Margot’s eyes turn to slits as she looks up from her terminal. “Kallista doesn’t eat before a show. She bloats too easily.”
“It’s more important to have the strength and stamina to perform,” I press.
Luthor tosses his napkin onto the table, clearly agitated with me. “Try to remember that you’re her guard,” he snaps, “not her caregiver. We don’t pay you for nutritional advice. Remember your place.”
Yeah. The feeling is definitely mutual. Luthor is officially on my shit list.
But Margot can possibly be reasoned with. When we leave the café, I notice the color drain from Kallista’s face. Not even her Weave can hide it. Once she’s in her dressing room, there are a couple stops I plan on making.
* * *
There’s so much venue security back here, I don’t feel too guilty for leaving Kal behind to run off to the mini mart. Especially when I give the two burly security officers outside her door clear verbal instructions not to let anyone through without showing their identification.
When I come back, carrying a plastic bag of foodstuffs, I flash the gentlemen my terminal ID. It flickers in the air between us for a couple of seconds while they scan my credentials, then step aside to let me in. Glad to see they’re taking their jobs seriously. I heard about the creep hiding out in the dressing room situation, and we don’t need a repeat of that night.
The inside of the dressing room is tight, cluttered, and so brightly lit I have to rub my eyes a few times before they adjust. Once they do, I look around the room for any sign of Kallista.
“Kallista?” I call out. “Are you in here?”
