He wasn’t even wearing his manager brows or using the tone as he cursed his way through a recap of the call from the label. He looked rocked, telling us about the concerns for Remi’s safety. Worries about the conditions she’s working under with us. The insinuations we’ve been harassing her. Ones that are worse. A mention of what might happen to her alone with us on the bus. And the straight-out reprehensible question of whether Mac Records needs to “clean up any messes.”

All of it burns on the way down—but the last one’s a blue flame right to the fucking chest.

Christian eventually stops his pacing at the front of our private, soundproofed room. He leans back against the karaoke machine, under the shiny fucking disco ball reflecting shimmering color over us.

“I told you to take them somewhere,” he spat at Colton on his way in, “and you picked the stupidest place.”

Honestly, it was a great time until he started hurling the verbal equivalent of knives at all of us.

I stare at the egregious lime green pattern on the blue carpet while Dev shifts on the couch beside me like he might say something. But Colt beats him, finally breaking the screaming silence inside the walls.

“Hold the hell up.” He stays against the wall, his arms crossed. “They’re claiming she might be sexually ass⁠—”

“Uh-uh,” Christian chides without hiding his annoyance. “We’re not to use possibly ‘harmful words,’ only dance around them like they did. God forbid anyone call forth the boogeyman.”

The bite in Colt’s tone is sharp when he continues, “Fine. They claim Remi might be unsafe on the bus as the only woman, worried the four of us can’t keep our sunshine sticks away from her, so they sent the fucking wannabe to protect her? The dude was practically humping her leg when we picked her up in New York, trying to big dog us.”

“Make it make sense,” Dev mutters.

I grind my teeth together, about to snap at the mere mention of our tour’s new addition. Xander, the wannabe boyfriend she’s clearly fucked. Her roommate who misses her. Her new assistant.

Every thought and feeling bombarding me on the bus before I kissed Remi has resurfaced. Why I can never trust her. Now I remember it all. I remember him.

A friend by any other name.

No excuses, though. I reread the book, expecting a different story.

Christian groans up front. “Christ. Okay.” He groans again, even more exasperated. “Shit. I don’t even want to ask this.”

“I’ll do it then,” Colton says. “Did anyone cross a line with Remi? Say something, do something?”