Then I head for the same hallway. It’s empty when I round the corner, the angry rock star already inside where the cold professionalism will no doubt continue from everyone. Even knowing all the details, I’m unsure of my next step.

I pause at the door, looking up and preparing myself for whatever happens on the other side. But when I push down on the handle, it doesn’t budge. No give at all.

They locked me out. The band fucking locked me out.

Or at least the last person to walk in did.

* * *

I throw the door open to the band’s dressing room after the concert. The handle on the other side bangs into the wall behind it as I charge in.

I never come in post-show, always grabbing my bags before the tits and dicks are on display, but not tonight. Also, there aren’t any tits or dicks since Felix and Dev passed me like I didn’t exist on their way to the exit.

An asshole sits on the tan leather couch, though.

Foster’s eyes lift long enough to slash me with a glare, then lower again. “I thought you’d take the hint you’re not welcome in here, director,” he says, voice rough from performing. “Get out before I call security to take care of it.”

“Take care of it?” I spit back. “I’m filming a documentary about your band, and you locked me out. We had shots planned…”

My attention dives to the guitar case on the coffee table in front of him. The coke he’s cutting on top of the smooth surface.

“What the fuck, Foster?” I glance over my shoulder to the door, realizing anyone could walk by. He might not care, but I do. I close it and come back, his head shaking in annoyance I’m still here.

He can fucking deal.

“I get you’re mad at me, but messing with filming over it? None of this works if you cut off my access to you. To all of you.”

Foster tosses aside the keycard and looks up, giving a careless shrug. “I told you I’d do my job when your wannabe boyfriend does his.”

I swallow down the urge to scream at him for being such a dick. “Xander filmed the merch table and entrance line tonight. He did his job.”

“Nah, I mean his real one. Tell me which of us he’s protected you from. Or is him feeling you up backstage part of his plan? If he’s doing it, no one else can? Fucking genius, honestly.” A harsh smirk forms, and I drop my gaze because he’s getting to me. “Maybe he’ll earn a raise for fucking you.”