I press my lips together to school my expression as his face tips to the ceiling.

“And that’s why,” he mumbles.

His gorgeous wife pops her blonde head in from beside him long enough to wink at me and kiss his cheek. Turns out, the director did have a metaphorical gun to his head this entire time.

Once she and her baby belly have gone, the unholy glare Heath unleashes on me is a warning, a threat, and possibly a curse on my soul if I say a word about it. But I wouldn’t dare. The man slipped, showing he cares for me by overstepping with the label. He was dangerously close to humanity with an almost-apology. Buried deep in there might have even been a near admission of respect.

The tiniest push and he may implode.

“I’ll be sure to make my point succinctly in the future.”

“Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. Now, do I need to hold your hand to get the Adams interview or can you do us both a favor and fucking nail it down?”

“There will be three Adams interviews by the end of the tour. The only hand you need to hold is Jasmine’s in the delivery room. Who else will scowl and terrorize the birthing center staff if not you?”

I tack on a grin he ignores completely.

“The first two better not take until then,” he says. “After you get those and the last of your main shots once the break is over, you don’t need to stay on the road. With Xander there, your crew can finish up and send you the footage.”

The comment catches me off guard, the plan being I remain on tour until the very end. “I can’t leave before New York. I need to conduct the third solo interviews after their last concert.”

“So, you meet the band in New York for the wrap interviews or fly out to LA.” Heath grabs his phone, his interest waning.

I shake my head. “I’ll probably stay. Who knows what shot we might miss.”

“I don’t care what you do, Sinner. Just don’t fuck it up.” Without looking, he reaches forward to end the call, but he stops and glances up. My mentor’s jaw appears ready to crack until he forces out, “I’m glad I was wrong. Tell me if it changes.”

The video blacks out before I manage words. Probably a good thing because I can deal with heartless prick with a god complex Heath Erickson all day long. But I am ill-equipped for whoever I talked to just now.

I return to reviewing footage, nearly caught up. Heath was technically right. Other than three key shots and a handful of self-indulgent ones—I still haven’t used the projector—Glory, Nate, and Xander could complete shooting for the last month of the tour. It would clear me up to start assembling raw footage and structure the story.