I slip in my earbuds before I video chat her. Being a man of my word, I keep my phone down, and when she answers, I flip the camera around so the fountain shows. I break into a smile, seeing her camera pointed to a white ceiling.

“Beautiful view,” I say.

The bubbles pop up on the chat, and I chuckle, not opening it when the dot appears.

“Nah, baby. Use your words.”

A soft sigh comes over the line, and then, “Baby, huh? So much for strictly business.”

Her voice is quiet and raspy, like she’s keeping it between the two of us. I lower mine even though no one else is around me in the empty room.

“Maybe I’m a liar,” I tell her.

She lets out a huff. “This was such a bad idea.”

I get to my feet and move back to the fountain. “Right. Let’s start over.”

She’s quiet on the other end. So quiet I almost fall into the silence before I hear her breathe again.

“Hey, Remi,” I say, my lips turned up even though she can’t see me.

A few more seconds pass. “Hey, Foster.”

I smile the rest of the way.

8

REMI

Now…

I’ve always dreamed of being fully immersed in my work. Of shooting a documentary where I live, breathe, and sleep the subject. I just never really thought through the sleeping part until right now, awkwardly standing with my camera bag slipping off my shoulder in front of a luxury bus.

The band just finished kicking off the last leg of their tour with a show in LA. I’ve been filming with my handheld ever since they stampeded off the stage. Loving every second of the excitement of finally getting on the road. Even if it is mostly B-roll of cables being wound and bags flinging into storage beneath the buses. The power of adventure intoxicates.

At least it did until a few seconds ago when the coordinator directed me to a bus. The one without the band’s faces on the side. The discreet one, lower profile for the higher-profile occupants.

Glory and Nate—my assistants for cam and audio—disappeared onto the other bus a few minutes ago with the rest of our equipment. The bus I should be on. I can easily film footage on the road by riding with the band a few hours here and there if that’s what the label’s worried about.

I’m hesitating outside the bus, about to go object when a hot body brushes by me. Foster’s arm grazes mine, causing him to pause on the bus’s steps and look over his shoulder. He quirks a brow, seeing me below. I can’t help but take it as a challenge, and with a dismissive shake of his head, he makes up my mind for me.

I readjust my bag’s strap and climb up behind him.