32. Margot
32
margot
Mya’s face floods with relief as soon as I’m back at the table. “Margot! Thank God!”
I slip through a gap in the line and make my way around the side of the table. “What’s up? Everything okay?” I do a quick scan of the scene to see if anything stands out, but the line is nowhere near as busy as it was when we were both working.
She frantically waves me over before handing a guy his T-shirt with an award-winning smile. In the time it takes for customers to swap places, Mya leans in and says, “The cash box is missing. I thought I put it in that box to hide it under the shirts, but now that box is empty and it’s not there.”
My eyes widen before looking at the cashbox she just put money into.
“This is the second one,” she quickly adds with panic rising in her voice.
“Okay,” I say with a nod. “We’ll find it. It will be okay.”
She nods too, but her green eyes are almost glassy like she’s trying to hold back tears.
Starting with the box at the end, I rifle through its contents, hoping to feel the cool metal against my fingertips, but there’s nothing but shirts and more shirts.
There’s no way someone could have rifled through the boxes without either of us noticing. We’re practically backed up against the wall. Someone would literally have to step over boxes just to get to most of them.
With each box I check, my anxiety spikes. Even if the money is locked up, I don’t think it would be too difficult for someone to break it open. We have two tables set up perpendicular to each other, basically making an L shape that would bar anyone from coming in on one side. I’m assuming this is how Mya sets up for all the shows, and I don’t think she’s ever had an issue with missing merchandise or cash boxes before, but what do I know?
A hand on my back makes me jump, but I look up to find Jackson’s storm-like eyes scrutinizing me with a slight crease of worry as he crouches down next to me. “What are you doing?”
I’m kneeling by one of the final boxes and digging through it. “Mya can’t find the cash box.”
Resting his elbow on his knee, he looks over at Mya who’s still handling customers like nothing is amiss.
“The other one,” I clarify.
Jackson’s eyes jump back to me. “Was it full?”
I shrug. I haven’t been the one handling money all night, but if she moved to the second box, I’d say there’s probably a decent amount of cash in the first. “Full enough?”
“Fuck.” The word bites the air around us as it leaves Jackson’s lips. “Brian will give her so much shit for this.” He moves to the box next to me and rummages through the various pullovers and hoodies.
We finish checking each box, but there’s no sign of it. There aren’t many other places to look either. Unless we decide to scour the entire venue.
“Let’s check the bathrooms.” Jackson takes my hand. “I doubt anyone would try to break it open here, but you never know.”
“Okay.” Reaching out, I gently tap Mya.
As soon as she looks over, her face goes from a customer service smile to anxious in an instant. “Any luck?”
I shake my head. “We’ll keep looking.”
She bites her bottom lip and nods before looking at the next customer and flipping the switch. She beams up at him and even laughs when he says something that probably wasn’t funny.
As it turns out, checking the bathrooms is easier said than done. Jackson gets stopped four times on the way there. Each time it happened, he looked at me like I was a lifeline. I could see how torn he was. Stuck between wanting to tell them he had more important things to do and not wanting to let down his fans. When he’d stop to take a picture with someone, his eyes always found mine for a fraction of a second—checking to see what I thought of all this. I don’t think he’s used to this much attention yet. I’m certainly not used to seeing him get it.
But I put on my best smile because he can read me too well for his own good. I nodded encouragingly when someone asked for him to sign their ticket. I squeezed his hand reassuringly before letting go so he could take a picture with a group of girls. I even pulled him back when an eager fan called out to him, but he didn’t hear it.
Of course, he’s overwhelmed. It’s overwhelming for me, too. Not in the same way it is for Jackson. I get that. But even being in close proximity to him feels like getting sucked into a vacuum.
The other band hasn’t taken the stage yet, so it looks like everyone is using this time for a quick bathroom break. The men’s room miraculously doesn’t have a line, but the line for the women’s restroom runs along the narrow hallway.
“Damn,” Jackson mutters as he takes in the scene. “Okay, I’ll go check the men’s, and then I’ll come wait with you. Try not to do anything that will start a riot.”
I smile sweetly at him. “Me?”
He scoffs. “You don’t fool me, Red.”
I know he’s referring to the cats. I’m pretty sure he got angry texts for the better part of a month. A soft smile brushes my lips at the memory as I watch him walk away and into the men’s room.
“Was that Jackson Phillips?”
I look at the girls in front of me to find almost every woman in line craning their neck to get a better look at me.
My mouth opens but the pressure of their combined stares makes it impossible to say anything. Am I supposed to lie? Would confirming it’s him essentially start a riot? But at the same time, these women know. They already know, without a doubt, that Jackson Phillips just went into the men’s restroom, and that I was the one who walked over here with him. “Um, I think so?”
I sound so stupid.
“How do you know him? Are you his girlfriend?” The girl closest to me stares with wide eyes, and I feel like the intensity behind her expression doesn’t match the question she asked. She’s looking at me more like she just asked if I was a foreign spy sent here to destroy us all.
“Oh, please don’t tell me he has a girlfriend!” One girl further down practically wails, and I jolt, startled by her outburst.
What the hell am I supposed to say? Jackson never told me how to handle something like this, and I didn’t realize he was well-known enough for me to ask beforehand. Damn my famous boyfriend for not telling me he was actually becoming famous.
Jackson exits the bathroom, and I suddenly know how every fairytale princess has felt when the knight in shining armor shows up to save her. He may be wearing a somewhat wrinkled T-shirt and nothing about him shines or gleams, but I feel like I can breathe again.
It takes him half a second to spot me still in line, and another half a second to read through the pure panic in my gaze. When he slowly looks at the other women standing in front of me, he must put the pieces together because he walks up to me, grabs my hand, and says something about how, “It’s probably not in the bathroom.”
He quickly pulls me away from the line, but not before I hear the immediate chatter break out. I have no idea what they’re saying, but I have a feeling I’m not their favorite person right now.