Chapter 8
The hotel in Toronto is right on Lake Ontario. Erin has never been here before, and she looks around the lobby, not knowing where she'd even start if she had any free time. It's been so long since she did anything just for herself that the thought makes her anxious.
"Your key," Violette says, appearing at her side in the lobby.
Erin takes the card, and just as she's about to put it away, the lawyer hands her another one.
"That's the key to Mia's suite, in case of an emergency. You're right next door to each other — that's how it'll be from here on out."
Erin takes it too and tucks both cards away without asking questions.
She lost track of the singer a while back.
The moment they pulled up to the hotel entrance, there were about twenty fans who'd somehow found out their favorite artist was staying there, and two bodyguards the size of doorframes surrounded her and walked her inside, followed by Noah — so she figures they took her straight up to her suite while security cleared the area.
"If you want anything sent up to eat, just pick up the phone and ask for it — the expenses are on us, so don't worry about that. I won't be with you the whole tour; I'll be coming and going. So if you need anything, or you've got a question and I'm not around, my advice is to go to Nell."
"Who?"
The lawyer smiles.
"Right, sorry. You don't know her yet — she'll be here tomorrow.
She's coming later because she had to wrap something up in New York.
She's the tour's production manager. You'll know her because she has short gray hair, she looks prickly, and she is if she doesn't like you — but I don't think that'll be the case with you. See you later."
Violette disappears before Erin can ask anything else, but she has a pretty clear picture for now, so she grabs her suitcase and takes the elevator up to the top floor.
When she walks into her room, she freezes in the doorway.
It's enormous — much bigger than her entire living room back home — and when she checks the bathroom, she finds a jacuzzi.
"Holy shit," she murmurs, stunned.
She spends the next thirty minutes showering and unpacking until someone knocks at her door. When she opens it, she finds Noah shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking at her with that warm, particular smile of his.
"Sorry to bother you, but if you've got a minute — I'm about to go over the week's schedule with Mia, and Jude said you'd need to be in the loop, so..."
"Of course. Let me grab my phone."
She steps out a second later and walks barely five feet to the next door. Mia opens it in sweatpants, a plain white tee, and wet hair fresh from the shower. She's barefoot and makeup-free, and she looks younger than she is.
Erin passes her on the way in and notices Mia drop her gaze slightly as she walks by, checking out her ass. She doesn't make anything of it — she hasn't forbidden that, and as long as Mia keeps respecting the rules, everything will be fine.
"Okay," Noah starts, kicking off his sneakers and stretching out on the massive sofa in the singer's suite.
Erin sits down on a smaller one across from it and pulls out her notebook while she watches them.
He's lying sideways, feet pointing left, elbow propped on the armrest, tablet in front of him.
Mia is beside him with her legs tucked to the opposite side, so Noah's head is almost resting on her leg.
For a moment, Erin feels a small, healthy pang of envy — she's never had a friend she shared that kind of easy closeness with.
Maybe if she hadn't been so relentlessly responsible, her life wouldn't feel as empty as it sometimes does.
But she's not someone who dwells on things like that, so she just moves forward with what she has.
She's about to start taking notes when Noah looks up.
"Wouldn't you rather have a tablet, Erin? I can get you one right now. The notebook is kind of..." He stops, flushing.
"Old-fashioned?" she offers. "I think better with my own notes, even if nobody else can read them — so don't worry about it, but thanks, Noah."
"Okay, so here's what's on the schedule," the assistant says, unlocking his screen.
"Today: arrival and rest. Tomorrow: rehearsal from five to eight p.m. at Scotiabank Arena.
Wednesday is press day — two interviews in the morning, a magazine photo shoot in the afternoon.
Am I going too fast?" He pauses, looking at Erin.
"No, you're good, keep going," she answers without looking up from her notebook.
Mia watches her. Erin has changed — she's wearing the same style of pants but in a different color and an oversized tee that still leaves those toned arms completely bare, which Mia keeps fixating on without meaning to.
"Thursday: soundcheck at five, show at nine. We fly to Boston the next morning."
Erin looks up at that last part. It all seems very packed, barely any downtime — but the two friends seem used to living like this, so she decides not to complain and just tries to take it in.
"That's it?" she asks.
"Yeah — we'll meet again Friday and go over the following days. That's how we do it," Noah explains.
"Got it."
She closes her notebook when she realizes the meeting is over and she's the only one who needs to leave — Noah looks settled in for a while longer with his friend.
"Let me check your pulse, then I'll get out of your way," she says, moving toward Mia.
It catches Mia off guard, and her heart jumps when Erin crouches in front of her and gently takes her wrist.
While the doctor counts the beats against her watch, Mia's eyes stay fixed on her, and Noah watches his friend long enough to conclude that she doesn't look at Dr. Dooley the way she looks at other people.
Erin seems to spark genuine curiosity in the singer, and Noah isn't sure whether that's a good thing or whether it'll just make Erin's job harder.
"Is she okay?" Noah asks when Erin jots Mia's pulse down in her notebook.
"Yeah, a little fast, but within normal range." She looks at Mia now. "I'll have dinner sent up to you at seven. If you don't tell me what you want, I'll pick for you. You can eat with Noah or with whoever you want, but I'll stop by later to make sure you've actually eaten."
"So you really are going to be a pain," Mia murmurs, with a smile that isn't meant to be flirtatious — but it slips out on its own, and it tightens something low in Erin's stomach that she shuts down firmly.
"Afraid so. Drink at least two glasses of water with dinner," she says before heading out.
Mia lets her head fall back against the sofa, and Noah sits up abruptly.
"She's your doctor. She's here to take care of your medical problem, not your underwear."
The singer grabs a throw pillow and smacks him hard.
"Don't worry — she's made it very clear my underwear doesn't interest her," she says with a dramatic pout.
Noah blinks first, then opens his mouth to say something, but a sudden burst of laughter cuts him off, and his friend catches it before she can help it.