Chapter 6: The Rival Reporter
924 Words
By the end of the week, Maya had learned two things: rehearsal schedules were unpredictable, and Adrian’s moods even more so. Some mornings he was sharp, almost playful. Other days he carried silence like armor. She took notes, careful to separate what belonged in her draft and what belonged only in her chest.
Friday afternoon, Horizon’s lobby was busier than usual. Photographers loitered on the pavement outside, flashes bouncing off the glass doors. Inside, staff hurried past with heads down. The smell of coffee and perfume lingered in the air.
Maya had just signed in when a voice called her name.
“Well, if it isn’t Maya Bennett.”
She turned. Oliver Grant leaned against the reception desk, phone in hand. He was tall, sharp-suited, with the kind of grin that always felt rehearsed. She knew him, every journalist did. Oliver worked for Pulse Weekly, a magazine known for glossy spreads and sharper claws. He thrived on scandal.
“Oliver,” Maya said flatly.
“You look surprised,” he said. “What, you think you’re the only one Horizon invites into the temple?”
“I didn’t think they invited vultures,” she replied.
His grin widened. “Careful. People might start thinking you’re protective of Mr. Cole.”
She stiffened. “I’m professional.”
Oliver’s eyes glinted. “Professional enough to keep him out of bed?”
Before she could answer, Adrian’s driver entered the lobby. Oliver straightened, smoothing his tie. “We’ll talk again, Bennett. Can’t wait to read your… profile.” He made the last word sound dirty, then walked out, leaving the taste of threat in the air.
Upstairs, Maya found Adrian pacing with his guitar in hand, headphones looped around his neck. Liv and Theo were setting up, Ash tuning his bass. Daniel hovered near the door, muttering into his phone.
“You’re late,” Adrian said.
“By two minutes,” she countered.
“That’s late,” he said, but his tone was lighter than his words.
She smiled despite herself and opened her notebook.
The rehearsal was rough, tempo slips, missed cues, a microphone that refused to cooperate. Adrian grew tense, jaw tight, fingers drumming on his guitar body between takes. By the third failed run, he yanked the strap over his head and tossed the guitar onto the couch.
“Take ten,” he snapped.
The room scattered. Liv offered Maya a sympathetic shrug before disappearing into the hall.
Adrian sat, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor. Maya hesitated, then crossed the room and crouched in front of him.
“Talk to me,” she said.
“About what?”
“About whatever’s making you crush your teeth right now.”
He huffed out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “Sound. People. My head.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And Daniel won’t stop whispering about press.”
“Oliver Grant was downstairs,” Maya said quietly.
That got his attention. His eyes sharpened. “What did he want?”
“To rattle me. To dig.”
“And did he?”
She shook her head. “Not enough.”
Adrian leaned back, studying her. “Stay away from him. He’ll twist whatever you say. Doesn’t matter how harmless it feels.”
“I know how he works,” she said.
He leaned forward again, elbows on knees. “Then don’t give him a single line.”
Their eyes held. The tension between them was different now, not heat, not yet, but something like defense. As if the world outside this studio was a predator and the two of them had been forced into the same corner.
When rehearsal ended late that evening, Adrian walked her to the lift. Daniel watched from across the room, tablet tucked under his arm, expression unreadable.
“You’re quiet,” Adrian said as the doors slid shut.
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Necessary,” she said.
He tilted his head. “Thinking about me?”
“Yes,” she admitted, surprising herself.
His lips curved. “Good. Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Her pulse jumped. She tried to mask it with a smile. “That’s not very professional.”
“Neither is kissing in Studio B,” he said softly.
The air thickened. She looked away before she could forget where they were.
At the ground floor, the doors opened, and the moment broke.
That night, Maya’s phone buzzed as she sat at her desk, draft open but untouched. A new message.
Unknown: Saw you leaving with Cole tonight. Didn’t take you long.
No signature, but she didn’t need one. Oliver.
Her fingers hovered over the keys. Then another message:
Don’t worry. I won’t tell your editor… if you tell me what he’s hiding.
Maya’s stomach tightened. She blocked the number, heart hammering, then dropped her phone on the desk like it was burning.
A moment later, another buzz. This time Adrian.
A: Safe?
She exhaled. Typed back: Yes. Why?
A: Just checking. Tomorrow, early. I’ll send details.
She stared at the screen, thumb hovering. Then she typed: Thank you.
Three dots blinked. Then disappeared. Then returned.
A: Don’t thank me. Just don’t let anyone twist you. They’ll try.
Maya closed her laptop, switched off the light, and sat in the dark with her phone in her hand. The story she thought she was writing was shifting. It wasn’t just about music anymore.
It was about secrets and who would get to tell them first.
- Writer
