Page 42 of Painted Truths

Until he obliterates everything.

"But don't get excited, Peaches. I'm not into my brother's sloppy seconds." Then, shoving away from me as though I've stung him, he crosses the room in quick strides. I don’t wait to see what he does next, instead choosing to run from him.

For the second time today.

I take the elevator to the foyer, emailing Alex on the way to let him know I'll be continuing my work from home for the remainder of the day.

I really am beginning to think this job is more hassle than it's worth.

* * *

"Come on, girl! Alex is downstairs."

"Just a sec, Jo. I've got to grab my heels."

Moving past my best friends, who are both looking fine as hell tonight in matching rainbow sequin co-ords, I almost trip over my own two feet as I race into my room to locate my new silver sandals that lace up to my knee. I've matched them with a white bandage dress that almost shows my underwear, but I'm trusting that Josie's innate fashion sense hasn't steered me wrong yet.

I don't think I've ever been as grateful to see the end of a work week. I felt like I was walking on eggshells until I got word midweek from Freya, who has somehow managed to mostly keep a lid on the rumour mill, that Henry had been forced to go away for the rest of the week on an unscheduled trip stateside. And so, Thursday and Friday were much more relaxed, knowing he wouldn't pop up anytime soon like an unwanted pimple.

Plus, I had tonight's concert to think about, which definitely brightened my week.

I shimmy out of the room, excited for the night ahead, with my hands in the air to meet the waiting high fives of my girls.

"Okay, let's get this show on the road, ladies."

Grabbing our bags and coats from the hall table, we make our way out of the building and jump into the stretch Hummer that Alex had Samuel driving just for the special occasion.

The man himself is inside, sprawled out on the neon-lit seats with his lopsided grin front and centre, the very picture of chill.

After the angst of last weekend, Alex rocked up to work on Monday, before the showdown with wanker extraordinaire, like a fucking god, light brown hair slicked back, brushing the collar of his shirt. His eyes had flashed amber fire, ready to defend me to the nth degree, not that I'd needed it. Other than Andrea's remarks, no one else had said a single word about the spectacle at the Gala.

I had to hand it to him; he was really coming out of his shell since the semi showdown with Henry, and I was proud as all hell of him. Even though I am still gagging to know what words had been exchanged between the brothers before Henry had claimed me for that dance.

The trip to the O2 is a relatively short distance, but during that time, we fit in three bottles of Dom Perignon between the four of us and being the cheap drunk I have realised myself to be, I'm properly buzzed as we go inside.

The place is absolutely packed and about ninety-five percent female, but Alex has spoiled us by booking a private suite so that we can take in the atmosphere without being crushed in the throng.

He chooses this moment to produce VIP backstage passes for our group after the show, resulting in lots of screaming and a few tears, all of which are from me as Jo and Nola aren't half as in love with Misdirection as I so obviously am.

The warm-up act is really good, but they only play a handful of songs before making way for the main event.

We spend the time chatting amongst our little foursome, downing several more glasses of champers and generally soaking up the electricity within the stadium. The night is charged with excitement and possibility.

Each member of Misdirection arrives separately, as they always do, garnering individual cheers, which seem to ramp up their own excitement.

Of course, the loudest screams are for Misdirection's frontman and lead singer, Caden North, whose blonde locks, panty-dropping smile, and devil-may-care attitude have enamoured women and men the world over.

"Good evening, London!"

The screams reach a fever pitch, and it feels like the ground is shaking beneath us, despite being in a box well above the earth.

"How're all you wankers doing tonight?"

As Caden continues his spiel that we, the fans, know and love so well, Alex turns to me while Nola and Jo are busy shouting alongside the rest of the O2.

"I heard you had a meeting with Martha this week. You never said. Everything okay?"

His brow is furrowed, and his eyes are full of concern as he looks me straight in the eye. I look right back and lie blatantly.