Page 36 of Not Another Rockstar
Clenching her jaw, she watched the intruder tear up her studio, ruining canvas after canvas. She ran her hand through her hair as hours of her work disappeared before her.So much for having enough paintings left over for my two remaining shows. Four of my largest canvases gone—I’ll just have to fill up the space with smaller works.Maybe Lena was right about considering cancelling the next two shows…but she didn’t want to let the trolls win. Her leg bounced as she waited for a glimpse of something that would lead her to the person responsible.
“Turn around, show me that face,” she pleaded, watching the intruder leave.
The idiot couldn’t help but glance back at their own masterpiece.
“Bingo.” Phoebe smiled.
Zooming in, she got a better look at his blurry face. He was probably in his early thirties, pale and eyes a little too far apart. There was nothing familiar about him. It was incredible to her that someone she didn’t know could hate her so much to risk getting in trouble with the law.
Once she got a screenshot of his face, she watched him walk back to a red jeep and drive off without a care in the world.
She called the band’s head of security for help identifying the intruder. “Olivier? It’s Phoebe. Sorry to call you, I know it’s late.”
“Hi Phoebe. No need to apologise, I was just getting in from a job. Is everything alright?” She heard traffic in the background.
“Could you help me find someone?” she asked, not wasting any time with small talk. “I have a picture but it’s blurry, and a picture of their jeep.”
Olivier was the only one who could help her without having to reach out to the police. She wanted to look the person who’ddone this in the eye and dare them to spew their hate to her face. Only a coward hid in the shadows.
“Are you in trouble? Is someone harassing you?”
“Nothing to worry about. Just a small incident at the studio,” she said, removing the ice from her frozen hand. She flexed her fingers as she added the screenshots to an email.
“Okay, if you say so,” he said hesitantly, but he didn’t ask anything more. “Send me the photos and I’ll reach out to some people.”
Olivier wasn’t one for conversation, but he had been protecting the band since their first headline concert and there was no one else she trusted more. She couldn’t imagine how he felt losing Cillian. He would never have let them through the gate that day in Munich, but he had been on leave.
“I’m sending you a photo. Could you see if you recognise him from any of the fan signings or concerts? I know you keep a file on the crazies. If you could check, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Got your email. I’ll message you when I have something.”
She cheered silently. “Thank you. Could you keep this between us? I don’t want Nick to worry about nothing.”
“Alright, but doIneed to be worried? I can have someone watch the apartment.” When they had left the airport, he had suggested getting security for her building, even if it was just someone driving by from time to time.
“No, that’s not necessary. I just want to find them,” she said, and Olivier muttered something she couldn’t make out.
“Right, I got the email you sent. I should have something for you soon.”
He hung up with a quick goodbye. Phoebe stared at the culprit on the screen and smirked.
“I’ve got you now.”
Three days of wandering around her apartment, waiting for answers, had her itching to create. She dealt with stress by painting, and this was the longest she had ever gone without a paintbrush in her hand. Without it, she felt like she might crack; she couldn’t count the number of times she had checked her phone, waiting for Olivier to call. She had run out of things to clean, and even packed up Cillian’s belongings. She kept their photo albums, donated some clothes and sent the rest to his mum. Her confidence had taken a dive since the funeral and she felt guilty for not having checked in on Maureen, but she didn’t feel right calling. Phoebe didn’t want to hear about how she was getting to know her grandchild’s mother.
After Axel had talked about staying at hers, she realised how the space still felt liketheirsinstead ofhers. She wasn’t doing anything wrong by having a man in the apartment, but with Cillian’s things around, it had felt like she was. It was time to make the space hers again.
She had decided to pack up her studio. Even with the locks changed, it didn’t feel safe to go there. Lena agreed and sent movers she trusted to help.
As Phoebe was putting her breakfast dishes in the sink, her phone finally rang.
“Hello? Phoebe?” Olivier asked as she fumbled it in her desperation to grab it from the couch.
“Yes, yes! I’m here,” she said, without a shred of subtlety.
“I’ve got the information you’re looking for. I’m sorry it took me a few days. The man’s name is Gunther Sheen. He attempted to get in to see you in the hospital in Munich, but security turned him away. Security got his details after he kept hounding nurses for information.”
She couldn’t believe this stranger had tried to get into her hospital room.
