The Popstar's Star

Chapter 8: Can someone call, Sherlock?

"Are you alright?"

I looked up from my tablet and stared into Dad's slightly worried eyes. I smiled reassuringly. "Yes, I'm fine."

He gestured towards my iPad. "You've been frowning at the screen all morning. What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," I said curtly, as I closed the webpage and placed my iPad in my bag.

Gazing out of the car window, I tried to avoid Dad's incredulous glare while I took in the luxurious skyscrapers that we passed by. Unsurprisingly, however, my mind wandered off and I started thinking about Mason just like had ever since the concert last weekend.

Everything that happened that day was a blur. After the incident with Mason in the RV, he went out on stage like nothing had ever happened. I would have almost believed that I imagined the whole thing, if I hadn't had to change my top that was soaked in his sweat.

I didn't have a chance to talk to him after the concert, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about why he acted the way he did, and if it was the first time it had happened to him. Although, I had a feeling it wasn't.

Even after doing tons of research, I still hadn't found a satisfactory answer to what might have been the cause of his meltdown. That day, I saw an entirely different side of Mason McKnight; one that was weak and vulnerable.

It made him seem more human than the badass persona he projected the world. Yet something about it scared me, and if the terrified look in his eyes that day was any indication, he was scared shitless too.

Dad mumbled something to Patrick at the front just as the large, imposing building that was Cornerstone Records Inc. came into view. As soon as we got out of the car, I pushed past the revolving doors and into the large foyer.

"Dad, have you spoken with Mason today?"

He seemed taken aback by the question which I should have expected before I blurted it out like that.

"As a matter of fact I have. We talked earlier this morning." He scoffed and shook his head. "Well I did most of the talking, he barely said a word."

I paused in my tracks and stood in front of him. "What do you mean? Was he okay? Did he sound like he needed help or something?"

Dad's eyes widened momentarily. "Why all the questions, Star?"

"I'm just . . . curious, that's all," I said trying to convince him as we walked towards the elevators. Once I pressed the button, I looked up and saw the numbers descending from the twentieth floor.

"Curious, huh?"

I simply nodded, avoiding his eyes.

"Star," he started off in that ever familiar warning tone that he used, whenever he knew I was hiding something from him, "if there is something about Mason McKnight that I should know about, you better say something right now."

Clutching on tighter to my bag, I felt nervous beads of perspiration on my forehead. I refused to look at him, fearing that his harsh glare would break me and have me singing like a canary in no time.

Come on, come on! Was the silent mantra that kept ringing in my head as I prayerfully watched the numbers at the top of the elevator.

"Star––" Dad's voice was cut off by the glorious ping as the elevator doors parted.

I'd been saved by the bell. Literally.

We were about to enter just as I recognized the person who was coming out.

"Are you Rocky Parris?"

Rocky Parris, a gruff looking man with a full beard and clothes that appeared as if he had slept in them, raised his head up from the ground and acknowledged me with a blank expression on his face.