Page 3 of A World Apart (Between Worlds #1)

N o one mentioned anything, but I had a feeling that I’d been pretty useless the whole rest of Tuesday. That night, back at Becka’s apartment, I’d connected my laptop to the TV in the living room and forced her to watch GVibes’ music videos.

We were mid-way through their newest song, ‘Fall in Love’, the collaboration with American singer Haley, when Becka finally shouted, “Alright!” Throwing her arms up in the air, she exclaimed, “I get it! They’re God’s gift to the modern music scene.”

I laughed and disconnected my laptop. “So, you get why I’m hyped, then?”

“Sure, yeah,” she’d conceded, “so, like, I knew you liked their songs, but are you in their fan group? Oh, what’s it called?

” She huffed, flopping back against the sofa cushions.

“Celine told me about them to look into on social media, but I can’t remember what they’re called.

Y’know how Gaga has her ‘Little Monsters’? ”

I smiled to myself before I answered. “Vibers.”

“That’s the one!” Becka snapped her fingers .

“And no, not really.” I said hesitantly. “Apparently, I wouldn’t qualify as a Viber because I’ve never seen them live, don’t own any of their CD albums, don’t own any merch…” I ticked off these gross offenses on my fingers.

Becka frowned at me. “Who says you don’t qualify?” she asked, immediately outraged on my behalf, which made me chuckle.

“Other Vibers.”

Becka made a ‘pfft’ sound and waved her hand dismissively. “Sounds like political bullshit to me.”

She stood up and moved towards the kitchen.

“I’m showing my age here, but I remember the Savage Garden fandom in the 90s had exactly the same elitist nonsense.

” She opened the fridge and rummaged around before saying, “If you identified as a ‘light sider’, you were a traitor. Bollocks and nonsense.” She trailed off, muttering too quietly for me to hear.

Suddenly, she spun back around and, waving a slightly-wilted stick of celery in my direction, proclaimed, “You can be a vibe if you bloody well want!”

I laughed, loving her to my soul, not having the heart to correct her.

Later that evening, I sat on my bed, staring out the window as ‘Broken Promise’ played softly from the little portable speaker perched on my windowsill.

“Most people think this song is about heartbreak,” I’d explained to Becka earlier, just before she’d made me turn GVibes off. “But it’s really about life not living up to the expectations you set for it.” Becka had hummed in half-hearted acknowledgment, already tired of my endless fawning.

'Broken Promise' had always been one of my favourites. It resonated with me — probably with anyone who’d ever been let down by something they’d counted on, only for it to fall through. It made me think of my mum. Of my… biological father.

It reminded me of the lengths I’d go to, the sacrifices I’d make, just to achieve the things I felt I needed in life. A purpose.

As the song ended, I sighed and started getting ready for bed. Just one more day to get through until he was here. A nervous flutter began in my belly, and it was some time before I could sleep ,

Wednesday

All of Wednesday my patience was tested. I was mostly stuck with busy-work for admin. I photocopied so many copies of NDAs, contracts, and affiliate-use forms that, by midday, my hands were splotchy with ink and my thumb was indented from stapler over-use.

At lunch, I’d tried to meet up with Becka, but she’d been too busy to stop, sending me an apologetic text to say she couldn’t leave her desk. I’d wandered aimlessly down to the market instead to grab a few things for dinner.

By the time the end of the day had rolled around, I’d had to practically drag Becka away from her desk.

“You would not believe how busy this dude is making our social calendar,” she muttered darkly and sounding not-at-all enthusiastic.

“Aww, I’m so sorry that the international superstar is making your life difficult.” I poked my tongue out the side of my mouth. She cracked a smile, but I could tell she was feeling the strain.

“It’s not really him that’s the problem. It’s the press. You would not believe how fucking nosy they are.” She ran a frustrated hand down her face ? carefully though, she spent ages doing her makeup this morning.

I would absolutely believe that of the press.

“And obviously we’re not allowed to confirm that he is actually coming here,” she continued. “I honestly have no idea how they even know. We’ve only just found out, for fucks sake. She exclaimed, pushing open the front door to the street perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“I mean, it wasn’t even this bad that one time we had ‘you-know-who’,” she said. We were on the street walking towards the bus stop, so no names.

“Voldemort?” I asked innocently. She gave me a droll look.

“All I’m saying is, this kid better be the nicest person to ever walk through those doors,” she huffed out, seemingly running out of steam.

I said nothing. We both knew I was hyped to be in the same building as him, but that was no reason to rub it in. I only took her arm in companionable silence as we waited for the bus, which didn’t smell half as bad this time of the day as it did in the morning.

Sometimes the patrons did though, but one problem at a time.

Thursday

Without even needing to discuss it, Becka and I had both decided we’d get into the studio early today.

She was at the kitchen counter filling both of our travel mugs when I emerged from my bedroom. She gave me an assessing look up and down and then nodded approvingly. I appreciated the support because lord knows I’d agonised over this outfit all bloody morning.

In my position, I did not have to wear anything resembling formal or office-attire, but I also couldn’t just rock up looking like I’d just rolled out of bed and given that I’d only been here a scant month, my choices were distressingly slim.

I’d finally settled on a pair of black combat boots, black denim slim-fit jeans, a white t-shirt and a black and white plaid shirt that I could either put on over my t-shirt, or wear around my waist if I got too hot.

I left my hair down, like I normally did, but I’d given it a bit of extra attention this morning when I’d blow-dried it.

I normally don’t bother, but I was damned if I was going to be in the same building as an artist I admired and not take an extra 10 minutes of effort.

I wore the same amount of makeup as I usually did ? mascara, brows, and a neutral colour lip crayon.

I’d never hear the end of it if anyone at work thought I was trying to doll myself up.

“I’ve sorted us an Uber,” I said, skipping over the whole ‘good morning’ thing.

“Spectacular." Becka said with a grin as she handed me my travel mug.

“Hmm,” she hummed, “what perfume are you wearing?”

I unlocked our front door as I answered, “I’m wearing two.”

Becka followed me out and locked the door behind her. “Two?”

“Thought I’d give it a go and I’m actually pretty happy with the result.” I grinned at her as we walked towards the big door to the street.

“Which ones?” she asked, unlatching the door.

“Laura Mercier’s Vanilla and Midnight Fantasy." I replied.

“That explains why you smell like a vanilla candy,” she laughed.

“It’s good though, right?” I said, quite convinced of my own genius.

“When you walk through the halls, it’ll be like Hansel and Gretel following a trail of candies right to the witches house.” She laughed.

“Ok, rude,” I frowned, “am I not the witch in that scenario?”

“Always said you were a baddie, babes.” She winked at me. I tutted and took a sip of my coffee.

Just then, a Honda Civic pulled up to the kerb in front of us and the driver lowered the window.

“Uber?” He asked.

“Right on time!” I smiled and opened the back door, but before I could slide in, Becka grabbed my arm. “Um, hello?” I said, looking at her in confusion.

“Don’t be such a Bambi,” she scolded me before leaning closer to the driver’s window.

“What names do you have?” Becka asked primly. The driver, a young-looking guy wearing a Bears t-shirt, reached for his phone and reading off a message said, “Booked by Kaiya?”

I gave Becka a ‘are you happy now?’ look as she released my elbow, and I slid in to the backseat. It smelt like brand new air freshener trees.

Becka slid in next to me. “Safety first,” she said in a tone that very much implied the ‘duh,’ she didn’t say.

We made it to the studio at exactly 08:05. I tipped Kenneth (our driver) and we made our way inside.

At first glance, everything looked as normal as ever, but on closer inspection it was clear someone had been through here with copious amounts of polish. Everything gleamed and there was a faint smell of lemon on the air.

Becka and I exchanged smiles.

“But sure, yeah, no big deal,” she said. I laughed.

It wasn’t a surprise that pretty much the whole of the 3rd floor was already in or piled in shortly after we did.

I didn’t linger in their office, technically I wasn’t supposed to be there and the minute Becka put her bag on her desk, one of her colleagues came over to speak with her, so I made my way to Jeremy’s office.

“Ah, good morning, Kaiya. Is it just me or is everyone acting weird this morning?” he asked, looking up at me from his laptop.

I shrugged, but answered, “I think it’s probably something to do with the client coming in today.”

Jeremy frowned. “Who?”

I blinked in surprise. “Baek Jihoon from GVibes?”

Jeremy leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together, leaning his elbows on the arm rests as he thought about it for a minute.

“Yeah, nah, I got nothing,” he said finally. “Give me an equivalent from the 90s,” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me. This was a game we’d played before. I wasn’t completely convinced he wasn’t having me on, but I played along all the same.

“Um, Justin Timberlake, N*SYNC,” I replied confidently.

“Ahh, got it. Frosted tips, as well?”

I laughed. “Not yet.”