It Was Always You

The Meeting

Billie Eilish

"Wake up, sleepy head."

My eyes ping open, arms still folded around my chest as the SUV pulls to a gentle stop. I glance over at Finneas in the seat beside me, furious that he still has so much energy after a day spent running through the show until we decided it was perfect.

"We're late, so we have to hurry."

Finneas is already packing his bag, shoving a laptop and a pair of AirPods into the pockets while I try to register being on planet Earth again.

"I still don't know why we're doing this." I check the time on my phone and grunt, pulling the front of my SnapBack down to hide my tired eyes. "I thought we were having this meeting tomorrow."

"I think they want to run through everything while we're all in the same place," he replies. "I predict this is the last time we'll meet as a group before everyone gets too busy."

Finneas drags my bag from between my feet and shoves my phone and water inside.

"Just a few minutes of looking awake," he chuckles. "I don't think they'll be mad if you look half-dead in the meeting."

"Right," I exhale, rubbing my eyes. "It's midnight, dude. All I want is to crawl into bed and wake up an hour before the show starts." Finneas sighs beside me. "We've already talked things through a million times."

I don't mean to sound grumpy, because I really am excited about the first show tomorrow. We've been preparing the tour for nearly a year now, and each element involved has been handled with a part of my soul I can't wait for my fans to finally see.

It's just—I'm tired.

Exhausted, even.

I love performing more than anything, and having creative control over my work is something I will never get bored of. However, the logistics behind it all can sometimes make tedious a job that I otherwise adore.

"You know how this stuff works, kiddo," Finneas replies gently. "Just sit and pretend you're listening for the sake of getting to bed quicker."

The back entrance to the hotel is freezing, and as the door opens into an empty, echoing cave of concrete, I realise just how busy my life is about to become.

I love it.

But it never feels easy.

"Let's get it," Finneas exhales, wrapping his arm around my shoulder with soft kiss against the top of my head. "I need a coffee."

I pull my SnapBack lower, covering my tired eyes a little more than necessary as we enter through the back door and head toward the elevator. I catch myself in the mirror briefly, swallowed by a black hoodie and baggy pair of sweatpants.

Perfect.

"Floor nine," Finneas talks to himself while I stare at the doors in front, watching the thin line of light flicker as we venture higher. "Should be a conference room to the left. I think Mom is waiting at the door."

I can already hear the chattering from inside, a room full of excited crew members and stage clerks sharing their thoughts on the show before it's even begun. I love the energy that comes with being on tour, and if I could live in it forever, I think I probably would.

After I get over the initial anxiety of opening, that is.

Smiles greet me when we enter, the room erupting with applause like I'm made of gold. It's easy for them to see the smirk on my face before they see the fear prickling behind the walls of my chest. Easier for them not to notice just how debilitating the panic of not being good enough is as it wriggles its way into my veins.

I've been touring for years.

Again, it never feels easy.

The meeting runs as expected, a multitude of technical jargon thrown from wall to wall as people take notes and send out a million questions. I hide at the back for most of it, adding a quick thumbs up when the room turns to ask for my opinion.

It's not until the stage crew leave that I feel myself breathe a little deeper. The emptier the room becomes, the more human I begin to feel.

"Right, down to the last few bits," Matthew, my tour manager hums, flicking through his binder. "Come a bit closer, guys. I don't need to shout anymore." He looks up and chuckles, earning a few laughs from the faces surrounding me. "I wanted to touch base on the daily routine. It's important we work together on making sure that Billie is able to turn up and do what she needs to do without any hassle."

The best thing I've heard all night.

"If we can just have the wardrobe decided earlier in the day, I think we'll be good for space backstage."

"Move it all out before the show?" Another asks, and Matthew nods back. "Got it, boss."

"Oh, and River, if you can just be on Billie as much as you can." My eyes dart up and widen, never having heard the name in my life. "It's going to be hard when we have to move from venue to press, but I think it would work better if you'd shadow."

I let my gaze follow his voice, and across the room, a woman stands with a notepad and pen like she's been here the entire time. Well—she has—but I'm certain this is the first time I have ever laid eyes on her.

I know that, because I'm sure I'd recognise those piercing green eyes anywhere. The thick, hip-length black hair. God, the perfect complexion and undeniably gorgeous body fit with a tight bodysuit and short black skirt. It would be impossible to mistake her.

She's new here.

There's no question there.

"Oh," my mom interjects. "We didn't discuss the new situation with Billie yet." Her voice is awkward, and my stomach sinks when I look back at her confused. "It's okay, sweetie. We'll talk in a minute."

"What situation?" I chuckle, taking another look at the woman now staring holes into my soul. "Why is someone shadowing me?"

"Billie—

"Tell me?"

My mom freezes, hands sinking low into her back pockets as she stammers to take a breath. "Well, we were talking about the demand on you this time around, and Matthew and I figured it might be helpful if you had a personal assistant."

My eyes widen even more.

"An assistant?" Finneas reaches for my shoulder, but I step forward and furrow my brow as the room sinks into an awkward silence. "I don't need an assistant?"

"I know this is new to you—

"You didn't even ask?" I chuckle, shocked more than anything else. "Do I not get a say in this?"

My mom motions to River. "She's an incredible girl, Billie. If you just got to know her—

"No thanks," I seat bluntly before turning to River. "No offence, either. I didn't realise my opinion didn't matter here anymore."

I turn toward the door, walking with clenched fists as my faith in the tour begins to dwindle. The night before the biggest show of my life, and they throw that at me.

An assistant.

A personal assistant.

I don't care how pretty she is.

It's not happening.

"Billie—

"I'm going to bed," I reply with a snap.

"Please—

"Leave her," I hear Finneas defend. "You can't blame her for being pissed right now."

I don't listen to the rest, adamant that finding my room and locking the door is all I need. I plan on sleeping for hours into the day, avoiding the rage in my chest as not to spoil the opening night of a show I have given my entire life to for months.

Hopefully I can avoid the new girl too.

She can't assist me if I don't let her.