NOTE: I know next to nothing about the Times Square Alliance, just things that I was able to Google, so. Yeah. I've probably screwed up the jobs and stuff, but it made sense to me, so pls ignore all mistakes I might have made.

I'm taking a bit of a break from TINP. It's doing nothing but exhausting me, but there should be some sort of update up by the end of the month or the beginning of the next. I just need a little inspiration and unfortunately, when I opened up a word doc to write, this came out instead. It shouldn't be that long of a story, just something fun. It also would make more sense to post this in the wintertime, but I'll probably end up finishing it by that time anyway, knowing the way I update...

Anyway, tell me what you think in a review!

IGNITE
When Skye Hamilton backs out of the biggest event of the year, Massie Block finds herself on a wild goose chase to save her job and somehow ends up capturing the attention of a member of the super famous boy band, Low State.

.:. december 27th .:.

Griffin Hastings was pretty rad as far as bosses went. He closed the office early more often than not, bought the staff the best kind of cookies at the end of each month, and hardly found anything serious. He was honest, loved a good laugh, and enjoyed being kept on his toes. Those who worked with and for him would swear up and down that Griffin Hastings was the most genuine of people.

Though all of this was very much true, it could not be said of the man when December rolled around. Even more, it could not be said of him five days before the biggest event of the year. Griffin Hastings, President of the Times Square Alliance, had a lot on his shoulders the entire month, preparing the city for the New Year's Eve Ball Drop, and to be called into his office at this time was not the most ideal situation. It was well known that the only time Griffin fired anyone was during this week.

So when Massie Block was summoned, the whole office froze—except for Massie Block herself. She stood, smoothing her skirt, and ignored the curious gazes falling on her. It was no secret the planning this year had gone perfectly; everything was in place, had been since mid-October, maybe. There was nothing to worry about. She offered them all a smile and made her way to the closed door at the front of the room. He just probably wanted to double-check some details.

Carrie Randolph stopped her on her way, hand wrapping around her wrist. "Massie," she hissed, "he's irritable. Be careful."

The secretary, too, shared her worries with the brunette before she knocked on the door. "He's been yelling on the phone all morning," she confided in a hushed whisper. "I don't know what it's about, but… He sent the interns to get him those macaroons he likes, too. Multiple times. One even went across town to get him gelato."

"I'm sure it's fine," Massie assured her. "No need to worry." But she was, just a smidgen. She ran her fingers through her hair, her only nervous tick, and threw the chestnut tresses over her shoulder before knocking once, then twice, on the wooden door.

Griffin said nothing, she didn't expect him to, and she turned the knob, entering the room. The secretary wished her luck just as the door clicked shut behind her.

Griffin's office was nothing like the desks organized outside. As president, he got his own space, seeing as he overlooked everything and needed silence. Normally this room was immaculate, but as Massie made her way to a chair, she noticed the chaos. Papers were strewn all about, the phone was off the hook, a number of coffee cups filled the trashbin, and those macaroons the secretary told her about sat in a box on the floor. Each one had a bite taken from it. Griffin, however, was the messiest of them all. His hair looked as if he'd run his fingers through it too many times to count and his tie was loosened so much that it hung far down his chest. Massie hesitated at his desk, watching him with a concerned pout.

Griffin pushed his sleeves up his elbows, and didn't waste any time with small talk: "Skye Hamilton backed out."

Massie gripped the side of the desk. "What?"

"As Head of the Communications Department, this should have gone through you. I am unsure as to why I received this call… Have you heard anything?"

"Not since she agreed to perform in October," Massie admitted, taking a seat. She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. "She really backed out? Now?"

"Apparently. I spoke with her manager," Griffin explained. "You have to fix this."

How? she wanted to ask, but cleverly kept her mouth shut. Seeming inadequate in front of her boss wouldn't put her in his good graces, especially now. "What would you like me to do?" she asked instead.

"Get her back," answered Griffin. "I don't care how you do it. I don't care if we up her pay or if we promise she can host. She committed months in advance, I need her there. Everyone's excited for Skye Hamilton; if she's not the one they get to spend New Year's with, someone will get fired."

Massie could tell by the look on his face that he was not going to be that someone. "Okay," she said. "I'll work it out."

"I'm counting on you, Massie. The world is counting on you."

.:.

"Hi, this is Massie Block from the Times Square Alliance… There's news that Skye Hamilton has backed out of performing on New Year's Eve… If you could just get back to me and clear this whole thing up, I'd really appreciate it…"

"Massie Block again. From the Times Square Alliance. Skye agreed in writing to perform on Friday, but I'm sure you know that, as her manager. I'd really like to speak to you about this crazy situation. My number is…"

"…if you could stop ignoring me, that would be great…"

"You made a commitment…"

"There are five days until the new year. You can't back out like this without any notice…"

.:.

Claire Lyons swallowed a mouthful of pasta, eyeing Massie critically. "That was just a little harsh, don't you think?"

Massie returned that look, and slammed her phone against the table. She was seething at Skye's manager's complete disrespect, wishing she had her old flip phone to slap shut. She remembered there being something so completely satisfying about hearing that snap… and she could really go for that sort of pleasure right now, or else she was about to order that double chocolate cake she saw when she walked in earlier.

"Actually," Alicia Rivera piped in, "it wasn't harsh enough."

"I mean, maybe she has a good reason," suggested Claire. "Not that that excuses her manager from ignoring you."

"Do you know anything?" Massie ignored her blonde friend, looking over at her other.

Alicia paused and shook her head. "Not yet, but I'm on it."

"See, this makes no sense to me! She cancels this performance and keeps her tour, which starts, like, three days after New Year's Eve?"

"Maybe she's sick," Claire offered. "She'd want to be all rested up for the tour. It's pretty reasonable."

"She's got five days to get better," Massie grumbled. "My job is on the line." She ran her fingers through her hair for the thirtieth time that hour, effectively ruining the sleek, straight look she'd opted for that morning. "Griffin has me off office duty to fix this and I can't even get in touch with this drama queen—I was hired to communicate and I can't even do that right!"

"Deep breaths, Mass," Alicia instructed. "We'll figure this out. You won't get fired. I've got Olivia digging up dirt with Kori and Strawberry. They'll figure it out."

Right out of high school, Alicia started a gossip blog, due to her obsession with the gossip points Massie used to hand out when they were younger to anyone with the best story. The site rose to fame a few years after its launch and now Alicia was the creator and head of a website more popular than Perez Hilton's. She knew everything and anything about everyone worth knowing about, including Skye Hamilton, America's sweetheart. She was Massie's best bet.

The brunette sighed. "I absolutely hate celebrities."

"Don't we all?" Alicia agreed absentmindedly, thumbing through her phone again. Her meal laid untouched by her elbow.

"I'm sure she has a good reason," Claire reiterated.

"Whatever it is, it's not good enough for me. Or Griffin, for that matter," Massie grumbled. "We need her there Friday night—no matter the cost."

"So, what's your plan if you ever get in touch with her?" the blonde asked. "She's already canceled. What would make her change her mind?"

Massie lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Whatever she wants," she said. "Griffin's willing to pull out all the stops. We've been broadcasting this for months. Every commercial, every advertisement—live with Skye Hamilton—I can't believe she'd—"

"Wait, wait, WAIT," Alicia interrupted loudly, using a spare hand to slap at Massie. "Look at this!" She shoved her phone in the girl's face. While trying to focus on the screen, Massie felt Claire peek from behind her.

DylanMarvil
SO excited to have skyeham in the studio today - look out for her on thedailygrind on Wednesday morning!

"Call her up!" Claire exclaimed, loud in Massie's ear.

"I haven't talk to Dylan in forever, though." Massie pushed the phone away and pressed her elbows to the table. "I highly doubt she'd let me into her show. Don't you need tickets to be in the audience?"

"We're all best friends," Alicia countered, taking a long sip of her lemonade. "Just give her a call. Dylan's pretty understanding."

Massie nibbled at her bottom lip. "I don't know. Isn't it kind of late? There's no way I'll get there in time."

"You just said your job was on the line," Alicia said, "and you were willing to do whatever it took to make sure it wasn't. You've got nothing to lose, Mass. Give it a shot."

"…Fine, fine." Massie reached for her abandoned cell, dialing a number she'd hadn't used in months.

.:.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Massie breathed, bringing her arms around Dylan Marvil in a bone-crushing hug.

"Anything for a friend, you know that," the redhead said. "Now go. You can tell me everything later."

Massie flashed a smile to the guard on duty and slipped past him to where Skye Hamilton was waiting for the interview to begin. It would be a while—maybe twenty minutes—since it was scheduled for the end of the show. Massie learned from Dylan a few minutes ago that Skye was to talk about her album, the tour, and then finish off with her latest single, "Broken Crown."

It irritated her to no end and crossed off Claire's first idea. Skye was most definitely not sick. Not if she was singing here and then continuing on with her tour. Celebrities, Massie thought with a scoff.

The dressing room door was open just ajar when she arrived and Massie could hear the light conversation between the girl and someone else. Her manager, most likely. Just the two people Massie wanted to speak with.

She straightened her mussed up outfit, untangled her necklaces, and knocked on the door.

Skye looked up, face stretching to accommodate her large smile. It rather blew her away, reminding Massie how beautiful the girl really was. It was no wonder the world was in love with her. Her buttery blonde hair fell down her back in waves, the blue in her eyes was accented only with white liner, and she was dressed conservatively, but cute, in a way that inspired many young girls. It made Massie even angrier- the superstar was practically perfect in every way.

"We're fine, thank you," the older woman in the room spoke before Massie could. She was in every way Skye's carbon copy and also, from the looks of it, her manager. "You can tell your people to stop coming by every two minutes."

"Mom—"

"I'm not here to see if you're okay," Massie cut in, leaning against the wall. "My name is Massie Block and I'm part of the Times Square Alliance." The look on the older woman's face would've been comical if Massie had been anyone else. "My boss wants to know why you've decided to back out, but more importantly, he wants to know what we can do to get you to agree to perform." And I want to know why you've been ignoring my calls. It looked like the woman was attached to her phone.

Skye's full lips turned into a frown for mere seconds before she said, "I'm so sorry, but I really need to take some time for myself."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah." Skye nodded. "Something's come up and I'm not really feeling much like myself. I'm even canceling the first part of my tour. Reimbursing everyone, of course. That's what I'm here to talk about."

Massie refrained from balling her hands up into fists. "You can't take the time off after the ball drops? Everyone's looking forward to it!"

"No, she can't," her manager snapped. "Now if you could stop badgering her…"

"What can I do to change your mind?" Massie demanded hurriedly, sticking her foot out to keep the door from slamming in her face. "Anything you want. Anything."

"My daughter wants time to herself and she will get time to herself."

"Anything," Massie all but begged. "We'll double your pay. You can host…" She echoed Griffin's words rather pathetically. Nothing else seemed to come to mind, though she knew they would do whatever it took to get Skye Hamilton on to that stage in the middle of Times Square. "Please," she added. "Anything you want. My job—"

Somehow the door slammed in her face, just inches from her nose. Massie grabbed at the doorknob, twisting and twisting, though it would not move. She could hear Skye and her mother talking—arguing, maybe? She desperately hoped so—and she let out a low shriek, stomping her foot in a way very reminiscent to how she acted in her youth.

"My job is on the line here!" she shouted, slamming her fists on the door and trying to appeal to the heart Skye's mother didn't seem to have. "Please!" She slammed herself against the barrier between them, hoping one of them would open it.

They didn't, and eventually Massie was asked to leave.

.:.

Angry, distraught, and devoid of all hope, Massie strode out of Dylan's studio (after, of course, promising the girl that she'd call her later. She owed her that much) and into a New York City side street. She was hit with an onslaught of girlish screams and some even worse than that. One sounded like she was being murdered; the high pitch of it made Massie's ears bleed.

A security guard—one she didn't recognize as working for The Daily Grind—gripped her by the forearms. "You can't be on this side of the street."

"Let go of me," Massie snapped, wriggling away from him. It didn't work; he only held on tighter. "I'm just trying to leave."

"Don't dawdle," he ordered, shoving her into the hands of another guard. This one was a lot nicer than she anticipated, letting her regain her balance and fix her hair.

"What's this all about?" she asked, feeling particularly curious. She hadn't seen this big of a mob since she was in seventh grade and the Dial L For Loser movies began. Connor Foley used to be a pretty big deal back then.

"Low State," was the man's curt response.

"The boy band?" Massie asked, but the security guard was gone, hurrying into the sea of screaming girls alongside the rude man she'd dealt with not even five minutes ago.

She was left alone then, something they probably wouldn't like, and she would've moved—she had no interest in this Low State—but she was kind of intrigued by the chaos they created.

One girl was sobbing hysterically. Another was gripping the beanie she tore off a dark-haired boy's head. He didn't seem to mind, but everyone else did. The main problem was the girl that had jumped over the gate keeping the crowd in and was currently attached to the blonde on the very end. He was laughing, as was the guy next to him.

Massie cocked her head to the side, taking this all in. It was insane, absolutely insane. The fact that these group of boys—men—how old were they?—had this much power over girls… It made Massie lightheaded, and their screaming caused her anger to escalate, and that reminded her of the awful time she just had with Skye Hamilton and her mother and how she was going to be unemployed by the time Friday rolled around. Which was completely unpleasant.

She rolled her eyes as a group of girls—they couldn't be older than thirteen—screeched one of the boys' names as he came near (Cam?) and turned on her heel to leave. She needed a new plan to convince Skye to sing and there was no way she'd be able to think in this kind of atmosphere.

Another round of screaming ensued as she made her way down the street. She was going to have a nice cup of coffee, she decided, and think about all the ways she could manipulate the teen sensation. Maybe she'd even call Alicia up and have her brainstorm with her; with all her connections, she'd be able to come up with anything.

Unfortunately, she realized she'd walked in the wrong direction, and she froze. It'd be easier—and less stressful—to just keep going and find a different route, but it would take away from her thinking time, and she needed as much as she could get right now. The clock was ticking.

With a disgruntled sigh, Massie spun around and marched back the way she came. That boy band was no longer with the girls, but they continued to giggle, shriek, cry, and whatever else their fanbase did. She watched them again, still amazed at their reaction. The ones in the front row were sharing pictures on their phones despite the fact that they hardly knew each other, and a bunch of them were squealing over Kemp, whoever he was, touching them.

Massie was so interested in them she wasn't paying attention to what was in front of her, and the next thing she knew, she was walking right into someone else. She stumbled backward, almost losing her footing in her heels. Two arms wrapped around her—or they tried to, at least—and she was kept from thoroughly embarrassing and bruising herself in front of everyone in the street, but the force they used to keep her upright only managed to have her go in the opposite direction, and she found her face buried in that person's chest… and she was very much displeased.

"Sorry," she muttered, righting herself. She was pretty sure her cheeks were on fire.

They didn't let go of her, even when she was perfectly all right. "You okay?" they asked, voice deep and rumbly.

"Yeah, fine, thanks," she said, meeting the eyes of what ended up being one of the members of Low State, or Lost Cause, or whatever their band was called. He was rather attractive, she noticed, but that was all she allowed herself to think. There was far too much to worry about. The appearance of a boy band member was not one of them.

"Sorry," she repeated, and she pushed past them all, hurrying on her way to her favorite coffee shop. She needed to think, think, think.

Behind her, someone shouted, "You—!" but she was gone before she could hear the rest of it. It was probably just that awful security guard that recognized her from before, scolding her for staying when she said she wouldn't.

.:.

"So, Skye," Dylan began, "what's this big news you wanted to share?"

"Well." The blonde bombshell tucked her hair behind her ear and gave a small smile. "It's not very good news, but it's necessary for my wellbeing. This is going to be my last public appearance for a while. I'm taking some time off to find who I am again."

Dylan shared a disappointed look with the camera, the audience gasping in disbelief. "What does this mean?"

"I'm afraid I'll be canceling the first couple of months of my tour and my appearance at Times Square this Friday. Everyone will be getting a full refund and those venues I've gotten rid of will have another concert to make up for it. I'm so sorry, but I can't perform for my fans and tell them to be bigger and better people if I'm not feeling like that myself. It would only make me a hypocrite. I hope you understand."

NOTE 2: Sorry if it's a little choppy and rushed. It'll get better (I hope).