And unfortunately, I had to read more of her fanfiction so I could find pieces of a story that made her writing seem like blasphemy, or at the least, tampering with my character, who is meant to solve more crimes than seduce women.
The glitter scene was a fantastic discovery that made her cheeks turn as red as her hair while I read it out loud to her.
I push the elevator button. The doors immediately spring open, and I select the number twenty-two to take me to Ellsworth & Carter Publishing. Today is our practice forum. I’m positive Melanie has it set up with precision. She’ll have her stack of crisp white notecards and expect this to go smoothly, but I’m not sureMelanie knows how much Rachel loves wrinkles. I’m completely expecting this to be a disaster.
And while I’m not sure what Rachel’s exact intentions are with her fanfiction, the intentions of her followers aren’t good or kind. In my online sleuthing through her stories, I read more comments like…
MysteryMama97:“No offense to Evan Michaels, but this Barrett actually reads like a person, not just a walking trench coat with trust issues.”
And while this person said no offense, I did take offense, because then there was…
PlotTwistPrincess:“Give me fanfic Barrett over the original one any day. He actually feels stuff. Also, that scene in the rain?”
Which then had me scrolling to find the scene in the rain where Barrett stood in the middle of a storm, soaked to the bone, shrugging his shoulders like he was admitting he was weak, or wrong, or in the very least…
Human.
He didn’t argue or hide behind his badge. He just stood there, rain streaking down his face and looking at this woman like she was the only shelter he had ever wanted but never thought he deserved.
And then he said it.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know—I’d choose you, even if it meant losing everything else.”
I’d sat there, blinking at my screen like an idiot, because that line wasn’t crime fiction. I’m not even sure it was fanfic. It felt like something else entirely.
It felt like truth among the lies or light in the storm.
It felt like Rachel had been able to find something I’ve been looking for my entire life.
Even worse? The top comment had 3,891 likes and simply said:
“Evan Michaels could NEVER.”
Then I’d gone back to the glitter scene and printed it out, because, honestly, I couldn’t take any more of these wrong opinions. I mean, really, could PlotTwistPrincess or MysteryMama87 write anything that came close to what I did? Probably not.
This is why I don’t do social media or the internet.
I don’t need to hide behind a screen to put myself out there.
Naomi smiles at me when I enter the publishing offices. I would smile back, but two years ago she posted something cruel about Lily on some app, and while Lily has a strong right-hook, which Naomi later discovered, she cried to me first. Out of sibling solidarity, I don’t socialize with Naomi, no matter how wide her grin is.
I walk back to the large conference room, which Melanie has arranged to look like a stage with an audience. There are three chairs up front. One for Melanie, one for me, and one for…
“Hi, Evan.”
Her voice startles me. I look up and see that Rachel is wearing another dress. This one is blue floral. Her hair is down, flowing free around her shoulders. She looks beautiful but looks are deceiving.
“Rachel,” I reply, making sure my tone sounds dark. “Are you ready for the practice forum?”
The practice is for her. I’ve done these so many times the script lives rent-free in my head.
“Debate,” she says.
“What?” I ask.
“Our practice debate,” she clarifies.
“It’s a forum,” I correct her.
