Rupert was a high-profile tour logistics director and operations strategist. He’d overseen multi-city productions for platinum artists and international performance shows, building a reputation for precision so sharp it bordered on obsessive.
Mariella had crossed paths with him years ago when she’d been a lifestyle and beauty influencer. WhenThe Round Tablepodcast took off, Rupert had reached out about a tour, media blitz, and endorsement deals.
The man was undeniably brilliant at what he did, but that brilliance came wrapped in tightly wound nerves, relentless micromanagement, and a habit of correcting people mid-sentence.
Every detail mattered to Rupert—down to exact arrival times and font choices on laminated schedules. And while his efficiency was unmatched, spending more than fifteenconsecutive minutes in his orbit often left people feeling like they’d just been audited.
“There you are, Andi!” he half-whispered, half-hissed. “We are running precisely six minutes behind, and one of our sponsors wants a photo with the whole team in front of their display after this line finishes—oh!” He finally noticed Pam. “Hello. Are you purchasing merch or requesting a signature? Please step aside until?—”
“Rupert.” Andi’s voice sharpened. “Not now.”
The man might be an organizational mastermind, but he irritated the snot out of her. His focus was so singular that he was oblivious to anything else.
Rupert blinked, then saw Pam’s crestfallen expression. His shoulders softened a fraction. “I see. I’ll come back later—but not too much later.”
Andi turned back to Pam, heart pounding. Something about this woman’s words was tugging on her heartstrings—and she needed to know more.
“Tell me everything,” Andi said. “And start from the beginning.”
“Why don’t you come backstage with me?” Andi took Pam’s arm. “We can talk more privately there.”
Their conversation here was drawing glances from the crowd—many of those glances curious, speculative, even hungry.
“O . . . okay,” Pam said. “If you’re sure.”
Andi motioned to Mariella that she needed a moment.
Mariella nodded with understanding.
Duke also caught sight of what was happening. “Mind if I come along?”
“I was just about to ask.” Everything always felt better when Duke was there. He just had that effect on her. He was calm, rational, and protective. When they’d first met, Andi’s nickname for him had been GI Joe.
Duke stepped toward them, positioning his broad shoulders between them and the crowd as they guided Pam away from the fan table. While they walked away, Mariella slid effortlessly into Andi’s vacant spot.
“Everyone, hang tight—we have a fun announcement about our next episode coming up!” Mariella’s voice sparkled as she instantly redirected a portion of the crowd.
But not all of it.
Rupert barreled toward them a few seconds later.
His bow tie still sat crooked. His carefully gelled hair had begun to wilt. His laminated VIP passes flapped in his hand like panicked birds.
“Oh no, no, no—what is happening? What is this? What are we doing back here when so many fans want autographs?” Rupert hissed, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“I’m going backstage a moment.” Andi didn’t phrase the statement to leave room for argument.
Rupert blinked, his lips parting in surprise. “We are on a very tight post-show schedule, and the sponsor?—”
“Rupert.” Duke’s voice sounded so low it was almost a growl. “Later.”
That shut Rupert up.
Not many people liked to cross Duke—just one more thing to love about him.
Andi, Duke, and Pam wove through a corridor lined with curtains, heading toward the convention center’s green room. The area wasn’t glamorous, not even comfortable, but it was private.
A dented mini fridge hummed in the corner, and a scattering of half-empty water bottles littered the folding table at the center of the space. Two couches—one sagging, one firm solely out of spite—lined the walls beneath posters for upcoming events.
