We were coming in on the final stretch of the evening—a time when I thought I would be able to wind down and maybe order more food—when I met Blair Bernstein. She wore a name tag—the only one at the entire event, because she’d made it—which ensured that everybody knew exactly who she was.
“Hi!” Her voice was chipper to the point of being screechy. She bounced over when the seat next to Brody and across fromme became vacant. That seat hadn’t been empty for more than two minutes the entire night. “I’m your biggest fan.”
I assumed she was talking to me since she was sitting across from me. That was how it had gone the entire evening. Fans sat across from their preferred author.
“Thank you.” I offered up what I hoped was a warm smile even though I was exhausted and wanted to call it a night. “What’s your favorite book?”
“Druid’s Serenade.”
I was slaphappy, so it took me a moment to register what she was saying. Then I realized that her adoring look wasn’t for me. It was for Brody.
“Oh,” I said, swallowing a laugh. “You’re here for Brody.”
Blair didn’t even look at me. “You’re my favorite author ever,” she gushed to Brody.
“That’s very flattering,” Brody said. “I appreciate that. I do it all for the fans.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course writing wouldn’t be even a quarter as fun if it weren’t for the fans, but most of us did it so we wouldn’t go hungry. It was gratifying to be able to do what we loved for a living. Most people couldn’t say that, and I understood how lucky I was. Still, if I couldn’t pay my bills, writing would be nothing more than a nighttime hobby as I tried to keep a roof over my head.
“Basilica is my favorite character ever.” Blair didn’t even realize I was on the same planet as her, let alone in the same bar. “I can’t help but feel she was based on me.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing at Brody’s puzzled expression. He looked genuinely confused. Blair was in her forties, if I had to guess, although her hairstyle made me reconsider that assumption. She had what I called baby bangs. They were what happened when mothers got fed up with their kids’ hair and chopped bangs to keep it out of their faces.It wasn’t just a few wispy bangs or anything even remotely flattering. It was a full forehead of bangs that crept into the sides. They were the sort of thing that would take years to grow out.
Her hair was a honey blond, although her eyebrows were dark so that told me the color was manufactured under foil and a dryer. She wore a plaid skirt with ruffles just below her knee. Her shirt was cotton and screen printed, and only when I shifted on my chair did I realize she had a huge face stretched across her ample bosom. Seriously, her breasts were impressive. I was a solid B cup, but she had to be an E cup, if that was even a thing.
As for the face, it was a familiar one. It belonged to Brody. It was his official photo from his author page.
I had to swallow the mad urge to laugh. When I did manage to make eye contact with Brody, there was a challenge waiting for me. He was daring me to say something about the shirt. Or perhaps he was silently begging me to save him. Either way, I wasn’t an idiot. I said nothing.
“Basilica is one of my favorite characters too,” Brody said. “She’s a great villain.”
Blair knitted her brows. “Villain?”
I’d read the book in question. Actually, I’d read both of Brody’s books. It was after the incident at the convention, when he claimed I’d ruined his life. I’d heard gossip through the grapevine that he was melting down about me, so that naturally meant I wanted to read his work and tear it to shreds.
I couldn’t, though. It was too good. High fantasy wasn’t even my thing, yet I’d been sucked in to the story from the first page. As a casualLord of the Ringsfan, I had no idea the world-building in high fantasy could be so grand. Brody taught me a lesson on that front.
That was why, when it became obvious Blair was going to blow a gasket, I stepped in to save Brody without realizing whatI was going to do. “Basilica is one of those characters who has nuance,” I interjected. “She’s not one thing, good or bad. She’s an antagonist for story purposes, which means she won’t get a happily ever after, but not every character can get a happily ever after. The most complex characters are the ones who keep going without an ending in sight.”
I thought I was being profound. Brody’s astonished stare suggested I’d hit the mark. Blair, however, must have felt otherwise.
“I was talking to Brody,” she said darkly.
I remained in my seat for what felt like a really long time then pushed myself to a standing position. “Right.” I glanced at Brody, briefly wondering if he would say something to Blair, but he just sat there, like a deer in headlights. “Right,” I repeated as I edged around the table. “I’m going to run to the restroom.”
I left Blair to lambast Brody—because that was exactly what was going to happen—and headed toward the hallway that led to the bathrooms. Blair was a superfan in the worst possible way. She thought she could force Brody to change the narrative to her liking, and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Well, if he wanted to deal with that sort of fan on his own, more power to him. I was just trying to help.
I took my time in the bathroom. Part of me wanted to be done for the evening because I was tired. The other part wanted to make Brody suffer before I returned and magnanimously served as a distraction. He would beg for me to help him then. Would I? Of course not. I’d already done that, and it had backfired on me. There was no way I was sticking my neck out again.
I was so lost in revenge fantasies that I wasn’t paying attention when I exited the bathroom and accidentally ran into an individual who was leaning against the corner wall that separated the men’s and women’s restrooms.
“So sorry,” I said automatically, holding up my hands in an effort not to collide with him. “I didn’t see you there.”
The man turned slowly, and my stomach collapsed internally when I saw his face.
“Well, hello again,” Joey drawled in what he likely assumed was a charming voice. For the record, it was pretty far from charming. It was … oily. That was the best word I could use to describe it.
“Hello,” I said, lost for anything else to say. “I … um…”
