“Oh, of course.” She fumbled in her purse for a pen.
The Darren daydream still clung to her, vivid as ever. Downside of a writer’s imagination: it frequently hijacked reality. Upside: useful for the whole bestselling-author thing.
“Do you want something personalized or just an autograph?” she asked, finally having produced a pen from the chaos-dimension at the bottom of her bag.
His grin turned confused, brow furrowing. “No. I think this is yours. You dropped your ticket.”
She stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. An embarrassed fish, with blazing cheeks.
Terrible metaphor.
“Oh. Right. Thanks,” she managed, grabbing the boarding pass.
A shade of amusement crossed his face. “Why? Are you famous?”
“Uh, no,” she said, crinkling her nose. “Or well, maybe a little. I write books and...stuff.”
And stuff?The only thing she wanted to write right now was an escape plan.
“Well, thanks for finding the ticket,” she added quickly, darting away down the hallway.
“Anything I might have heard—” he began.
In response, Emma just gave an awkward wave over her shoulder. She was far too flustered to stay and tell this stranger aboutThe Bonds of Light, her debut novel and unexpected breakout success.
Besides, her gut feeling had probably been right. He didn’t look like the type to appreciate the appeal of a fantasy world swallowed by darkness. Of her fearless heroine, Catlyn, who sold her soul to bargain for light.
And of Lucen, the powerful light wielder who controlled Catlyn’s fate—dangerous, magnetic, impossible to resist. Lucen, who happened to look exactly like...
Nope.
Escape had definitely been the sensible choice.
Emma wove through the morning travelers, as security messages and final calls crackled overhead. She kept her head down, trying to shove the whole thing out of her mind.
Mortification—what a lovely way to kick off her allegedly glamorous Comic-Con weekend.
Well, that was reality, she supposed. Not smoldering eyes and slow-burn connection. Just offbeat encounters and soft-core cringe.
No wonder she preferred books.
Chapter 2
Still Thursday morning, but make it jetlaggy.
San Diego, baby!
The California heat hit Emma the moment she stepped out of the airport. Not suffocating or sticky, just warm and bright, salted with ocean air.
The pickup zone pulsed with excitement, full of travelers in Marvel tees, Funko Pop! keychains dangling from their backpacks. Emma tugged her wheeled carry-on behind her, squinting against the sunlight like someone who hadn’t slept much—because she hadn’t—and climbed into the nearest cab.
“The US Grant, please,” she said, voice still rough from the flight.
The driver nodded and merged into traffic.
Emma took her phone out of airplane mode and checked her email. The work one first, the one that still tethered her to her life as a financial controller at Twin City Industrial Components. Very sexy. Former family business, sold off a few years ago, and now in perpetual financial crisis.
That inbox would soon overflow with complex questions about budget performance and inventory valuation. She braced herself, but there were no disasters so far.
