There was a reason she was a writer—she expressed herself best on the page, preferably after a few rounds of editing. Not verbally,spontaneously, in front of a fully crowded room and a sex-fixated semi-vampire.
The countdown clock turned ominously red as it passed the five-minute mark.
Movement by the doorway caught her attention and—finally.Leah stepped inside, phone still in hand. Relief surged for a brief moment until Emma registered the no-bullshit set of her mouth. She stood up, meeting her halfway.
“Did something happen?”
“Okay, Em,” Leah said quietly, guiding her a few steps aside. “There’s been a small change.”
Emma’s stomach plummeted. Not a great time for surprises. “What kind of change?”
Leah’s eyes swept over her, as if gauging whether she was steady enough. “So, Tyler Blake’s out.”
It took Emma a beat too long to process it. “He’s what?”
“Yeah. Dropped out half an hour ago. Hungover, zit trauma, divine intervention—take your pick.”
Emma glanced toward Jenna, now cracking pistachios open with nails sharp enough to qualify as weapons. “So it’s just me and...her?”
“We’ve got a replacement,” Leah said, urgency threading her voice.
Three minutes left on the countdown clock.
“Look, I pulled it together last minute, and it’s actually perfect. Already here. Genre-friendly. History of brooding, morally ambiguous roles. It’ll be fine. Just...don’t freak out, okay?”
Emma’s brain stuttered. The dots were already connecting, but she refused to follow them.
“No,” she whispered. “Leah, no. You’re not saying—”
Leah didn’t answer. Her focus shifted past Emma’s shoulder.
On some level of her spiraling mind, Emma registered footsteps behind her. The faintest hint of an already familiar cologne.
And then—
“Hello, Emma.”
She closed her eyes in defeat. His voice wrapped around her like smoke. Low. British. Her body reacted before she had any chance to stop it—breath catching, stomach tightening.
Even after just two words, she recognized that voice. How could she not? She’d heard it a thousand times from her TV screen.
Emma opened her eyes, turning slowly, as though moving too fast might shatter her.
Darren Cole stood just behind her, impossibly casual in a dark grey hoodie, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a water bottle as if he’d just happened to walk by. His eyes—dark, steady, faintly amused—were already locked on hers.
“Fancy seeing you again so soon.”
Chapter 12
Showtime.
After the chill of the green room, the stage felt scorching. They were only minutes in, and Emma’s neck was already damp beneath her hair.
At least the spotlights partially blinded her to the crowd. The room was far smaller than Hall H, but still packed—row after row of faces blending together into a single entity. A creature with mass and body and a thousand eyes:The Audience.
Everything had blurred together in those last chaotic backstage minutes. A stressed staffer ushered them through a side door, straight into the narrow space behind the curtain.
Karen jumped between her and Darren to introduce herself, pink-cheeked and overeager. A sound guy materialized to wire Darren up, running off again just as the countdown clock at the foot of the stage hit zero. Karen leapt out in front of the crowd.
