Emma gave him a long look as he came up to her. Was this her life now? Casually talking to Darren Cole backstage after sharing a stage with him?
“Which one?”
“The soul one. Nice dramatic pause there. You had the entire room on the edge of their seats.”
She exhaled, still a little shaky. “Apparently, I learned from the best.”
“Ah.” He tilted his head, mock-innocent. “Did I overshare?”
“Overshare? You ambushed me.” She aimed for stern, but it came out stunned, her mind still trying to catch up.
Darren grinned. “Well, we got interrupted yesterday, and I didn’t think I’d get a second chance to impress you. Had to take the opening when it came.”
“You planned that?” Emma’s brows lifted in disbelief.
“Planned?” He gave a light huff. “I had maybe fifteen minutes’ notice before the panel.”
Something shifted across his face—gone before she could be sure she’d seen it. The same fleeting rift she’d noticed on theDarkreachpanel. A hairline crack between his words and his expression. The moment was gone before she could make sense of it.
“Well.” She shifted her weight with a glance at the door. She needed to breathe, and she couldn’t do that with Darren still standing so close to her. “Thanks for jumping in last minute.”
Just as she started to turn, his hand found her shoulder. Emma tensed, spinning back. Darren met her wide-eyed gaze with steady calm.
“I did hope I’d get to see you again after yesterday.”
Emma stared at him. His touch was light but confident, even though they barely knew each other. Her knees went weak in a way she couldn’t blame on post-stage adrenaline.
He had the strangest air of effortless control. Like he bent the space around him without trying. How very, very Lucen of him. She’d thought it was an on-screen thing, connected to the roles he played. But nope. Clearly, it was all him.
“I meant what I said out there, Emma,” he said. “It’s a hell of a book you’ve written.”
The words sank in deep and settled. His hand was still on her shoulder—but even more so, it was the way he looked at her. Unhurried, like she was worth the time. Not just another fan to brush past on the way to somewhere else.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“D-man!”
Emma jumped as a booming voice snapped the moment in two. Reality, loud and absurd, rushed back in.
Darren dropped his hand as a man in all-black strode toward them. His hairline was starting to make a tactical retreat by the temples, and he wore thick-rimmed glasses, the kind that men his age liked to use to signal they were still part of the it-crowd.
He clapped Darren on the back with blunt familiarity. “Couldn’t have planned that better myself, mate. Every pair of panties in that room is on fire right now. Probably some boxers, too. If this doesn’t top the trends in fifteen minutes, I’ll hand you the keys to my Bentley.”
The British accent sounded a lot less charming coming from him. Darren’s jaw flexed.
“Emma, this is Max,” he said evenly. “My manager. Max, this is Emma Whitehart. The writer I told you about.”
Told you about?Her chest gave a vivid, traitorous flutter.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Max said, giving her a once-over that wasn’t even trying to be discreet. “You wrote that Lucen character everyone is going mental about. Well done, love.”
“Thanks,” Emma said dryly, her tone entirely different from the one she’d used with Darren.
Max grinned, still eyeing her. “The bookish ones didn’t look like this in my day, eh?” He punctuated it with a light backhand to Darren’s ribs.
“Okay,” Darren cut in, mouth a thin line. “I think we’ve done as much as we possibly could with that first impression.” He placed a firm hand on Max’s shoulder and ushered him away.
“Also,” he murmured to Emma, leaning in as he passed her. His sleeve brushed her bare arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Leah just arrived, and I don’t think the universe could handle those two colliding.”
