Of course he’d be the one to slip under her skin. The man whose image she’d already spent hours falling in love with, through the safe filter of fiction.
Not so safe anymore.
Can’t do lunch, sorry. Got roped into day job stuff.
She tossed the phone aside, pressed her palms to her sore eyes, then forced her focus back to the laptop.
Buzz. She ignored it.
Buzz. Again.
She snatched up the phone, ready to turn the damn thing off—only to freeze.
Incoming FaceTime. Darren.
She stared at the screen for a beat too long, then swiped before she had time to decide if she really should.
Darren’s face filled the screen, sun slanting through a window behind him, hair messily pushed back. His eyes were calm, but focused—a little too focused.
“Hey,” he said lightly. “I sensed a potential human rights situation. Just checking in to make a proper assessment.”
Emma forced a smile, but even the tiny selfie window on the screen betrayed the purple circles under her eyes, the tension pressed into her mouth.
“I’m fine. Just corporate politics. Board member who thinks I have a magic eight ball.” She angled her head and tried for a joke, hoping he wouldn’t notice the state she was in. “In case you’re wondering, board members are kind of like our A-list cast.”
“I know what a board member is,” Darren deadpanned. “But thank you for that very patronizing explanation.” His tone softened. “Seriously, though. It’s Comic-Con. You’re supposed to be out meetingfans, basking in glory. Not...” He made a vague wave of his hand. “Drowning in spreadsheets. About industrial spare parts.”
She let out a brittle laugh. “Tell me about it.”
But the laugh stuck in her throat. The weight of it all pressed down at once—falling behind in both lives, the spotlight burning hotter by the hour. Darren appearing in her life and tilting her world off its axis.
Her breath caught, eyes prickling. Tears began to rise, as if they’d been waiting for the smallest crack. And he was the very last person she wanted to see her fall apart.
But he saw. Of course he did.
Darren sat up straighter on the screen, humor gone. “Emma,” he said, his voice turning sincere. “You look exhausted. Take a break. Get some rest. Whatever they’re expecting, it’s not worth running yourself into the ground over. Nothing is that important.”
“It’s not that simple,” she whispered.
Something settled on his expression. “You know what? I’m coming over. What’s the room number?”
His certainty hit like a jolt—sharp and unexpected. She blinked hard, forcing the tears back. “Darren, really, I’m fine. I just need—”
“Emma.” His voice dropped to something low and dangerous. “Room number.”
She swallowed, shaking her head. “Don’t you have, like, twenty thousand fans waiting for you somewhere? Just let me—”
“Room. Number.”
Almost a growl now. The look on his face was adamant. Her resistance folded in a single exhale. “Eleven-oh-two,” she said. Then, quickly: “But Darren, seriously, you don’t have to—”
“I’m coming,” he cut in. No hesitation. His eyes softened, but his tone didn’t. “Don’t move. Don’t argue. Just...stay put.”
The call ended before she could respond, her own reflection blinking back at her from the dark screen. Her body went tense—part dread, part something she didn’t dare name.
gig
Barely any time seemed to pass before the knock came at the door.
