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“You’ve signed up to stand on your feet for two days,” I reply. “Talk until your throat goes dry, smile until your cheeks ache, and hope someone sees what you’ve made and feels something.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve misstepped, Bri and Ember both stiffen, their eyes darting to each other with a shared, nervous look that says far more than either of them will.
“You’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about, everyone is so lovely, honestly. Any questions or if you need a break, just ask us or your neighbours, it’s like one big family, you’ll love it,” I add quickly.
“It’s true, I wasn’t a convention fan until Luna dragged me along to one. The atmosphere is electric, from the traders, to the cosplayers, the props, celebrities and everything in-between. It’s literally the most fun you can have working. The show organisers Ella and Ben are amazing too, you guys wouldn’t be trading if your work wasn’t good enough,” Lennie reassures them, taking a sip of his own wine.
I smile at him warmly as he squeezes my leg under the table.
“Speaking of celebrities,” Saint chimes in. “I heard a rumour there’s one staying here this weekend.”
“I doubt that, they all stay together at an undisclosed location,” I counter.
“Oh no it’s true.” He smirks, glancing towards Bri. “A certain vampire from TV. The Strigoi I believe it’s called; he plays Dimitri.”
“No way,” Ember exclaims. “This place is way too quiet for him; he likes to party from what I’ve heard.”
“You really shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” a voice says from across the courtyard. “Besides, people can change. I’m not the man I once was.”
There he is, strolling towards us like he owns the air. Jackson Shaw in the flesh, every bit the effortlessly gorgeous TV star, wearing that familiar infectious smile, but with just a hint of wariness. As if he’s just caught us mid-gossip. And if I’m not mistaken, Bri has just gone a very impressive shade of bright pink, sliding a little further down in her seat as though she might be able to disappear into it altogether.
Chapter 7
Jax
Islide into the seat beside Bri just as she’s attempting to fold herself into invisibility. Her shoulders are drawn in, chin tucked, and there’s a faint flush spreading across her cheeks that she clearly hopes no one will notice. It’s inexplicably amusing. Leaning forward, I reach across her to grab the decanter in the centre. My arm brushes against hers as I pour myself a glass of water, sparking a flicker of something electric. Huh. That’s new.
Glancing sideways, I mutter “sorry about earl—”
She turns, fast, eyes narrowed, hissing under her breath, “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
Her tone instantly grates on me. I blink once, snapping under my breath. “I did.”
“Really…” she cuts herself off, gesturing vaguely at me. “You, said you were famous?”
“I gave you my name,” I say, leaning back, voice low. “What was I supposed to do, follow it up with a résumé?”
Her glare sharpens. “You knew I didn’t recognise you.”
“And that’s my problem?” I shoot back, quieter but edged. “A bit backwards, is it not?”
She lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “Unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, jaw tightening, “I’m getting that.”
“Something you’d like to share with the group?”
We both go still.
The man in the black shirt is watching us, far too interested actually, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. His eyes linger on me a fraction longer than feels comfortable, as if he’s trying to reconcile me with someone else.
“Not particularly,” I reply.
He chuckles, unfazed. "Shame. Looked riveting." He takes a slow sip of his wine, and his eyes don't move off me once—not a flicker toward his glass, not a glance around the table. Something about it makes the back of my neck prickle. "Santiago Lopez," he says, tilting his glass toward me. "Pleasure." Still no break in the eye contact. Most people look away eventually—a reflex, a courtesy, something. He doesn't. He just… Watches, like he's waiting for me to slip.
Before I can give it anymore thought there's an echo of introductions; “Luna.” “Lennie.” “Ember.” And of course, “Bri,” she says clipped, when it comes to her, as if we haven’t already met.
An awkward silence settles over the table. Everyone suddenly seems very interested in their drinks, which tells me they heard every word between myself and Bri. Perfect. Just when I had hoped people might see me differently, she had to make me look like exactly the man they already expected me to be. My jaw tightens. I refuse to let one bad-tempered woman define the entire weekend. I should probably say something before everyone makes up their minds about me.
