Chapter 9
Thursday, going on Friday.
Accessories scattered, thoughts even more so.
They left the party just before midnight.
The ride back was comfortably quiet. Emma leaned her temple against the cool window, watching the lights of San Diego blur past. Her reflection hovered faintly on the glass, like a ghost drifting over the city.
She’d met Darren Cole tonight. Her mind kept replaying it, trying to name each sensation like she was writing it for a scene. But the right words eluded her. Finally, she settled for just staying in the feeling—warm, soft, surreal.
The hum of the engine soothed her nerves.
Emma loved nightly backseat rides. Like little pockets of peace, suspended in the in-between.
Coming from something, going somewhere, but in this brief stretch of time, simply being.
Outside, the city still pulsed with movement.
Countless lives, countless stories. It made her feel small in the best way.
Maybe Leah sensed her mood, because she didn’t speak either. For all her assertiveness, Leah could be strangely perceptive sometimes.
Back in the hotel suite, the atmosphere had that fuzzy, post-night-out feeling that Emma hadn’t felt since her early twenties. She groaned with relief as she kicked off her shoes, even though they had nothing on Leah’s torture devices.
Leah was already sprawled across the massive bed, arms flung overhead, auburn hair fanning out over the pillow. Her makeup was still perfect, and she looked tired, but in a satisfied way—the PR manager version of a marathon runner at the finish line.
“You’re unusually quiet,” Leah said, removing her earrings without opening her eyes. “So either you’re plotting my death, or still short-circuiting from the Darren thing. Or both.”
Emma muttered under her breath, rummaging through the minibar for mineral water.
“Sorry, what was that?”
She straightened with a bottle, unscrewing the cap. “I said, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will murder you. Slowly. With a Lucen-level monologue beforehand.”
She downed half the bottle in one go, as if it could cancel out that last glass of wine she probably should have skipped.
Leah grinned, eyes still closed. “Totally worth it. So, how did it feel to meet him?”
Emma’s huff was sharp enough that it should have made the curtains stir. “How did it feel? You threw me at Darren Cole with no warning! I feel like you wrapped me in velvet, set me on fire, and told me to smile through it.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Leah said, unmoved. “Poetic, though. Good to know your writer brain is still mostly intact. Also, you’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome?” Emma slumped into an armchair. “Do you have any idea what that did to my blood pressure?”
“Oh, I have an excellent idea. I watched it happen in real time. Your whole face was like system overload, please reboot.”
Emma dragged a hand across her face. “Ugh, kill me now, please.”
“No need. You survived. You spoke in full sentences, as far as I could tell. You even flirted a little.”
“I did not flirt.”
Leah cracked one eye open. “Funny, because I could swear your eyes did that thing where you look up under your lashes like a sexy writer-doe.”
Emma flung a throw pillow at her. Leah caught it one-handed, with surprising ease.
“Also, he touched your face. How is that not flirting?”
“He removed some Twilight glitter, Leah. It was an act of mercy.”
“Sure. Except he looked at you like Lucen looks at Catlyn in the crypt scene.”
“That’s just his natural look. He’s got resting smolder face.” Emma let her head fall back against the plush backrest. “It was barely a conversation. And yeah, he’s hot, but he’s not . . . that hot.”
“Oh, really?” Leah rolled onto her side, bracing her head in her hand. “So he doesn’t look exactly like the brooding villain you literally engineered to represent your deepest, darkest desires?”
Emma closed her eyes, unable to hold back her smile. “I plead the Fifth.”
Below, the city still buzzed: distant sirens, someone shouting in the street, the low pulse of a party still going.
Inside the room, everything softened into a mellow haze. The afterglow of a day that had seemed endless, and still somehow managed to land like magic. She could still feel the trace of Darren’s fingertips against her temple, warm and feather-light.
Sleep pulled at her, the armchair deceitfully comfortable. With a reluctant sigh, she mustered the willpower to head for the bathroom. Over on the bed, Leah muttered something about breaking the screw-the-skincare pact.
She got ready for bed in a daze. Washed her face. Changed into her softest T-shirt. Climbed under the covers and let the duvet swallow her whole. Beside her, Leah slid on a replica of Audrey Hepburn’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s sleep mask.
“You know what tomorrow is, right?”
Emma stared at the ornate ceiling above, tracing the pattern. Of course she knew. Today had just been the warm-up. Tomorrow, she was the one to go on stage. Not in Hall H, but still. Crowds, lights, cameras to capture and broadcast every word. “Judgment Day?”
She could practically feel Leah’s eye roll through the mattress. “Panel day, Emma.”
“Same thing.”
“You’ll be brilliant. You always are when it matters.”
Emma didn’t answer. The fear was still there, but now it felt mingled with something else.
A quiet, steady glow within her. Not confidence exactly, but close.
Like the light flickering on in a room she hadn’t entered in years.
She wasn’t sure what had sparked it, but she guarded it carefully, like a tiny flame in a storm.
For a long time, she lay awake in the dark, sheets cool against her skin, mind drifting. But not in the way it usually did, toward duties and to-dos.
Not listing the work emails she’d have to answer tomorrow. Not mentally drafting her response to Miranda’s email about the overdue pages. Not even worrying about the impending panel.
Instead, it kept going back to the rooftop. The sound of her name on his lips. His fingers against her skin. And the look he gave her . . . She turned over onto her stomach, smiling into the pillow.
Had Darren Cole actually flirted with her?
It was a pleasant fantasy, at least. She sighed softly, allowing sleep to pull her under.
As she drifted off, her mind finally found the right words for what he’d made her feel. Something far simpler and purer than she’d expected.
She’d felt seen.