Chapter 10
White linens, chocolate croissants,
nerves unraveling by the minute.
The hotel breakfast buffet was indecently beautiful. Sunlight streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows, catching on glass pitchers of fresh juice and artfully arranged fruit platters that looked more like interior decoration than food.
Emma stirred her coffee and looked down at her plate, where a chocolate croissant and two strawberries sat untouched. Whatever that surge of confidence had been last night, it had evaporated with sunrise.
For mental comfort as much as physical, she’d gone with her standard armor: tailored black pants and a short-sleeved navy blouse. Leah hadn’t commented—probably sensing this was the wrong time for sartorial experiments.
She sat across the table, already halfway through a poached egg and a green smoothie that looked slightly radioactive.
“So,” she said without preamble, “here’s the game plan for today.”
Emma rolled her shoulders back, trying to look enthusiastic. Or at least not like she debated feigning a heart attack. “Shoot.”
Leah tapped her phone, scrolling through her color-coded schedule. No mysterious red marks today, making Emma wonder what on earth she reserved that color for, if not the panel.
“Your panel starts at ten-thirty—the headline is Antiheroes We Can’t Quit.”
Emma raised a brow. “Subtle.”
“Right? Catchy, though. You’re on with Jenna Vexley—she directed that Romeo and Juliet remake, but everyone’s a vampire, and it ends with an orgy. Huge box office hit. Talks fast, dresses in latex, fans adore her.”
“Okay.” Emma exhaled quietly. This sounded worse by the minute. “At least we both have a . . . professional appreciation for Shakespeare?”
“And then Tyler Blake,” Leah continued, ignoring the comment. “He played the android boss in Chronosphere. Looks like he was bottle-fed steroids as a baby. Wouldn’t recognize an original thought if it whacked him across his perfect, spray-tanned face.”
“Great.” Emma grimaced. “So I’m the story nerd wedged between the Vamp Queen and a himbo cyborg.”
Leah’s face lit up. “Judgy! I like it. Bring that energy to the stage, people will love it.”
Emma smiled despite herself, but it didn’t loosen the knot in her stomach.
Sure, she’d done her fair share of event appearances since The Bonds of Light took off a few months ago.
But readings and book signings were one thing.
An onstage panel at San Diego Comic-Con?
With eccentric stars beside her? That was something else entirely.
What if she froze up completely? Or worse, if she started rambling incoherently in front of hundreds of people.
“Seriously, Leah. How am I supposed to carry a conversation with those two? On stage, in front of actual humans?”
Leah flicked her hand dismissively. “The moderator will take care of it, and you’ll do great. You’re the writer. The brain. The mystery. All you have to do is speak in metaphors and gush about how you love a good morally gray character.”
“I do love a morally gray character,” Emma muttered.
“I know, babe. That’s what brought you here.”
“Fine. Let’s assume I survive. What happens after?”
“Lunch,” Leah said firmly. “Just us. We decompress and celebrate your obvious triumph with sushi. There’s a place down by the marina that has excellent squid—”
“No squid,” Emma blurted.
Leah looked up, surprised, then rolled her eyes. “Right, your weird octopus thing. I forgot.”
Emma let out an indignant huff. “I don’t understand why it’s considered more normal to be scared of snakes. This is like eight snakes covered in suction cups, all connected to a single brain. A smart one, Leah.”
“Yes, darling, heard it all before.” Leah flicked her hand dismissively.
“Squid-free sushi it is. Plus laughing about all the stupid things Tyler Blake inevitably says at the panel. Then you have an off-site event—reading and signing at Lark & Page, up by Balboa Park. Small crowd, gorgeous little bookstore, completely your scene. No vampires or cyborgs, promise. Or tentacles.”
Emma sighed into her coffee. At least the reading was something she could look forward to. She already longed for it.
Leah shot her a pointed look over her oat milk cappuccino. “Also? You were awake at six, answering work emails. Which was very decidedly not part of your official Comic-Con schedule. I do not have a color-code for that.”
Emma lifted her mug in a vague half-shrug. “I have no idea what you’re—”
“Nice try, Whitehart. I saw the little glowing screen from under my mask.”
“Fine. It was just a quick check-in.”
Judging by the flat look Leah gave her, she hadn’t passed the bullshit detector.
“Okay,” Emma admitted, “and a tiny little deck review.”
Leah dropped her fork with a soft clatter. “Emma. You’re at Comic-Con. You’re about to be on a stage with people who’ve directed, starred in, and probably slept with half the genre industry. And you’re still editing Q2 slides for an industrial components company?”
Emma tensed, the words chafing against something that already felt raw. “I have commitments, Leah,” she said pointedly. “As long as I still have my job, I need to make sure things run smoothly. People are depending on me.”
Leah reached across the table, fingers warm against the back of Emma’s hand. She twitched at the unexpected touch, the instinct to pull back hitting like a reflex.
“It’s just a few days,” Leah said gently. “They’ll survive without you. This event is the biggest one in your career so far. You’re allowed to let yourself be here, Em. Not just technically. Really.”
There it was again. It was at times like these that Emma wondered how much those brown, curious eyes actually saw.
Leah seemed to live in her own dimension, always on the move, getting twice as much done as a normal person in any given hour.
And yet she had those moments of complete, unfiltered presence, when you least expected it. Moments that made Emma feel like an open book—written in a language she herself was still learning.
Then Leah pulled back her hand, spearing a piece of cantaloupe on her fork and pointing it at Emma. “That said, if you open Slack again before Sunday, I will personally throw your laptop off the balcony and claim it jumped.”
Emma laughed, her shoulders loosening a fraction. “I look forward to hearing you explain that to my boss.”
“Oh, you should. He’ll start a mental wellness fund for portable electronics before he knows what hit him. Now eat your breakfast. You need energy if you’re going to survive sitting next to Jenna’s latex corset.”
Emma obediently picked up her croissant.
And then, a small voice from behind.
“Excuse me?”
They both looked up. A girl stood hesitantly by their table, maybe sixteen, Comic-Con badge swaying over a denim jacket covered in enamel pins. She clutched a paperback copy of The Bonds of Light, the spine worn pale with use.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the girl said, words stumbling out. “You’re Emma Whitehart, right?”
Emma gave her a heartfelt smile. Not the strained one she’d given the man in the airport—there were no dropped tickets this time. This girl had clearly summoned every ounce of courage to approach them. “Yes, I am. Hi there.”
“I just wanted to ask if you could sign my book for me?” She held it out, fingers trembling.
“Of course I will. What’s your name?”
“Ally.”
Leah conjured a pen seemingly out of nowhere, and Emma wrote a short note, scribbling a little heart by her autograph.
“I’ve read it six times already,” Ally said. “We’re adapting it into a play at my school.”
Emma’s pen stilled midair. “You are?”
Ally nodded, long bangs dancing. “I’m playing Catlyn.”
For a moment, Emma just gaped, at a loss for words. “Wow. That . . . means more than I can say,” she finally managed. Then, after a beat, “Where’s your school?”
“New Jersey?” It came out like a question.
“You know,” Emma said, handing her the book back, “when you have your show dates, write me at the email on my webpage. I’m in New York a lot. I’d love to stop by and see it if I can.”
Ally’s mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
“Of course. I’d be honored.”
The girl flushed, stepping back with the book in a tight embrace. “Okay. I will.”
“See?” Leah mumbled. “That’s who you’re doing all this for.”
She was right. Annoyingly, she usually was. A tender warmth unfurled in her, easing some of the nerves.
“Oh, Miss Whitehart?”
Emma turned to find Ally paused a few steps away.
“Please. It’s Emma. You’ve read my book six times, so we’re definitely on a first-name basis.”
Ally beamed. “Alright. Emma. I really do hope you get Darren Cole.”
Emma blinked. What the . . .
“I’m sorry?”
Uncertainty crossed Ally’s face, as if she’d said something wrong. “For Lucen? For the show?”
“Oh.” Emma exhaled. “Well, nothing is decided yet, but thank you.”
The girl nodded quickly, then hurried off toward her table.
Emma stared after her, stunned, then looked back at Leah. “Shut up.”
Leah took a slow sip of her cappuccino. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face is saying things.”
Leah sat back, a sly smile curling. “Well, now that we’re on the topic . . . any thoughts you want to share about potential Darren Cole sightings today?”
“No.” Emma popped a strawberry in her mouth, trying not to show how her pulse jumped just from hearing his name.
They’d had a brief meeting at a party full of people who were literally there to mingle. He probably wouldn’t even remember her.
“Okie-dokie,” Leah said. “But you know, blatant flirting aside, it’s not a bad thing for you to get acquainted with him. You wouldn’t actually mind him playing Lucen, would you?”
Emma reached for her coffee again, lips pursed. “I don’t think that’s something I can influence. There are probably about twelve layers of Hollywood bureaucracy before my opinion even makes it onto the table.”
“He’s not a mannequin, Em. I’m pretty sure Darren Cole makes his own decisions on what roles he wants.
And getting to know the brilliant, talented, gorgeous author behind a character who’s right up his alley—that might be just what tips the scales.
People don’t base decisions on logic. It’s about gut feeling. Relationships. A sense of connection.”
Emma gave her a look. “That’s great. In theory. But he’s a movie star, and I’m a controller from Minneapolis with two cats and a lot of voices in my head, and at least twice a week, I forget to brush my hair in the morning.”
Leah sighed. “Don’t do that, Emma. Trust me, you’re the biggest star in this room. I don’t understand why you keep . . .”
Something in Emma locked up. She stood abruptly from the table. “I’m getting more coffee. You want anything?”
“I . . . no,” Leah said, eyebrows knitting together.
Emma grabbed her mug and headed for the machine, shoving every Darren Cole-related thought from her mind. It was busy enough as it was. A panel to get through. A reading after that. Likely a few low-grade disaster work emails in between.
That was it. That was her job for the day.
Realistically, she wouldn’t even see Darren Cole again.
And that was probably just as well.