Chapter 5 Imposters #2
It takes Sage one scan of the space to realize there’s nothing about Vibe that separates it from any other club they’ve been to in LA.
There’s a dance floor and several smaller lounge areas and two bars that stretch in an L shape across the back of the space.
To their right is a lounge that sits a few steps above the rest of the club, complete with small clusters of couches and chairs and curtains.
The crowd on the main floor is dense but not overwhelming, likely thanks to the exclusive guest list.
It’s all flashing lights and bass vibrating in her chest. And yet …
There’s a certain power in the air, thick and perfumed and polished, and it makes Sage feel a little woozy. She’s hyperaware of her posture, of her hands, of how her face feels like it can’t rest in a normal expression as she looks around.
What the hell am I doing here what the hell am I—
The internal loop is cut off only by Emerson’s nudge to her ribs. Her friend nods to the raised lounge.
Theo.
He’s just visible in a group of people, standing near a cluster of leather love seats, his head tipped back as he laughs at something someone has said.
He’s in black jeans and a white button down—open collar, rolled sleeves—looking just polished enough for an event but not so much as to be mistaken for effort.
The ensemble is simple. But on Theo, the effect is devastating.
His blond hair is tousled, his posture relaxed as he leans an arm against the back of one of the couches.
He’s got a highball glass loosely gripped in his hand, and maybe it’s the way the flashing lights—all soft, cool blues—reflect off of his skin, painting his sharp features in even sharper relief, but he looks like sin.
Sage swallows, her throat suddenly dry.
“Damn,” Emerson remarks from beside her, gaze fixed on Theo. “Can we get a content warning or something?”
Sage’s laugh sounds a bit manic. There’s something fizzing in her chest, but she shoves it down and says, “I need a drink.”
“A tall glass of water?” Emerson asks. “Because that’s exactly what that man—”
“Please stop talking immediately.”
By the grace of some higher power, Emerson does, but if the shit-eating, knowing grin on her face is any indication, she’s just biding her time until the next opportunity arises to make Sage want to melt into the floor.
Theo sees them as they’re walking up to the lounge, and he stills for a moment, his glass midway to his lips, before he gives them a wide, surprised smile. He gets to the security guard first, and with a simple nod from him, the woman steps aside to let them into the lounge.
“Fancy,” Emerson drawls by way of greeting. “Good to see you, Theo. Thanks for having us.”
“Emerson.” Theo grins, and Sage feels some sort of way that he remembered her name after their single meeting at the airport. To Sage, he says, “Collins. I’m surprised you made it.”
What Sage wants to say is that she is also surprised she made it. In fact, she’s surprised she’s making it, as in, still standing. It should be illegal for my last name to sound like that when he says it, she thinks, but instead she says, “When in Rome,” and promptly wants to die.
She turns to Emerson, fully expecting her friend—who is the one who insisted they come to this—to save Sage from her fucking self, but she’s saying something about how she needs a drink and suddenly she’s just … gone.
Sage is going to kill her. As soon as her limbs work again, she’s going to kill her.
Theo takes a sip of his drink to hide his smirk, and Sage takes a moment to look around the lounge. She’s not avoiding the temptation to track the motion of him swallowing.
She’s not.
“What?” Theo asks, following her gaze.
“Does one need a VIP lounge at a VIP party?”
He shrugs. “Quieter back here, at least.”
Sage doesn’t know if she’d call it quiet.
There’s still the thump thump thump of the bass from whatever the DJ is mixing, still the swell of noise from those dancing.
But there’s also a circle of security that’s keeping the lesser celebrities away from Theo and the other who’s whos, so sure. Quieter, she guesses.
“I’m missing the sounds of the screaming paparazzi.”
He drags a hand through his hair, and under the strobes, she sees the faintest hint of a flush crawl up his cheeks. “I promise, no paparazzi tonight. No photos at all, actually. Club policy. Speaking of, I believe I owe you an apology drink. Can I buy you one?”
Sage gasps. “They make you buy them here?”
“Ghastly, isn’t it?” His grin is easy and loose and utterly distracting, but then he presses a hand to the small of her back, and Sage’s brain focuses solely on that point of contact between them.
“It looked like quite the turnout for you today,” he muses as he guides her forward. “How’s your hand?”
It takes Sage two more steps toward the bar to catch up to his meaning, and suddenly she’s twisting to face him fully, his hand falling from her back as she does. “You … how do you know that? Were you there?”
She doesn’t remember any sort of commotion at her signing, and if there’s one thing she’s learned about Theo in the last few days, it’s that where he goes, commotion follows.
Theo presses his lips together, something shy flickering across his face. “I have my ways,” he settles on.
She fixes him with a look.
“Fine, I was passing through the signing hall and maybe routed us by your booth.”
“And you didn’t get mauled?”
“It’s amazing what a hat, sunglasses, and a small entourage can do.”
Sage goes to point out that the hat certainly hadn’t helped the other day, but Theo nods toward the waiting bartender. “What’s your poison?”
“Gin and tonic,” she answers, her brow still furrowed as she tries to work out how he’d gotten past her without her even noticing. Then again, she does tend to focus only on what’s right in front of her, especially when work is involved.
Theo glances at his empty glass before saying to the bartender, “Make that two, mate. And if it’s not too much trouble, could you make sure the rest of her drinks go on my tab as well?” He motions to where Emerson is chatting up a woman in a fuchsia suit.
“You don’t have to do that,” Sage interjects, but he just waves her off.
“You two are my guests.” He props an arm on the bar, shifting just enough that she has to tilt her head up to hold his gaze. He’s close enough that she can just catch the scent of his cologne: something warm and sharp.
“So. The signing.”
“The signing,” she parrots, unable to stop the grin tugging on the corners of her mouth. It probably seems childish, or maybe … foolish? … to someone like Theo, but the giddiness that bubbles up in her at the mere thought of earlier demands to be felt.
“Yeah,” she breathes out. “It was … pretty surreal.”
Theo smiles, thanks the bartender for their drinks, and nods toward an empty love seat. “I wasn’t surprised to see the crowd,” he admits once they settle there next to each other.
“Oh?”
“You do know you’re not the only one who Internet stalks, right?”
“I do not Internet stalk!” Theo’s laugh is low and thrumming like the bass streaming through the speakers. “Besides,” she adds. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you’re used to.”
His knee bumps against hers. “Don’t do that. Don’t downplay your accomplishments.”
It’s instinct, in a way, to deflect—to steer attention away from the thing that’s precious to her. To push back when someone gets too close to realizing how badly she wants this and how desperately she wants to keep it. But now, Sage’s self-deprecation gets caught in her throat.
She’s not often called out on it.
In fact, she doubts most people even see it for what it is.
She takes a sip of her gin and tonic to steady herself, watching Emerson work the VIP lounge like she’s on the brink of closing some deal.
Sage should be out there, too. This was about networking, after all.
But there’s a tug in her chest that keeps her anchored to the couch, her body swaying infinitesimally into Theo’s space.
“Okay,” she finally says.
“Okay,” Theo agrees. He hasn’t moved his leg from where it’s pressed against hers, and the warmth is distracting. He’s looking at her steadily, his eyes soft and blue in the strobes, and Sage is breathing out another Okay before she can stop herself.
They’re quiet for a long moment, and she shifts, putting a breath of space between them so she can focus.
He keeps surprising her, and it’s equal parts infuriating and alluring. Each time she thinks she has him nearly puzzled out, he goes and scatters all the carefully placed pieces.
She thinks of last night, and that thing in her stomach clenches unpleasantly. The gin burns her throat as she takes another fortifying sip, staring, unseeing, at some distant point on the dance floor. “About my texts …”
“If you’re about to apologize, please don’t,” he interrupts, drawing her gaze back to him. “If anything, I should be apologizing to you. You wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me.”
Despite herself, a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Right, no, that’s exactly what I was going to say. It’s definitely all your fault.”
She’s sort of obsessed with the snort of laughter that comes from him.
“I stand by what I said, you know,” he says after a moment.
“About them not knowing me?”
He contemplates that before he says, “Yes, but also … you don’t seem the type to be bothered by what people think of you.”
Sage laughs, but it sounds a bit hollow to her ears.
She knows the impression she gives off, and it’s purposeful—a defense mechanism from years of feeling like a puzzle that wasn’t made right.
She dons the strongest armor she can find, because what’s underneath is too soft, too malleable, too easily destroyed.
If she can just be confident enough, be sure of herself enough, hell, be enough …
then it won’t matter. They can’t hurt her.