I didn’t think I was this kind of girl. I’ve never been speechless before.
Lies! my emergency reboot program howls. All lies!
He goes on, oblivious to my distress. “I know we kind of got off on the wrong foot. I honestly didn’t want to interrupt you, but Amon thought it would serve the best dramatic effect. I want to get off on the right foot, so…do you have plans tonight?”
What are plans?
I am a puddle of human flesh who can’t even form words because his eyes are the prettiest shade of blue I have ever seen and his eyelashes are long and his eyebrows are well groomed and his face has just enough stubble to make his General Sond cosplay believable and terrifying and…
So hot.
“Plans?” I squeak.
He smiles, and my melted brain goes into overdrive, launching a thousand OTPs. Sond and Carmindor. Sond and Euci. Sond and the Nox King. Sond and Amara. Sond and Zorine.
Sond and me.
“I was thinking we could get dinner.” His laugh jerks me from my stupor.
“I…we…ummm…”
Think, Monster!
But it’s no use. I am now made of idiocy, my brain launching ships that I shall go down with—
An arm loops under mine and pulls me to the side. Sweet cologne, a starchy suit jacket. Ethan, I realize. “Sorry, but we have plans,” he says.
Vance’s face falls slightly. “Oh, that’s a pity. Well, all right then. If you do end up free tonight, I’ll be watching reruns of Parks and Rec in my hotel room here at the Marriott if you need me.”
“I’m here at the Marriott!” I gasp. We have so much in common already!
“Good. Maybe I’ll see you there.” Then he leans in and murmurs in my ear so Ethan can’t hear, “And maybe we can talk about saving Amara. I’ll call you tonight.”
He knows about my initiative?
He will call me tonight?
Au contraire, he can call on me anytime he—
Imogen, breathe.
Before I can muster up the brain power to say anything, Ethan clears his throat. “It was a pleasure, Vance. Jess, we have to go.”
He drags me away from my hunka-hunka-evil-space-general-Englishman-lover and doesn’t let go until we are well out of the green room and in one of the off-limits stairwells. He whirls to me, his lips set in a thin line.
Ruh-roh. That’s not a happy face.
“You will not get away with this,” Ethan snaps.
I blink. “With what?”
He takes out his phone and shows me my profile on Twitter,@OhSparkleMonster. “Jess might not have done any digging, but I sure have. You started the Save Amara movement. That’s why you were so willing to trade places with her. Your outburst yesterday on the panel makes so much sense now—” This he says more to himself than to me.
My mouth falls open. I don’t know whether to be offended or to applaud him for figuring me out.
He puts his phone away. “You don’t understand what’s at stake. I won’t allow it—and neither will Darien.”
I scoff. “Allow me? What can you do to stop me?”
“You’ll ruin her career.”
“Ruin it? I’m going to save it! If the world knows that Jessica Stone backs the movement, maybe the producers will think twice about killing her. Or having her stay dead.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to get behind the movement.”
“Maybe she should. Maybe she should stop being Burr and start being Hamilton.”
He blinks. Of course that reference went straight over his head. He’s the pencil-straight, button-up-shirt kind of guy who probably listens to smooth jazz while reading a Stephen Hawking book. Which is fine, no shade there, but ugh. Of course I have to be stuck with the most uncool person at the con—
He steps up to me, looming like the five-foot-eleven beanpole he is, and says in a soft rumble, “She is. She just doesn’t want to waste her shot.”
Gooseflesh ripples across my skin.
“You know the rules,” he says. “And that thing you just tried to pull with Vance? Yeah, smooth move, criminal.”
“I wasn’t actually—that wasn’t—I had it under control.”
“Right, ‘under control.’” He puts it in finger quotes. Starflame, who does that anymore? “Jess would never have given him that much face time. Not to mention he interrupted you.”
“It was a great entrance!” I defend. “And it was a crowd-pleaser. Besides, he apologized.”
“Get the lovesick out of your ears, Imogen.”
I grit my teeth as I feel a blush redden my face. “I am not lovesick. I just had a minor brain fart, okay?”
“A brain…” He pinches the bridge of his nose and mumbles under his breath, “I should get a raise for this.” Then he pushes up his thick black glasses. “Jess—you—have a meet-and-greet in”—he checks his watch—“twenty minutes. We should get lunch, and I’ll teach you how she signs her name, and you need to fix your makeup and—”
“Chill, dude.”
He shakes his head. “Jess’s career is already on the line and I’m here to make sure she doesn’t screw up her chances because of some rapscallion look-alike.” He stands a little straighter, as if needing the extra height in order to call me names, even though he is already a full head taller than me.
Which, point taken. He does. Especially after that name-calling.
“Rapscallion?” I echo, keeping my voice even. “That’s all you’ve got? Rapscallion?”
He hesitates, unsure whether I’m just so angry that I’ve lost all inflection or I’m about to burst out laughing. “It—it sounded fine in my head.”
And he looks so uncomfortable and so embarrassed but trying so hard to keep his cool that I just sort of…lose it.
Laughter bubbles up through my chest and I double over in hysterics, gasping for breath. “Ohmygod, rapscallion! It’s like you’re from some eighties fantasy cult classic or something! Ohmygod, my spleen. Where did you get that—your mother’s regency novel? ‘Hark, you dastardly rapscallion!’ What do you say when you’re really pissed?” I straighten enough to twist my voice into that of a crotchety old man: “‘Oy, you rascally kids, get off my lawn!’ Oh, you and Pretzel Henry would get along so well!”
And then I bend over into another gasp of laughter.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he mumbles, but there’s definitely a red tinge to his cheeks. He folds his arms over his chest and looks away. “And who’s Pretzel Henry?”
When I’m finally able to calm down, I wipe the tears from my eyes and blink at the ceiling. “Oh my God, I haven’t laughed that hard in ages. My mascara isn’t running, is it?” I ask, batting my lashes at him.
He looks into my eyes, and oh—he is blushing. He quickly looks away. “No, it’s fine. Come on. We should get lunch.”
“But shouldn’t you text Jess about this first?”
He pauses midturn. “I already did. She’d want to know about Vance—”
“No, I meant about you secretly being an old man in a young body,” I say, at which he frowns again.
+10 Disapproval.