A small group had gathered toward the back—mostly teenage girls, but a few guys in duct-tape corsets too. My heart slammed in my chest. I raised a tentative hand and waved to the nearest one. She saw me. Waved back excitedly. Started talking to the others.
This was...beyond anything I’d ever imagined.
A flash of cameras blurred my vision as a tall blonde in oversized sunglasses strolled through the rows and took the seat clearly reserved for her. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t focus—my heart was still with the Captain Carusos in the back.
“Where’s Elaine?” I asked Charlene, leaning across the chair between us.
“Enjoying the spotlight,” Charlene said, nodding toward the entry doors—where the press had completely cornered John. Elaine had pushed herself right beside him, sparkling in a silver dress that made me instantly feel underdressed.
My leg bounced likeI’ddowned party drugs.
Then the roomerupted. Cameras flashed wildly as John entered the conference room. I mean,Elvis has re-entered the buildinglevel of chaos.
He strode past the podium like he wasn’t an anxious mess inside. Like this was easy.
I winced as the camera lenses that had been trained on him suddenly turned to me.Smile and wave, Nora,I reminded myself.Just smile and wave.
After a brief welcome, we were shown a pre-recorded message from Lew Elliot himself, apologizing for not attending in person and expressing his pride in the new generation of writers. My throat tightened. I wished—God, I wished—Dad could have seen this. I felt both disappointed and relieved not to be meeting Lew Elliot tonight.
Then it was time for our statements.
Elaine’s sounded like a Miss Canada acceptance speech. John’s was full of suave smiles and easy charm—his press-face firmly in place. Mine was rushed and rehearsed. I rambled. But the Caruso cosplay crew clapped wildly when I finished. That helped. Even so, I felt dizzy and parched by the time I sat down.
And for the first time, it hit me: this wouldn’t be the last event. There’d be more. In different cities. With different press. Lew Elliot’s story had stretched across decades and touched millions of fans. This really was a big-ass deal.
If I made it to the next round, I’d have to suck it up.
Dad would be so proud, I told myself. Over and over.
A hand pressed down on my bouncing knee, stilling it. I followed the fingers up to their owner—John. He leaned over, whispering in my ear:
“Just imagine them all naked.”
“You trying to calm my nerves or make me horny?” I blurted, before I could stop myself.
He chuckled behind his hand. One of those rare, unrehearsed smiles.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, the fact that he noticed I was nervous—and cared enough to say something—meant more than it should have.
Even with all eyes in the room onhim, he still had the bandwidth to seeme.
Another flash hit my face.
I slipped my hand beneath the table and clasped his. Holding ontosomething—even if it washim—was better than losing my shit on camera.
His fingers threaded between mine.
I had no idea how we’d gone from not being able to be in the same room to secretly holding hands under a conference table. I still hated him, of course. Obviously. But it was…disorienting.
“And now,” Charlene said into the mic, “I have the honor of announcing our top three contestants.”
Applause echoed through the room. I straightened in my chair, barely balanced on the edge of my seat.
John’s thumb brushed over the back of my hand, and a bolt of heat shot up my arm.
I knew I wasn’t at the bottom when it came to social media numbers. But that was only half the vote. What if Charlene had told the board I wasn’t a team player? What if she’d said I was a weird recluse? She wouldn’t be wrong.
“The first contestant to make it to the next round…” Charlene smiled, drawing it out, “is Elaine Doffaue. Let’s give her a little applause.”
