A nervous woman in the third row stood to ask a question.Thequestion.
Her voice wavered. “Wh-What can you tell us about the final season?”
Thank fuck.Finally.
He bared his teeth in a wide, delighted grin, but she did not appear appreciably comforted. Which was fair. He was a lion with a gazelle in sight, and while she was not the gazelle in question, her instincts for danger were sound.
“Your question is about the final season, correct? You’re asking what I can share about it?” When she nodded, he smiled at her one last time, then looked directly into the bank of cameras streaming his every movement, his every word. “Thank you for such a fantastic closing question. I’d be delighted to answer.”
Lauren flew to her feet, somehow sensing imminent trouble, and Marcus was already striding toward center stage, but it was too late. They were too late, and Alex was smashing through the goddamn wall, fuck the consequences.
Fix this. Fix this now,his brain howled.
So he did.
17
LAUREN BURST INTO THE DESIGNATED HALL FOR ALEX’SQ&A session, frantic to talk to him. But even as a volunteer ushered Lauren to her assigned seat—a special one without arms, and she’d immediately known who’d arrangedthat—the moderator strode onstage, and the session began.
Shit.Shit.
She was too late.
After receiving Ron and R.J.’s email, she’d taken a few minutes to calm herself in her hotel room. The insult itself didn’t particularly bother her—if she had a dollar for every time her cousin called her ugly during their childhood, she’d have enough money in her savings account for several Spanish vacations—but having Alex read it …
Well, that stung a little, if only because it put their differences in such sharp relief. It wasn’t as if he could somehow overlook the fact that he was an unabashedly beautiful human being, and she was not. He didn’t require areminder,though, and she didn’t either.
But that small sting had faded quickly, entirely subsumed by sheer terror at what might happen next. Because Alex wouldnothandle the insult well, and if she looked upset at all, he would go ballistic. So she’d needed to get entirely calm, and then she’d intended to find him before he had the chance to speak to anyone other than her or Marcus.
But he hadn’t been in his suite, and he hadn’t responded to her frantic texts, and by the time she’d worked her way through the crowds outside the hall, she’d run out of time.
Bowing her head in defeat, she took her seat and sent a plea winging to the heavens.Please let him not have seen that email. Please.
After the moderator’s introduction, Alex didn’t simply walk onstage. Heprowled,bright streaks of color high on his cheekbones, face split wide with a rage-filled smile, and oh, yes, he’d seen the email.
But as he answered the moderator’s questions, he remained polite and jovial, and if his voice had sharper edges than normal, she and Marcus—because surely Marcus was here somewhere?—were probably the only ones who noticed it.
After a few minutes, she exhaled slowly and began to relax.
Despite his ridiculously wide protective streak and volatile temper, he was a professional. He’d survived in a tough industry for almost two decades, and despite a couple of bobbles and challenges along the way, he’d managed to construct a very successful career.
He’d do the right thing, much as it might pain and enrage him. She had to believe that.
Then: disaster.
That poor, scared young woman in the third row asked about the last season of the show, and Alex’sexpression. She’d seen that same expression only yesterday. The beam of a berserker ready to slash and burn, and laugh as he did it.
He hadn’t been restraining himself. Not at all.
He’d been lying in wait.
As soon as that expression registered in her brain, she scrambled to her feet, and from the side of the stage, thumping footsteps heralded Marcus’s attempt at intervention, but Alex was already speaking. Already offering his knife-edged grin to the cameras filming his every word.
“As you know, cast members aren’t allowed to say much about episodes that haven’t aired yet.” He wasn’t pacing anymore. He was entirely still, enunciating clearly and distinctly so his message couldn’t be mistaken. “However, if you’re interested in my thoughts about our final season, you may want to consult my fanfiction. I write under the name CupidUnleashed. All one word, capitalC,capitalU.”
Oh, no.No.
The stories Alex had written, the comments he’d made … Ron wouldn’t forgive them, and he wouldn’t forget. He’d do his best to drive Alex from the industry in retaliation for how the actor had so scathingly criticizedGates’s scripts and showrunners.
