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“Do you have to swear that on a fish-eye lens before every gig?”
“Yup. Then we slice our palms and smear blood across the memory cards. It’s a whole ritual.”
Despite her embarrassment, a smile fought at her lips. “So, if I were to choke on a piece of carrot while sitting here, you’d keep recording and let me die?”
“If there was someone else nearby to help…”
Her eyes widened. “Oh my god. What if we’re alone?”
“Why are we alone at your office?”
Quite a few options ran through her head, but Everly managed to get her tongue under control for once. “To allow my hypothetical scenario to play out.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back in her chair, taking him in slowly. Like a challenge. Daring him to say yes.
But since she was the antithesis of intimidating, she probably looked like she was checking him out.
And then she was. Because those forearms. The way the right one flexed as he balanced the camera on his shoulder, his muscle so taut it looked sculpted from stone. A tattoo peeked out from the end of the rolled cuff. All she could see was the bottom half of a black circle.
She shook her head and resumed eye contact with the camera.
“Of course I wouldn’t let you die.”
She nodded sharply in approval.
Then there was a rare tug of his lips toward a smile, a hint of playfulness under the roughness of his voice as he added, “But I’d get it on camera if I could.”
CHAPTER 7
The warehouse sign was large and brightly lit, with a slightly off reproduction of Wreck-It Ralph shouldering a pile of bricks and broken wood and metal at its center. Below the image, angry block letters spelled outTHE WRECK-IT ROOM, then in smaller font,Where you can rage against more than machines.
Everly cocked an eyebrow. “This place likes to live on the edge when it comes to copyright infringement.”
“Okay, but we’re here for pleasure, not work,” Becca said with a laugh. She flattened her palms against Everly’s back and urged her forward.
Everly, Becca, and Ellis had been instructed to meet Stanton here at nine thirty in the morning. They’d been told nothing except to dress comfortably, and already, Everly was regretting not taking that more seriously.
As if reading her thoughts, her brother pointed at the mascot’s red overalls. “You should have worn that.”
A rage room definitely wasn’t the best place for Everly’s jeans andheeled black booties, but she wasn’t about to take fashion advice from Ellis, of all people. “Says the guy who only knows how to dress like an accountant.” Even his loungewear included pressed khakis and a collared shirt.
“They say to dress for the job you have,” he replied.
“It’s dress for the job youwant,dork,” Everly shot back with a smirk.
Ellis shrugged. “They’re the same for me.”
Everly’s stomach twisted. What was that like? She didn’t hate working reception at Matten-Waverly, but it wasn’t exactly her dream job either. She hadn’t dressed up as a secretary for career day at school. No, she’d been a painter, a veterinarian, and one year, when she was feeling particularly ambitious, both at the same time (she’d worn paint-splattered coveralls under a pristine lab coat and carried around one of her stuffed dogs). These days, though, safe and comfortable won out over everything else.
But safe and comfortable could never be something Everlyloved. Passion and excitement came with an inherent risk. You might lose, fail, be let down. Wasn’t that why she’d backed out of the Collective the first time? Because without Grandma Helen there, her mother’s doubts had sunk too far into her skin for Everly to pluck them out.
On the Plus Sidewas going to help her overcome that fear. She’d have a booth at the Collective. And she’d find a career she loved. Maybe it would be doing tattoos. Or marketing. Maybe she’d go back to sketching book covers like she used to do in her old YouTube videos. Maybe she’d be like fourth-grade Everly, and do them all at once. That was the beauty of this show. She didn’t have to make any decisions right now.OTPSwas the start of a journey, not the end.
The entrance to the Wreck-It Room was spacious, sparsely filled, and a headache-inducing shade of pure white. Clearly demarcated into two sections, one was dedicated to T-shirts, sweatshirts, hats, and othermerchandise with the company logo. On the other side, a metal counter stretched from window to wall, the large TV behind it shuffling through footage of guests participating in various stages of destruction. But the focal point of the space was a set of large barn doors that led into what Everly assumed was the warehouse proper,Let the Rage Beginscrawled across them in black spray paint. Rock music pulsed loudly enough from behind the distressed wood to cause the floors of the entranceway to tremble beneath her feet.
Stanton and Sady waved from where they were leaning on the counter, talking to an employee. Logan, who’d been wandering around getting B-roll, swung the camera toward Everly.
Her stomach flipped. It hadn’t even been a day since she’d last seen him, following the now (in her mind) infamous vinyl figure fiasco with James, yet her body reacted like this was the first time she’d ever laid eyes on Logan.
Her gaze caught his briefly, then she glanced away before she had to suffer another lecture on the ills of breaking the fourth wall.
