Page 11 of Going Viral for Christmas
“They do, actually. Body mist too.Storm-Kissed LeatherandBrooding in the Sheets—both sold out in under an hour when they launched.” His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. “If you want a sample, I’m wearing both.”
My eyes narrow at him.
“Oh, you two are going to kill it out there,” Shirley gushes.
“That’s the plan,” Soren says, eyes still on me.
“This is the biggest crowd we’ve ever had for a panel.” Shirley peels back the curtain.
My stomach drops.
The energy vibrates with anticipation. Every chair is filled, and the rest is standing room only, with people lined up against the walls three deep. Phones are already recording from the back rows.
“That’s way more than a hundred people,” I whisper.
“Two hundred fifty,” Shirley says. “To be exact.”
I close my eyes for half a second. Breathe in. Try to remember my own name. Breathe out.
Camera flashes, excited voices, overhead lights. They’re all making my skin feel too tight. The world is loud and bright and pressing in from all sides. I can’t find enough air to suck in.
Deepbreaths. One. Two. Three.
It’s not working. Anxiety and ambition are locked in a bare-knuckle brawl behind my ribcage. Both are losing.
Soren’s voice pulls me back. “Ava, you okay?”
Breathe in.
I reopen my eyes to find him watching me with the tiniest crease between his brows.
Breathe out.
Refusing to let him see me crumble, I smooth my dress, flash a smile sharp enough to slice through my own panic, and reply with a light tone, “Of course.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. This is me, mentally preparing for our classic death match.”
“Classic death match,” he parrots.
“Yeah. We’re about to go up there and do some realClash of the Titansstuff, you know, debating over men whoshowtheir emotions vs. sword-wielding angst machines.”
With a chuckle, Soren’s head drops for a half-second. “Some might argue that those sword-wielding angst machinesareshowing their emotions. Only, they do it with bloodshed and battle cries. In my books, war isn’t just war—it’s foreplay with a body count. Because let’s be honest, most of those epic clashes start with a woman. Or end with one. Or a kingdom burned down in her name.”
“So you're telling me your warlords are romantics with rage issues? That all this sword-swinging and kingdom-toppling is their way of writing love letters in blood?”
“Exactly.”
Pulse tripping over itself, I manage to roll my eyes. “Fantastic. Murder with emotional depth. Be still, my heart.”
His gorgeous lips twitch. “See, you get it.”
“Yep. Nothing says love like a little light decapitation.”
“Ready?” Shirley asks.
We nod.
