Page 4 of Going Viral for Christmas
“Oh my, Lord! It was all three. You hussy.”
I sneer at him.
“I’ll repeat myself. You should go for it.”
“Go for what? His book? His fanbase?”
“His unbelievably well-defined forearms, which could double as murder weapons. All of the above, really. Preferably while riding him into oblivion.”
“Gross, Fisher.”
His lips twitch. “What? The heat in your eyes tells me you’re one well-placed comma away from a sexual awakening.”
“You’re fired.”
“You threaten, but I know too much.”
“Ugh. Rescinded.”
Fisher drapes an arm over my shoulder. “Sooo…Renata not-so-subtly suggested I try to snag a photo of you—or, God willing, avideo—with Soren to ‘play into the rivalry,’ especially since every time he so much as breathes in your general direction, your book sales mysteriously spike.”
I shrug him off. “Not happening.”
“Suit yourself–”
“Ms. Bell?” A young woman with a bright smile and barely contained excitement approaches, wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard. “Hi! I’m Jessica, one of the event coordinators. We’re ready for you for the panel. Just follow me.”
My stomach drops to my toes.
Right.
TheGenre Feud.
Romance vs. Fantasy.
Me vs. Him.
Cinnamon rolls and soulmates vs. sword-swinging alpha types who wouldn't know healthy communication if it stabbed them.
This whole thing seems fun in theory—less so when you’re the one about to walk into the arena.
“Great!” I force a smile.
“Off you trot.” Fisher shoos me away. “March into that panel and give him hell and a half-chub.”
With a groan, I follow Jessica, each step heavier than the last as Imake my way toward the one and only Soren Pembry, who is drinking me in with a grin that could end nations.
This panel isn’t just content. It’s my chance to prove I belong here—that one bad release doesn’t make me irrelevant. That I’m more than the algorithm’s latest casualty.
That I’m somebody.
Problem is, I have to pull it off besidehim. The author whose fantasy books top every list. Whose fandom treats his sword like it’s Excalibur. Whose smirk is a direct threat to my sanity.
Lord help me.I’m about to endure a fan-fiction trope in front of a hundred people and a livestream audience.
Shoving every tremble, flicker of doubt, and the ache of insecurity deep,deepdown, I step in front ofThe Bladehimself, wearing my invisible mask of confidence.
Chin up. Smile nice. Shoulders back.
