Chapter Text
“Liv. Liv! Pay attention, we’ve still got to cover your afternoon schedule before you go on.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind I was paying attention to my publicist, Rachel, I swear. The part of my mind that wrote amazing fantasy books that paid for my trip to Dragon Con and made it so I could just not have a real job ever again. That part of my mind one hundred percent agreed that I should use those new blue uni-ball Jetstream pens because they were hella sexy and my hand didn’t cramp while autographing books for three hours.
That part of my mind was not in control at the moment, however.
Oh. Oh no.
The part of my brain that saw something (someone) pretty and immediately ceased all normal function had just caught a glimpse of America’s Butt and was running the show. I followed the sight through the long halls in the service corridor of the Marriott Marquis and sighed dreamily. Fuck, his ass looked even better in person, at thirty feet, than any IMAX could possibly impress upon me. Just the way he walked, those long strides and every step with that flex. Whoo boy.
“Liv! Hey, watch out-“
My view of the behind of one Chris Evans was cut tragically short by distraction as I ran head long into a stanchion. Several people around me gasped as I stumbled and then came to a dead standstill with shock. The perfect, pert ass reeled in my mind and I tried to get my head under control but both brains were having none of it. I slowly turned to Rachel, feeling as though I had really fucked up this time. I could feel the pain blossoming out from my right eye, where I’d caught the concrete corner.
Was I bleeding? My face felt damp; I was probably bleeding. Rachel looked shocked and horrified, one delicate hand reaching out to me like I was a drowning Victorian child and she an underappreciated and ill experienced nanny.
A masculine voice gave a shout as I tilted and it has always been my lot in life to make a scene. I’d been born into that drama and I still lived in it now. I couldn’t stand the concern on Rachel’s face and I thought to reassure her. I opened my mouth to tell her I’d be okay but unfortunately that was the moment my ego kicked back into gear. A pair of strong hands caught me under the arms as the world went black.
“Oh my god. Authors are the actual worst. How they function in their normal lives I will never understand. What the actual fuck, Liv wake up! You’re going to be late.”
There was a vicious shaking and the world went bright all at once. Bright then gray then the same sealed concrete color of all service corridors. I was laid out on my back, head pounding, with the relatively merciless feeling of embarrassment coursing through my very being. I really had just run into a post and knocked myself out. Because of a nice ass.
“Rachel.” I reached a hand out for her, needing something solid. I was pretty sure I’d just given myself a fucking concussion. She took the appendage and leaned in. “Rachel. Did I-“ I had to take a breath and collect my thoughts.
“It’s okay. Take your time, Liv.”
With all the hollering about us being late I thought she’d just hall me to my feet, not console me like the delicate flower I knew I was. “Rachel. Did I just run into a post because I was salivating over Captain America’s Ass.” I closed my eyes again, conjuring the vision. I couldn’t have imagined it; it was so crisp and perfect in my memory.
Someone a few feet away let out a snort of laughter. A dog barked right next to the laugh. And Rachel sighed like the poor put upon publicist that she was. She slapped my hand away and stood before digging into my ribs with her shoe. The madwoman. “Hey, I’m injured down here.”
“Well, get the fuck up and you won’t be down there anymore.” She’d put her business pants back on and I groaned. No more sympathy. Concussion or not, she was right. I was going to be late. I didn't really want to be late since my continued success depended on my presence in all things.
Once upon a time I’d written a really nice and thoughtful letter to Neil Gaiman. I’d just devoured American Gods and wanted that. I wanted that feeling of fulfillment and success. So I wrote him two thousand words, detailing my hopes and dreams and everything I’d ever wanted in a book. And I swore him to secrecy so he wouldn’t steal my ideas but asked for input. How could I get to where he was.
His response was short, but succinct. Just start writing and finish what you mean to.
So I put pen to paper (sat in front of my laptop dumbly for almost two years) before I finally knocked out Appellation Congruous. It was a short fantasy novel about a world with time travel. I sold approximately five copies, all to people with the same last name as me or a direct relative and thought I was done. And then I wrote The Vine Wars, a continuation of Congruous. It actually did fairly well, netting me the 99th spot on the NYT Best Seller list for one whole week.
Rachel came calling on the eight day and it took absolutely nothing for her to convince me I needed an editor and a bigger suitcase because I was going to be famous.
Famous was probably a stretch. Authors aren’t really famous unless they write that great quintessential novel. I was moderately popular, I liked to think, through no fault of my own. I got a leg up in the race due to some serendipitous publicity thanks to a popular British actor. He ended up with a copy of The Vine Wars, loved it, gave it a shout out on his socials and then suddenly here I was.
Sprawled out on a dirty floor in the bowels of one of Atlanta’s finest hotels.
My grandmother would literally be screaming with joy and embarrassment for me at this moment. As it was I got Rachel, no longer interested in my pain and talking to someone up the hall.
“Thank you so much for your help. She’s such a nuisance sometimes, constantly losing track of what’s going on.” I rolled to my knees and took a deep breath. Rachel was always apologizing for me. I constantly wondered why she hung around and then I remembered what I was paying her.
A dog barked again and I whipped my head around trying to find the source. Everyone knew dogs were the absolute best and there was a tragic shortage in ATL. Alas, the hallway had cleared of everyone except the two of us and the poor page tasked with bringing me to my panel.
He hustled us to the conference room I’d be speaking in for the next hour and then gave us a wave as he almost ran off. I scoffed at his departure. “They need to pay those kids more.”
Rachel snapped her fingers in my face, which she knew I hated but responded to better than more attention getting actions. “Look at me. I swear, Liv. You need a PA. Someone that will literally follow you around and make sure you don’t kill yourself going about your day.” She held my chin and wiped at my face with a napkin.
I recoiled because I was not five but also, she did have a point. I did need a PA. “Is that something you can find for me or should I be on the lookout for a hunky nerd who’d like to moonlight as a babysitter?” I meant it jokingly but her growl was not amused. She finished with her ministrations and tutted. That was definitely Rachel-grunts for ‘good enough’ and I was okay for public consumption. A worker cracked the door, looking for me. The room behind her wasn’t large but it was packed. Not even standing room.
I gulped. I had a Master’s, so I was familiar with presenting in front of large crowds but it had never been my own fiction. It had been toponymic analytics in the UK versus Canada. I couldn’t-
Rachel grabbed my chin again. “Focus. You’ve got the panel, like two minutes ago, and then I’m going to feed you and then you’re signing from two to four and then drinks at 5 with the Netflix studio and- Liv! Focus!”
I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze before giving her a giant smile. “I got it, Rachel. Trust me.”
I fluffed my hair, squared my shoulders and headed into the room to a round of applause. Rachel called after me, her voice sounding tight, but I waved a hand at her vaguely letting her know I was okay. I had this.
- ! - ! - ! - ! -
“And now, with the main discussion over we’re going to turn over the mic to the crowd to get some other questions going.”
I grinned before I took a sip of the water they’d given me. There was a whole table set up on the stage with seating for five but it was just me and the moderator all along up here. I almost felt like a CEO and I took my time to adjust my black silk blouse as an assistant reached someone with their hand up.
A young woman, gawky in her pubescence but shining with joy at being at my panel, took the mic with a giggle. I beamed. I had been that awkward child once, excited about finally meeting the person that put thought to word and created a world to live within.
“Hey Liv. I’m Lakeisha. I want to say that your book save me. Like, actually save me. Furst and Ganno are like the ultimate OTP and their story is just so . . .” Her eyes widened with the realization that she’d gotten side tracked and I gave her a nod to continue. “Anyway, are they gonna end up back on the same plane in the next book?” She rushed the end of the question and sat down with a huff.
Shy and overly excited. Boy howdy did I feel that combo in my soul. “Well, hi Lakeisha. It’s nice to meet you and I’m really happy you enjoyed the book as much as you did-“ I went through my usual spiel, first with Lakeisha and then Kent and then Francis and then came Lisa.
Lisa looked older, wise. The type of woman who had few fucks and knew exactly when to use them. She held up an eye brow for the mic and gave the assistant a thankful nod when he handed it to her like she was the queen. I was entranced. Maybe Lisa was a queen. “I liked the book. It was a good sophomore effort and I’m looking forward to the next installments. What I’d really like to know is if you sent Henry Cavill a thank you note for the free publicity. If it wasn’t for him I definitely wouldn’t be here.”
Ah. Yes.
The popular British actor that had read my book. And liked it enough to put up a short video praising it on IG and FB. Rachel had been flabbergasted and still saw dollar signs every time I bumped on socials. I’d had to Google why that name had sounded familiar. I was quite pleasantly surprised to find that the Duke of Suffolk had liked my nerdy fiction.
“Ah. Yes. I also definitely wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his support and I did send a fruit basket as thanks.”
Rachel had thought I’d lost my ever loving mind when I’d demanded she send an edible fruit arrangement to his agent. She’d argued that it was an expensive waste when he’d never get it personally. I argued that you should always thank the person that helped launch your career. No one ever makes it in entertainment on their own, you know.
The crowd laughed with the response and I felt myself relax into my true comfort zone. We’d been at it for almost 45 minutes and by now I was reading my room well. And they liked me. They really really liked me.
A hand shot up in the back. I directed the aid to the arm and took a sip of water while I waited for the question. A hulk of a man stood, over six feet and bulky. My mouth went a little dry and I mentally urged him to take the cap off his head so I could get a good look at his face. “Um, hi. Yes.” The voice wasn’t as booming as the size of the man currently standing would suggest but he was definitely British and that always pleased me. I nodded and tilted my head, listening to his words carefully. “I wanted to ask about the Collegiate at the end of chapter seven.”
Oh Lord, one of those fans. I grinned even harder as he paused to grab a worn copy of my book, my book, out of his pocket to reference. “At the end of the chapter,” Fuck his voice was giving me fits. The accent sounded so familiar but it was off. Like, two steps left of the standard London accent and I was just at a loss. “You said that the Collegiate was bound by the Seventh Proclamation but then at the end of chapter nine, Furst successfully sacrifices part of their heart and I was wondering how they were able to when the Proclamation forbade fractures of that kind.”
My head reeled at the question and I actually sat back on my chair a little. This was the fifth panel/reading I’d done for The Vine Wars. I’d gotten countless letters over the last six months. The strange conversations I’d had at signings could have filled their own book. And yet no one had really picked up on that Easter Egg before. The man sat down and I immediately protested. “Oh. Oh no, sir. Remain standing because you’ve unlocked the meta.” I could see a grin under the cap and I knew I was about to blow someone’s mind.
But first. First I had my own questions. “I’m definitely going to answer your query hopefully within the next-“ I glanced at the clock and pouted. “Ten minutes but I gotta ask something first.”
I got a nod in response and I leaned forward. “Does anyone know what I got my degree in?” Someone in the audience shouted, “Linguistics!” and I nodded sagely. “Yes. Linguistics. Particularly English. Particularly the way the language developed and all the accents that come with it. Now, I want to show you all a party trick, if you’re amicable.” I’d done this trick at every panel and anyone that had seen any of my socials had seen it.
By now my intrigue with the tall, well accented stranger had piqued the interest of the people around him. I noted a few gasps as the stranger shook his head at them. “Sir, you have a unique accent. Can I guess where you’re from?”
“Eh, yeah? I guess.”
I grinned and stood, coming around to the front of the table. It was the end of the panel and I was feeling more relaxed. This was also part of my gimmick. I sat at the edge of the stage and made a fuss like I was settling in for a long questionnaire. Truthfully I already knew he was from one of three places in the UK but it wouldn’t help to give away the punch line immediately.
“How’s your RP?”
He stepped in to the main aisle so he could still see me. As he moved he held a hand out at his side, keeping his companion in their seat. The sheer size of him made my mouth dry; he was the very definition of defined. “It’s alright but it could be better.” He had a smoky received pronunciation, all soft vowels. It sent a shiver down my spine as his voice stroked over the words.
This was probably my best party trick I’d done so far.
“How old were you when you went to study in London?”
The stranger tilted his head and smirked, his face still shadowed by that damned hat. “14.”
I nodded, my suspicions further confirmed. “Tu parles français?”
His, “Oui, je parle un peu français,” felt clipped, like it hadn’t quite found its pronunciation in the world yet.
“And, did you learn at home, in primary, or in boarding school?”
This made him pause before he gave me a full on grin, probably understanding what I was getting at. “I learned in Primary. It’s one of the languages spoken where I’m from.”
There had to people around him that knew who he was because there was a lot of tittering as I closed in on his birthplace. It really could only be one of two places and I only had the one last question. “What does your dad do for a living?”
The stranger chuckled and rolled his eyes skyward. “Finance.”
I clapped and throw my arms wide. “A Jersey boy! Bienvenue à Atlanta! I hope you enjoy your stay here.” The crowd roared along with me as my mysterious stranger kept the mic with his arms crossed. The giggling was reaching a peak and now I was growing confused. Everyone in the back the room was definitely watching my mysterious foreigner. Rachel scuttled up to the stage, her face pale but excited.
I blocked the mic and let her whisper into my ear fiercely, “It’s him! It’s Cavill.”
There was a particular rock that lived in my stomach that liked to drop at the most inopportune times. It chose this moment, when I turned startled eyes back to that smirk, to hit me right where it was the most uncomfortable. I shifted and took a deep breath “Alright. Well, now that the party trick is over and we have-“ I looked at the clock again and swore a little louder. “We have exactly four minutes I suppose I can tell you about the Breaking of the Proclamation.”
The air left the entire room as over a hundred people leaned forward to hear me speak. I kept the tone modulated and almost bored as I explained the rough outline for book three in the series. It definitely wasn't the answer Cavill probably wanted but it was the explanation Rachel and I had agreed on while I was still working on the book. Right on time, the panel was over and I thanked everyone for coming before I practically ran from the room.
I was alone with my thoughts for a blessed amount of silence in the hall. Fuck. Cavill had come to my panel and I was up there acting like I didn’t know who he was. Because I didn’t. I had a career because he cared but I hadn’t gone out of my way to check up on him. What possible publicity could I have given him? I had 5,000 followers on IG. He was like a god.
In fact, I felt like I remembered hearing he’d been playing Superman in the latest reboots.
Not like a god. An actual god. I didn’t know whether to cry with embarrassment or dance with joy because my party trick had gone over so well. Either way, what a hell of a panel. As expected from any woman my age who just had a brush with hotness, my hand reached for my phone and typed in his name.
Yup. There he was. I felt a little dumb that I hadn’t recognized him. Jesus that jaw line could cut a man. Or a woman. Specifically her thighs as he descended on her. Holy fuck he was hot and I’d only ever stared at the one IG post about my book dozens and dozens of times.
I’d never looked farther. I hadn’t stalked. Stalking is bad. I wasn’t that kind of internet user.
But I should have stalked. Fuck I should have stalked.
The door swung open, depositing Rachel right in front of me as I pulled up a gif from the Superman shoot. The sweet and nerdy dude who’d boosted my book to the best seller list, who carried a worn copy in his back pocket for personal reference, was doing pull ups between scenes for muscle definition. My legs quivered at the sight.
Forget America’s Butt.
We didn’t have a god damn thing on The Thighs of Jersey. Holy fuck.
She could read the mounting panic on my face and took the time to pull the phone away. “Just remember, Liv. He’s just a nerdy dude and you owe him your career.”
“I- what? Rachel, what-“
The door opened again and there he was in his muscled 6'1" glory.
And he had a dog.