Page 8 of Heartstrings
“That’s exactly my point.”
“Okay, fine,” I said, coming to the conclusion there would be no reasoning with her. “I’m a shitty PA. I promise I’ll never assume such a lofty position again, but please—there’s a panel starting in”—I glanced at my phone—“two minutes ago that I’m dying to see, and I could really use your help.”
Sadie studied me. From the way her head was cocked in calculation, I knew she could do it—she could get me inside. Afteranother moment, she straightened up and brushed her ponytail over her shoulder. “If attending meant so much to you, then you shouldn’t have removed your badge.” Her mouth twisted into a not-so-polite smile. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Indigo.”
Throat tight, I watched as she slipped back into the convention center, Jewel’s present tucked snuggly under her arm.
* * *
The green room was deserted when I finally returned, my Comic Con badge hanging around my neck.
Despite all the trouble a piece of plastic and lanyard caused me, my pass hadn’t been hard to locate. My first guess was that it was riding around Manhattan in the back of a taxi, but since I had no clue how to track down said taxi, I went to the hotel in hopes of finding it there. Sure enough, it was lying underneath the armchair I’d dumped my bag onto. All I wanted to do afterward was crawl in bed and put my miserable day behind me, but Violet’s business phone was still in my pocket, so I had to go back to the convention center and return it.
Exhaustion settled over me as I dragged myself toward the couches, tossing my bag on the coffee table as I passed by. My aim was off, and it hit the floor, spilling its contents across the carpet. At that exact moment, my cell buzzed with an incoming text.
Violet:
Hey, find your badge yet? Our panel just finished, but we’re doing a signing, and I’d really appreciate a FIJI Water.
“Seriously?” My entire body felt drained, like a phone on two percent battery. The last thing I wanted was to deal with my sister, especially after today’s events. It wasn’t her fault I lost my pass, but she hadn’t helped me either. “You know what I’d really appreciate, Violet?” I said, dropping to my knees to clean up my things. “If you took your goddamn FIJI Water and shoved it up your bony, stuck-up—”
“Um, are you okay down there?”
At the sound of someone’s voice, I jerked in surprise, slamming my head against the underside of the coffee table.
“Crap, I’m sorry! I thought you knew I was here.”
I looked up to see who was talking, but the pain at the back of my skull was blinding. All I could make out was the blurry frame of someone tall. “Ow,” I groaned, rubbing the tender spot that I hoped wouldn’t become a baseball-size lump by tomorrow.
Once the sharp throbbing faded to a dull ache, I blinked the tears from my eyes and focused on the culprit responsible for scaring me to death. Standing above me was a lanky guy with messy, strawberry-blond hair in desperate need of a cut.
“Where the hell did you come from?” I asked, still grimacing.
Mystery guy pointed at the opposite couch. “I was napping.”
“And I knew you were herehow?” I muttered, more to myself than him. From the door, it was impossible to see anyone lying across the cushions. He arched a brow at me, and I sighed. “Sorry, I’m having a craptastic day.”
“Here,” he said, squatting down beside me. “Let me help.” He swept a pile of spare change together and pushed it in my direction.With our new proximity, I was able to get a better look at him. He wasn’t handsome in the standard context of the word—his nose was a bit too long, and his jaw was slightly crooked—but there was something endearing about his boyish looks and freckles. His eyes, however, were breathtaking: a soft green that reminded me of new growth in spring surrounded by thick, blond lashes.
I know this guy, I realized.How do I know him?
As I shoved the last of my belongings into my bag, mystery guy rose to his feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked, offering me a hand up. I blinked but placed mine in his, and he hauled me off the ground. “You sounded upset before.”
Great, he’d heard me bitching. What a wonderful first impression. “Oh, that? I’m fine. I was just venting. Nothing to worry about.”
“But you mentioned someone named Violet. You weren’t talking about Violet James, were you?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
He grimaced. “She your boss or something?”
“I’d rather taste test dog food for the rest of my life than work for Violet. I’m Indie, her sister.”
“Dog food, huh,” he said, his face relaxing. “Even the wet kind? That stuff makes me think of chemically processed barf.”
“Especially the wet kind,” I told him.
