Page 4 of Confused AF (At First #2)

four

~ Vaden ~

T he Spellbound Expo was nothing short of madness.

The doors of the convention center hadn’t even opened to ticketed attendees yet. Even so, the noise levels already vibrated at volumes that made me question how the entire building hadn’t collapsed yet.

Hundreds of artists, stylists, and beauty moguls rushed around the room, shouting orders—or curses—as they made last-minute preparations before the masses descended.

From the relatively unknown to the corporate brands that even a troglodyte like me recognized, they all appeared to be in varying states of panic.

Influencers with early access roamed the aisles between the rows of tables. Some kept it low-key with nothing more than a smartphone and selfie stick, while others had whole film crews following behind them.

And they all had loud opinions.

While the big names occupied massive sections filled with vivid colors and elaborate displays, most of the vendors had setups consisting of a single folding table. About five feet long and made of cheap plastic, they strained under the weight of their burdens.

Like everyone else, Otto had found a way to make the space his own, though. An impressive feat considering how little he’d been given to work with.

A shimmering, iridescent cloth covered the table, the fabric flowing over the side like a liquid rainbow. Most of the surface had been reserved for an array of bottles, tubes, palettes, brushes, and possible torture devices. He had set aside a corner to display his business cards, though.

Behind the table, a six-foot vertical banner displayed his business name—Statement Studios—contact information, and the list of services he offered. And just in case the neon backsplash didn’t garner enough attention, we had tied balloon bouquets to the stand.

In the end, his booth had gone from drab to psychedelic fever dream, and I meant that as a compliment. I just didn’t know why we had needed to be there four hours early to make it happen.

Then again, a lot of Otto’s decision-making seemed to be based on little more than vibes and anxiety, sprinkled with a side of wishful thinking. Arguing against his logic only made him spiral deeper. Distraction and redirection didn’t work.

Yet, while he seemed incapable of giving up control, he didn’t appear to have a problem with me taking it. Frankly, the unspoken arrangement suited me just fine, especially if it gave him even a moment of peace.

Something he seemed in desperate need of at the moment.

With another hour left before the doors opened, and nothing left to occupy him, he had started second-guessing every choice.

He questioned the placement of the banner.

He agonized over his makeup selections. Even the bowl of individually wrapped peppermints he’d set out for potential clients hadn’t escaped his scrutiny.

“What if someone is allergic?” He rimmed the edge of the glass bowl with his index finger, his mouth turned down in a pensive expression. “I should get rid of them.”

“If someone is allergic, they just won’t eat them,” I reasoned.

“What if they can’t even be around them?” He pulled his hand away and glanced over his shoulder. “That happens.”

“They’re wrapped.”

“But still.”

When he reached for the bowl again, I whipped my tail out, snapping it against the top of his hand. In response, he jerked back and glared at me like I had seared him with a branding iron.

“Everything is perfect, and no one is going to die from an airborne allergen.” Taking him by the shoulders, I turned him around and steered him toward the folding chair at the edge of the table. “Sit. Relax.”

“But I have to—”

“Be at your best when those doors open.”

“Maybe if I just—”

I pushed him back into the seat when he tried to stand.

“You look good today, by the way.” I said it partly to distract, but mostly because it was true.

“I—” He stopped abruptly and tilted his head. “Thank you.”

He had wanted to purchase clothes for the entire week.

I’d suggested he just needed a single outfit.

In the end, we had compromised, and he’d left the mall with enough clothes to get him through the next two days.

Even that had taken nearly two hours and four different stores, but the results had been well worth the effort.

The black chinos hugged him like an old friend, while the sage green V-neck complemented his complexion and highlighted the gold in his eyes. He appeared professional without being stuffy, and most importantly, the ensemble made him look approachable.

“So, how does this work?” I asked, now that I had his attention. “Do you just do whatever makeup people want?”

Folding his arms across his chest, he slumped back in the chair with a disgusted snort. “I don’t do makeup.”

I bit down on the side of my tongue to stop my smile from spreading. He really couldn’t help himself. Even when he could barely think straight, he loved to correct me, especially when it came to his craft.

It should have annoyed me, but on the contrary, I found it…cute.

“But yes,” he continued. “Technically, I am planning to offer consultations, where potential clients can choose the look they want.”

“And that’s it?” I knew it wasn’t, but I wanted to keep him talking.

“No. I will also be doing demonstrations and tutorials.”

“What’s the difference?”

He began his explanation, waving his hands in wide, sweeping motions as he talked about techniques and other things that made no sense to me. Still, the question had served its purpose, and while I had him distracted, I reached into my pocket for my phone and opened the music app.

Once I had the playlist queued up, I retrieved a pair of earbuds from the other pocket and checked their connection. Satisfied I had everything in working order, I crouched in front of him just as he finished telling me about color theory.

“What are you doing?” He leaned back, batting at my hands as I reached toward his ears.

Gods, he was fucking adorable.

“Be still.” I caught him with my tail, wrapping the end around his wrist and holding him in place as I inserted the pods into his ears. “Try to relax.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes wide and a little dazed, but he didn’t try to pull away or remove his arm from my grasp.

Normally, I found him easy to read, but this time, I had no idea what was going on inside his head. He seemed agreeable, though, and I detected no anxiety in his scent. Just that sweet, smoky fragrance that I found so enticing.

Unable to stop myself, I leaned closer, breathing him in as I pressed a hand to the side of his face. “Close your eyes for a little while and try to clear your mind. I’ll be right back, okay?”

When he gave another nod of acceptance, I started the music, a collection of mellow jazz, and stroked his cheek before pulling my hand away.

It had started innocently enough, with nothing more than a desire to ease his frazzled nerves. I rather enjoyed touching him this way, though, and I had to admit that his reaction eased an ache in my chest I’d been feeling since that day at the cafe.

I waited until he had settled back in the chair and closed his eyes before pushing to my feet. Then I lingered for a moment longer, just watching him, before forcing myself to turn and walk away.

Otto had been awake since five o’clock that morning to start preparing for the day.

Even with limited options, he had still spiraled over what to wear.

He had practiced his smile in the mirror for a solid ten minutes.

There had been an entire meltdown over the fact that his personal makeup had been in his lost suitcase.

In his mind, a makeup artist should arrive at a makeup event in full war paint, and honestly, I kind of saw his point.

His face was the marketing. It had taken some coaxing, but eventually, he had accepted that arriving unmasked might work in his favor, giving him a fresh canvas for tutorials or whatever he called them.

In fact, the only thing missing from his morning spiral had been food. He had skipped breakfast, claiming to be too nervous to eat, and while I got it, that didn’t mean I approved. Since arriving in Las Vegas, he had been running mainly on adrenaline and anxiety, but he couldn’t keep it up forever.

Sooner or later, he had to come down, and while I couldn’t stop the crash completely, maybe I could mitigate it.

Thankfully, the convention center offered a variety of options, from pizza slices to artisan bakeries. I joined the line at the deli.

Fifteen minutes later, I headed back to the table with a respectable turkey club sandwich—no onions—a bag of kettle chips, and a bottle of water.

On impulse, I had also picked up a small carton of strawberry milk.

He had mentioned his liking for it in passing the previous day, and I figured it would be an easy way to get some calories into him, even if he refused the sandwich.

Weaving my way through the rows and dodging influencers, I slowed as I neared Otto’s table. I had hoped to find him in the chair where I’d left him. The more practical part of me, however, had accepted that he’d probably started rearranging his brushes the moment I’d walked away.

Instead, I found him standing in front of the table, engaged in conversation with a young female. Petite, almost dainty, with blonde ringlets and elongated ears, I would have pegged her for a faery, even without the gossamer wings that protruded from her back.

Though they both wore pleasant smiles, something about their body language seemed…off. Otto held himself rigidly, his shoulders pulled toward his ears and his hands fisted at his sides. The faery, on the other hand, appeared far more comfortable taking up space, and not just her own.

She held a wide stance with her hands resting on her hips, arms akimbo, and she tilted her head back slightly so that her chin jutted forward.

Despite the curve of her lips, the smile didn’t reach her eyes, which made the incongruence between the top and bottom halves of her face even more pronounced when she started to speak.

Though I couldn’t hear what she said from that distance, judging by the way Otto’s eyes narrowed, he clearly took issue with her words. Yet something in the way they interacted told me this hadn’t been a chance meeting or a petty rivalry between professionals.

Adopting a neutral expression, I approached the table, making it a point to ignore the female as I set the plastic bag down on the folding chair.

“The doors will be opening soon,” I told him, taking his hand and pressing the water bottle into it. “Are you ready?”

The tight set of his shoulders eased a fraction, and his smile softened when he glanced up at me. “I think so.” He tilted the capped end of the bottle toward me. “Thanks.”

“There’s a sandwich in the bag, if you’re hungry.”

“You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.” He glanced down at the bag. “Maybe later.”

I had expected as much, so I didn’t argue. Instead, I took the water from him, twisted the cap off, and passed it back. His smile turned crooked, and he rolled his eyes, but he tipped it to his lips and took a long swallow without further prompting.

At that point, the female cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Kassidy Bassiago,” she announced as she pressed her palms together in prayer hands at her navel, her fingertips pointed straight ahead. “And you are?”

I turned my head, examining her as if I had only just noticed her existence. “Vaden Ashmore.” My tone shifted, deepened, and a subtle growl vibrated my voice—a warning, as well as a reminder of her place in the supernatural hierarchy. “How do you know Otto? I don’t recall him ever mentioning you.”

She didn’t retreat, but the smug smile vanished from her lips, revealing that she’d received the message, loud and clear. Her hands dropped to her sides, and her gaze flickered briefly to Otto before settling back on me.

“Oh, we’ve known each other forever,” she finally answered, her tone a mixture of condescension and false familiarity. “Isn’t that right, Otto?”

Next to me, Otto stiffened, his fingers tightening around the water bottle so that the plastic crinkled in his grip, but he didn’t say anything.

I held the female’s gaze and waited.

Her lips pressed together for a fleeting moment, as though weighing her next words. “We…collaborated in the past,” she finally admitted. “Nothing recent, though,” she hurried to add. “And nothing I imagine would concern you.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Her shoulders stiffened as she registered the challenge in my voice, but before she could respond, Otto waved his hand, drawing our attention.

“Let’s not make this into something it doesn’t need to be,” he said, his voice calm but lined with a sharp edge. “I’ll see you around, Kassidy.”

It was a dismissal, and one she clearly recognized. Her eyes lingered on him for a beat longer, a faint flicker of something unreadable passing across her face, before she turned on her heel and strode away.

“Collaboration?” I murmured, more to myself than to Otto as I watched her leave.

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “It’s complicated.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. Complicated had a way of coming back to bite people in the ass.

I didn’t know their history, but something had clearly happened, something that had strained the relationship. Moreover, I didn’t trust the faery. To be fair, she hadn’t done or said anything particularly alarming, but something about her tripped all of my alarm bells.

And my instincts told me we hadn’t seen the last of Kassidy Bassiago.