Page 163 of Lovers Like Us

“Bye,Audrey.”

“Bye,Jane.”

They hangup.

Donnelly has unburied his face. “I love Cobalts.” Hesmirks.

“That’s called blind, stupid loyalty,” I say. “One of them may’ve just fucked up ourjobs.”

38

MAXIMOFF HALE

Almost a hundred FanConsunder our belt, we speed through March in seamlessfashion.

I booked interviews inForbesandVanity Fairto publicize the tour, and most media outlets pulled this quote from a businessmagazine:

H.M.C. Philanthropies’ FanCon Tour moves onto its last leg stronger than ever. With an estimated $150 million earned in just three months, Maximoff Hale has capitalized on his fame for non-profit. He’s revolutionizing philanthropy by bringing in a new younger wave. It’s not just about blue-blooded Wall Street investors anymore. He’s found a group of twenty-somethings willing to spend money on him rather than a ticket to that new Taylor Swift concert. And the benefit: all proceeds go to charity. This twenty-two year-old is bulldozing his way through the philanthropy world. His last name is one of the most recognizable—but make no mistake—he’s carving out his own piece ofhistory.

I wish they would’ve mentioned my cousins and the work of the crew and security. I couldn’t do this without them, but my spirits are still high throughout the Seattle FanCon. I didn’t need the accolades. I’m just happy with thenumber.

$150 million will help a lot of fuckingpeople.

A line coordinator guides a lanky boy out after I hug him. Farrow stands several feet off to the side, and a few fans gift him portraits they drew. Bodyguard Fame is alive andthriving.

But weirdly, it’s not bad. So far, they’ve all been able to ignore the attention. Mostly thanks to my mom and dad. It’s easier for Omega without a giant, all-consuming paparazzipresence.

OurFanConbanners are erected on the Seattle concert stage, and velvet ropes section all five lines. In between greeting fans, I look around at the excited crowd, the overwhelmed smiles, and I think about the first meet-and-greets. How we smoothed out a lot ofkinks.

How no onebailed.

I’m fucking proud of this tour. Of my cousins. Of security and crew. I’m already planning an end-of-tour party foreveryone.

A line coordinator ushers the next fan forward. Up a set of stairs. On the stage. Towards me. The girl has chopped, dyed pink hair, and a black Superheroes & Scones T-shirt swallows her thin frame. She can’t be older thanfifteen.

Before my eyes even hit the girl, she’scrying.

And bycrying, I meanbawling her fucking eyes out.I’ve met a billion tears from fans on this tour, happy and sad and pained, but something about this girl slams at me and tries to rock meback.

Maybe because she has the same wiry build as my sisters. Maybe because she looks around Xander’s age. Maybe because she stumbles over her feet, and when I catch her, she crumples in myarms.

“Hey, hey, I’m right here,” I say strongly, and I mortar brick and steel inside of me. I don’t rock back orsway.

She sobs and rubs at her cheeks. I support all her weight, holding her up so she’s on two feet. If I let go, she’ll sink to thefloor.

I wipe her tears with the hem of my green shirt. “What’s yourname?”

She tries to stop crying, breaths ragged. “B-B-Britni.”

My lips pull in a small smile. “That’s a prettyname.”

She criesharder.

Goddammit.

I look over my shoulder. At Farrow. He’s fixated on this interaction, and I mouth,parents.We need to find her parents or whoever attended the FanCon with her. A family member, a friend, a goddamnadult.

Farrow waves over my assistant and speaksquickly.