Page 22 of The CEO I Hate (The Lockhart Brothers #1)

LIAM

T he noise in the atrium of the Los Angeles Convention Center was so loud I could barely hear myself think, never mind hear whatever the hell Carl was yammering about next to me.

Something about a follow-up meeting I had with Damien Alverez about his damn space pilot and approving the new End in Fire promotional stills for the billboard on Hollywood Boulevard.

“Sign this,” he said, shoving a tablet into my hands.

I screwed my face up staring at the screen. “What is it?”

“The letter of appreciation we’re sending out to LAFD for all their help consulting on End in Fire so far. Would probably be a good PR move to invite some of the firefighters to the set, make them background in a few scenes this season.”

“That’s good,” I said to Carl, scribbling my signature and handing the tablet back. “Talk to Paula and get that on the books.”

“Oh, that’s us!” Carl said as an announcement rang out overhead. All I heard was murmured garbage. “Q&A in Hall A. ”

“How the hell can you even hear what they’re saying?”

“Because it’s my job,” he said, whirling away and stalking through a group cosplaying Doctor Who. I sidestepped a TARDIS with legs as I followed him.

GeekCon LA had fallen at the perfect time to promote season two of End in Fire , so I’d had marketing get us on the roster, scheduling us for a panel with some of the cast and crew. As the cherry on top, Paula had pulled together a sneak peek from episode one to get the fans talking.

As we walked into Hall A, every chair was taken by an assortment of anime characters, supervillains, Star Trek something or others, and one very realistic-looking Gandalf.

My eyes drifted to the stage where a series of chairs were set up under the glow of the spotlights.

The logo for End in Fire flickered across the projected screen at the back of the stage, and as Paula walked out with a microphone, the room burst into applause.

“Look at this crowd!” she said. “Don’t you all look fabulous.”

More cheers.

“Well, thank you all for being here today. We’ve got a lot of good stuff in store for you this season. So let’s welcome some very special people to the stage to tell you all about it!”

Leo Sinclair appeared from behind a curtain, smiling that perfectly crooked smile at the crowd. Every middle-aged woman in the room swooned in their chairs. Carl snorted beside me. “He really milks that eye candy of Firehouse 14 thing, huh?”

I grumbled my response as more of the cast filed out, my eyes lingering on that curtain, waiting for Mia.

She’d been invited to sit on the panel as the head writer, and though she’d been excited to attend with the cast, Paula had said she’d sounded a little nervous.

Looking at her now, though—and I was, taking in every inch of toned leg on display in her fitted black skirt—it was hard to see anything but excitement.

She beamed, waving at the crowd as Paula introduced her. Once everyone was onstage, the lights dimmed, and the audience quieted to whispers as Paula’s episode one sneak peek played on the giant screen at the back of the stage.

Phones started recording everywhere, but I’d already approved that.

I didn’t mind if a few ten-second clips got out.

The fact that the panel was packed and the audience was receptive was a good sign, but all I could do was think about everything riding on this season being a success.

People were seriously invested in the show.

We needed to nail the rest of the season.

I couldn’t let anything go wrong.

Which, of course, is exactly when I saw the dog.

A flash of gray fur streaked across the front row like a low-budget CGI blurb, skidding to a halt right before the stage. He was wearing a red cape made from a hacked-apart End in Fire promo tee. Glitter letters on the back read END IN FUR .

“For fuck’s sake,” I growled, leaving my seat and hoping no one would notice it. I moved fast, keeping low, trying to blend in with the line of crew along the wall. A security guy clocked me, started to move forward, but I gave him a look.

The dog, meanwhile, was making friends.

He trotted down the edge of the stage like he was doing a goddamn red carpet strut, tail high, tongue out, pausing only to graciously accept ear rubs from a woman in a Firehouse 14 Wives Club tank top.

What was the dog’s name again?

“Ash,” I hissed, hoping it’d have some effect. “Ash. Ash .”

Nothing .

The damn mutt made a beeline toward the stairs leading up to the stage, right as the sneak peek hit its climax. He stopped before the climb, turned, and locked eyes with me.

Was he…was he daring me?

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I lunged.

I got him by the middle just as he tried to jump up the stairs. He squirmed in my arms, all happy weight and flailing limbs, his tongue going for my ear. The cape brushed against my chin.

I frowned at the dog.

“You don’t belong here,” I muttered. “You know that, don’t you?” His tongue lapped at my nose. I sighed—loudly, for the record—but didn’t let go right away. I tipped my chin, discretely summoning a wild-eyed intern, and handed him the dog. “How did he get in here?” I asked.

“Huh, I think,” he hesitated, withering under my stare. “I think it was someone from marketing who thought it was a good idea to?—”

“Well, it’s not a good idea,” I said. “Do not let him back out here. I don’t care if he starts giving interviews.”

He nodded, clutching Ash like he was a sacred relic. The dog gave a happy huff and nestled into the intern’s arms like he’d won. I wiped the dog snot off my cheek and slipped back into the shadows just in time to hear the tail end of the cheers.

“Okay, I’m going to open the floor up for questions,” Paula said. There was an immediate scurry as people rushed toward the aisles to get in line for the mic.

“But while you all get lined up, I’ll go ahead and ask the question I know is on everyone’s minds. So tell us, Leo. Will Cade be posing for a firefighter calendar this season? ”

The room erupted again. I dropped into my seat like nothing had happened.

Carl leaned over. “Handled that with grace.”

“Don’t.” I looked at the stage, praying nothing else would go wrong.

Leo laughed, throwing the question Mia’s way. “I think that’s a great question for our head writer.”

Mia raised her mic. “I don’t know,” she teased. “I’m not sure that’s something the fans really want to see.”

“Yes we do!” the TARDIS with legs cried.

“Sorry, what was that?” Mia said. “I’m gonna need the room to make some real noise if that’s something you want.”

The entire hall erupted. It was clear the audience was pumped.

“We could totally do that as a charity thing,” Carl said, leaning close enough for me to hear over the voices. “Shoot the cast photos and put the calendar out alongside the season opener.”

I nodded. “Get me a meeting with marketing scheduled.”

“On it,” he said, adding it to the never-ending list on his phone.

My eyes drifted back to Mia where they stayed for the rest of the session as the cast answered question after question. Finally, our time ran out, and the group filed offstage to an enthusiastic round of applause.

To my surprise, instead of heading backstage, Mia snuck down the stairs and slipped out the door of the hall with the rest of the crowd.

“I’ll meet you back at the office,” I told Carl.

He nodded, walking away with his nose glued to his phone .

I exited the hall in a swarm of people, looking left and right, spotting Mia as she turned a corner. I surged after her, wondering where she was going. Maybe she didn’t even know where she was going. That Gretel nickname was particularly apt as she twisted and turned through the building.

By the time I caught up with her, I’d crossed half the convention center, ending up in Artist Alley. The space was filled with booths where creators sold merch and art prints. Along the wall were several tables set up for meet-and-greet opportunities for comic book artists and writers and…

Mia ?

A banner for Heart and Hustle hung on the wall behind the table where I saw her take a seat.

I walked over, snatching a visitor’s guide from a stall, flipping through the pages.

There she was in bold print! Mia Collins: Creator of the viral webcomic, Heart and Hustle .

Appearing at 2:00 p.m. I hadn’t realized she’d agreed to do a signing.

Jake hadn’t mentioned anything the last time I saw him. Maybe she hadn’t even told him.

She hadn’t said anything about this. Jake hadn’t mentioned it either. Did anyone know?

I wandered closer, impressed with the amount of people she had in her line. Nothing like End in Fire but impressive all the same. This close, I could see that some of them were wearing homemade merch with graphics of her characters. T-shirts, enamel pins, tote bags.

And then I saw it.

Oh, God, no.

Miles. There were Miles shirts. Someone had stenciled his smug face onto a hoodie and added glitter around the eyes.

I scowled.

Apparently, that was the worst possible decision.

“Oh. My. GOD! Are you Miles? You’re totally Miles!” a voice screeched .

My eyebrows must have hit my hairline as a phone was shoved in my face and a teenage girl wearing chunky friendship bracelets that read I LOVE MILES shrieked, “Can I get a selfie with you?”

“Uh…” I looked around for an escape hatch. My gaze darted to Mia, looking for help. I’d stumbled into a lion’s den as the cluster of fangirls surrounded me. Mia’s eyes widened in surprise, then shifted into something dangerous, a smirk curling up the side of her face.

“You totally have the same scowl!” another girl gasped. “Aww!”

“Oh my God, he totally does! It’s the eyebrows!”

Someone touched my arm. I jumped. I may have squeaked.

I had to get the hell out of here before they ate me alive. Camera apps clicked in every direction I turned. Mia, the traitor, cupped her hands around her mouth.

“If you make a line, he’ll promise to scowl for each of you!”

I stared at her, horrified.

She winked.

“Oh, no he won’t,” I said, already looking for a way out. I was going to kill her. Or myself. Whichever was faster. But then I looked at them. They were practically vibrating with excitement, throwing up peace signs and kissy faces, and it was all very, very horrible.

But they were just so excited to be there and so enthusiastic about Mia’s work that disappointing them would have felt like kicking a puppy. An extremely obnoxious puppy with a selfie stick.

This was definitely one of Dante’s nine circles of hell. I’d take rolling a boulder up a hill any day to avoid a roving pack of fangirls with cameras.

I frowned at Mia, and she shrugged. “Just embrace it.”

If God was merciful, he’d smite me now . Mia was laughing so hard at her table she was wiping tears from her eyes .

“It’s not funny,” I snapped at her.

The fangirls only squealed more.

“He really likes when you call him Smiles,” Mia called.

Okay, that was the last damn straw! I snatched a pen out of a hand and started scribbling my name on all the books shoved in my face. “Selfie for you,” I said, scowling at a phone. “Next. And for you. Next!”

The only way to get through this was to take the damn pictures and sign the damn comics so these girls would finally leave , so that’s what I was going to do. “Okay, that’s enough,” I said to a girl who’d already gotten her picture and signature from me and her autograph from Mia. “Go away.”

She beamed at her friend. “He told me to go away! Just like Miles!”

Was it too much to hope a meteor crashed through the ceiling? I whipped through the pictures as fast as I could, but every time I looked up, the line seemed even longer, people finishing with Mia and then immediately coming to see me.

I glanced down at the T-shirt someone had shoved in my hand with a picture of Miles scowling. A dialogue box read: “Don’t talk to me.”

“Ugh,” I said, signing it and handing it back. This was some sort of lesson in karma. Don’t follow women around fandom conventions because they trick you into participating in their signings.

I glanced over at Mia again, and the frustration in my chest eased a tiny bit. She was beaming so hard, obviously elated by the fan reactions, that my mood lightened in spite of myself.

There was something so charming about the way she engaged with the girls—talking about the story, listening to their own high school woes and boy troubles—and my chest ached a little for how badly I wanted to see Mia succeed.

I endured another selfie and sent a teen skipping off with her friends, gushing about my scowl. I looked over at Mia and saw her watching me with a smile. Not a smirk, not a teasing smile. Just a…smile. Like she was proud of me.

And God help me, I smiled back.

The wave of attraction I felt surprised me, because along with the attraction was the realization of how much I actually liked being with her.

I wasn’t even thinking about tearing her clothes off.

I was just happy to see her like this: confident, radiant, surrounded by people who loved what she’d made.

And I liked knowing I hadn’t ruined it. That somehow, by sticking around and surviving the selfie apocalypse, I’d made her a little happier.

Fine.

I was also thinking about tearing her clothes off. But that wasn’t the main thought, and that…

That was new.