A couple days later, I got a text from Janet while I was getting ready for work. “The Fantasticon planner sent you four emails today asking to meet,” it said. “I think he may be getting impatient.”

I fought off a groan. I’d been putting off meeting with the guy for the past few days simply because I didn’t want to deal with it. I’d already had to spend half a workday that week listening to Ben and Soren try to justify why they shouldn’t have to do a panel together, which ended with me essentially reminding them that work sometimes involves doing things you aren’t thrilled about and asking if they really cared so little about their careers and fans that they would turn down the golden opportunity to expand both of their audiences, which was a point neither of them could deny and was the final nail in the coffin of their futile attempts to get out of dealing with each other. I had spent the better part of another day alternately cooing soothing words of support to December about how well he’d do at his panel and instructing him on exactly what to say so he wouldn’t totally fall apart. I had dealt with about as much Fantasticon bullshit as I cared to.

Besides, the meet and greet I’d set up for Lance’s fan was going over even better than expected, and the essays were rolling in. Someone would have to read through all of them and pick a winner, and as tedious a task as I assumed it would be, at least it was fairly mindless. I didn’t mind spending all day reading – it was why I’d become an agent in the first place.

I did, however, absolutely hate talking to strangers about anything outside of my expertise.

Still, there was nothing to be done for it. Janet had done a valiant job of holding him off, but the guy was like the Energizer bunny on Adderall; he had seemingly boundless energy to put into his one, single-minded goal. It didn’t matter if I thought said goal was pointless; he was asking for my help, and as my clients’ promoter and biggest cheerleader, it was my job to play nice with him.

Besides, maybe he really did have decent ideas on how to get some of the guys a little bit more exposure, and I would never turn down an opportunity to hook more readers.

“Fine,” I texted Janet. “Tell him I’ll meet him at 9, when I get in.” I deliberately put the meeting as early as possible; I’d met enough conventioneers to assume that he would reschedule for something later in the day, if he even saw the message at all. The fact that I was willing to talk to him didn’t have to keep me from trying to put off a conversation with him as long as I could. If I could make it look like it wasn’t my fault, that was a bonus.

So imagine my disappointment when I walked into my waiting room a full fifteen minutes early, sipping my tea and still rubbing my eyes, to find a man sprawled out in one of the chairs, looking annoyingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

If he wasn’t so attractive, I would have wanted to kill him.

Instead, he was so arrestingly hot that I thought he might be some sort of model. When he stood, I saw that he was a good deal taller than me with a strong, muscular build and proud shoulders that had to be twice the width of mine. His T-shirt from the previous year’s Fantasticon strained so hard against the firm muscles on his chest and arms that it seemed like one wrong move would rip it away from him, Hulk-style. His dark, smooth skin contrasted beautifully with the brilliant white of his wide smile, and even though he could have thrown me across the room with one arm, I wasn’t afraid of him. It was probably his soft, gentle brown eyes that did it, or even the way he shook my hand lightly, either not wanting or not needing to show off his tremendous strength.

Whichever was the case, I felt my knees go weak, and when he spoke in a deep baritone that reverberated through my chest, it only got worse. I was a sucker for tall guys, and the deep voice was an amazing bonus. “Hey, I’m Eli Hart!” He gave me a grin. “You must be Damien?”

“I am.” I was torn between being turned on by this guy and feeling horribly inadequate next to him. I already wasn’t a tall man, and my frame was slender and narrow instead of packed with muscle. While Eli clearly went to the gym, I burned most of my calories through nervous fidgeting and hand-washing. In spite of his strength, though, his features were soft and kind: round eyes, full lips, and a wide nose did nothing to detract from the unwavering masculinity granted to him by his strong jaw. I was sharp and angular in comparison; in middle school, the nickname bestowed on me by less-than-kind kids had been “Rat Face” because of my narrow jaw, pointed chin, and pointed nose. As soon as I let go of Eli’s hand, I ran my palm over my slicked-back hair, hoping that none of my natural curls that I despised had decided to peek out. Standing in front of an Adonis made me feel even squirrelier and more vermin-like than ever.

If Eli noticed how completely inferior I was to him physically, he hid it well. “I can’t tell you how amazing it is to meet you!” he gushed, a large, strong hand over his heart. “My heart is racing right now. I’m such a huge fan of your work.”

I smiled. “I don’t think you’re a fan of my work,” I corrected him gently.

“You’re the one who discovered your writers. And you’re the one that makes the stories come together. As far as I’m concerned, it’s your work too.” He looked towards the door. “Would you like to go into the office?”

I was so taken aback by the praise, I wasn’t even irritated by being invited into my own office. “Yes, of course. Please.” I hurried to the door and opened it for him. It was a needlessly chivalrous act, and I couldn’t tell if I was being polite, flirty, or just trying to prove my masculinity, but Eli responded with a grin, a nod, and a word of thanks. Before I closed the door, I noticed Janet, still bent over her keyboard and typing away, but her eyes firmly fixed on us. I raised an eyebrow at her and whispered, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“I do,” she said frankly, “but I’d much rather trade with you right now.”

I rolled my eyes. “This is an office, Janet, not a dating service.”

She took a prim sip of her coffee. “No offense, sir, but you should tell that to your blush.”

I scowled, putting a hand to my overly warm face. “I’m really re-thinking that raise,” I grumbled. “And the Christmas bonus.”

She tried to conceal her smile as I slammed the door shut behind me.

Eli jumped, raising an eyebrow at the sound. Embarrassed, I said, “It sticks sometimes.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t question it. Instead, he settled himself into the chair in front of my desk. It was another move that would have been irritatingly familiar and casual if I hadn’t been distracted by his glowing grin. “So, Damien,” he said as I went to sit behind my desk, “how many times have you visited Fantasticon?”

I thought for a moment. “Eight,” I finally said. “I started going with Lance Epstein as soon as we found out about it. We weren’t guests, but we wanted to go and see what it was like.”

“So you’ve seen it from the perspective of the average con-goer and a welcomed guest. That’s good!” His smile grew. “So, when you were there, what did you think of it?”

“That’s… kind of a general question,” I said slowly. “I liked it. There were some really interesting panels that I got a lot of information out of…”

He waved an impatient hand. “Sure. Of course you found a lot of panels that you could take a professional interest in. But what about all of the other stuff? How did you feel about artist alley? About the costumes? About the games and meet-ups and just walking around and existing in the space?”

I blinked, bristling a little bit at the interruption. I was often interrupted, and it was a pet peeve that only annoyed me more over time. “Honestly? I wouldn’t have gone if it wasn’t relevant to my job,” I said. I felt a little guilty when I noticed his smile wavering, but I’d already started telling the truth, so I didn’t see any reason to stop there. “I’m not really a convention guy. I’m not even a travel guy. I have nothing against Fantasticon specifically, but I don’t attend for fun. I go there to do my job.”

“But have you ever tried looking at it from another perspective?” he pressed.

“I only have one perspective and one reason for being there. I know fans enjoy it, and that’s all I need to know.”

“We want everyone who buys a ticket to the convention to feel included,” he explained. His smile was gone, replaced by a slightly hurt, slightly annoyed frown. “We want them to experience the entire event in full Technicolor, not black and white. We want them to get engaged and excited. Isn’t that what you want from your fans, too? For them to be interested in what you’re doing?”

“Well yes, but –“

“Then you need to be engaged, too,” he interrupted. Both of his hands were on my desk. I tried not to think about the smudges they might leave on the gleaming countertop. “You can’t produce something that people will love if you don’t understand their passion, and that’s what I’m trying to do with Fantasticon. I want everyone to be excited not just because it’s a great event, but because it informs what we do. If you’re a fan of the convention, then you know what the fans will want and need from it. If you’re a fan of a book series, you know what readers will want to see. It makes it a lot easier to get people interested and keep them engaged. Does that make sense?”

His handsomeness wasn’t going to save him now. He’d crossed the line from “overeager” to “rude and condescending,” and I didn’t handle condescension well. “You’re asking me if I know how to do my job,” I reminded him, “and you should know that I do. I know how to get readers hooked and keep them on the line. But Fantasticon isn’t my job, nor is it anywhere near my top priority. I’m sorry if you’re bothered by the fact that I don’t like being there, but that’s just the reality of the situation.” I narrowed my eyes. “I know my job, and I’m good at it. But it sounds a little bit like you’re trying to get me to do yours, too.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. I tried not to admire what the motion did to his biceps and pecs. He closed his eyes for a second, reopened them, and sighed. “Look,” he said quietly, “I’m coming to you because I need your help in making this convention great for the people attending it. I thought you wanted it to be great for your fans, too.”

At that, my blood went from a simmer to a boil, and any niceties I had left in me drained away. “The fans aren’t my concern,” I snapped. “It’s not my job to make sure they enjoy themselves at your con. My loyalty and responsibility are to my writers. I make them money. I get them popular. I make their work the best it can be.” Lance’s face flashed in front of my eyes, and I had to swallow hard, trying not to think of all the ways I could end up failing him. “Everything I do, I do for my writers, just the same as all of your work is being done for the con-goers. You want everyone there to have a good time? Great. I hope they have a blast. But I’m there to promote my guys, so –“

“Wait.” He held up a hand, his eyes pleading. “I’m sorry. I swear, I’m trying to look after your writers and make this a good experience for them too.”

“If that was true, you would have at least considered talking about what you can do for them by now, and you would have stopped interrupting the one person who can actually help you do right by them.” His puppy dog eyes nearly got me, but I directed my gaze to my watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other work I need to get to. I believe you can see yourself out.”

“Damien, please, I just –“

I shot him a glare, and he stopped cold. “I’m not big enough to haul you out of here myself, but I’m sure I can find a security guard in this building who would be happy to do it for me, so it would be in your best interest to leave now.”

He went silent. I turned to a stack of papers on my desk and began filing through them. I didn’t take the time to look at what they said; even if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to read them. My heart and my brain were both going a million miles a minute. I’d just gotten snippy with a man who was not only so hot that I felt like I was going to melt just from sitting across the desk from him, but who also made it very clear he could snap me like a twig if he wanted to. I was absolutely terrified that I had just screwed up and possibly sealed my fate as the first person to be murdered over planning a fantasy convention, but I wasn’t going to back down. It may have been childish, but my pride had been wounded.

Slowly, he stood and walked out. At the door, he muttered something, and though I couldn’t be sure what it was, it sounded like an apology.

I didn’t respond.

It took nearly half an hour for my blood pressure to return to normal after Eli’s visit. I was beyond pissed at the way he’d treated me. I was short and small, and I worked with guys who spoke only in demands – I’d been talked over my whole life. Having someone do it in my own office, though, was downright humiliating. And the fact that he’d acted like I didn’t understand the basics of promoting something was so condescending, it made me flush with self-righteous anger, my ears burning. I thought I’d become immune to a lack of professionalism after years of receiving weekly emails from Stan trying to prove that not only was the moon landing faked, but that it was done by the Illuminati, an elite group of lizard people who had the ability to control people’s minds.

Apparently, I was wrong.

But I wasn’t just frustrated or angry, in spite of my shaking hands and my blush. I was also strangely turned on.

Eli may have been domineering and condescending, but he was also undeniably attractive in a way that had me shivering. It seemed no matter how much I tried to concentrate on reading through one of the many essays I’d been sent about Lance’s work, I couldn’t stop seeing things happening with Eli.

I was used to having thoughts I didn’t want. That happened multiple times a day. Di called the images I found myself subjected to “intrusive thoughts.” They were like miniature horror movies that played in my head over and over again, sometimes so convincingly that I could believe that they had really happened. The scenes seeped into the physical world, infecting it, making me burn and tingle as if my body wanted these awful things to happen, wanted to make them happen. I was subjected daily to them.

I’d gotten used to those. What I’d never once experienced was that kind of single-minded, visceral intrusion in the realm of sex.

I couldn’t stop picturing those massive hands on me, gripping my hips, running up my back, fisting my hair. I could see myself bent over my desk, moaning with abandon as Eli thrust into me. I could feel a tingling on my lips thanks to the urge to kiss him, mouth at his neck, and suck his cock. My whole body was full of buzzing compulsion in a way that I’d reserved for death and destruction. Never had I subjected myself to such a strong, uncontrollable line of thinking related to sex.

As absurd as it was, I felt guilty as soon as I thought of it. When I wasn’t wrestling with those images of Eli, I was thinking about Lance. I felt almost like I was cheating on him, as if it was some kind of grand betrayal. He didn’t love me, of course, and he didn’t even know that I was interested in him, but I felt beholden to him. Fantasizing about another person was unfamiliar and wrong. I’d resigned myself to loving my completely unavailable best friend from afar.

But now I was having feelings that were up close and personal... and I was terrified.

The next day, I woke up completely exhausted. My dreams had all featured Eli’s face. Mentally, it was pure hell, but my body seemed to be completely on board with my subconscious. I had to text Janet to tell her I was running late, and I pretended not to see her response; I knew she would be asking why, and I also knew that I couldn’t bear to tell her it was because I’d been masturbating in the shower.

I was surprised when I rushed in and found Eli sitting in my waiting room.

“What are you –?” I started, but Eli jumped to his feet first, hands up.

“Hold on,” he said. “Just… give me a second, please?”

I looked over at Janet, who was giving me a look that was equal parts agitation and apology. I turned back to Eli, looking him up and down. The pleading eyes eventually got me. “Fine,” I snapped. “But please be brief. I have other things to do today.” My schedule was practically bursting at the seams, and I knew I was going to miss lunch again just to get everything done. I’d been wanting a minute or two alone in my office to prepare, but I didn’t want to just turn Eli away.

Eli’s face broke out in a relieved grin. He stuck a hand out toward me. I eyed it suspiciously, but he didn’t seem to be too bothered. “Hi Damien, I’m Eli.” When I frowned, confused, he gently took my hand and shook it. “I can be a little bit of an asshole when I’m excited about things, but I swear I’m a good guy. I’m very passionate and I interrupt people a lot, so I don’t always make a very good first impression, but I would really love to work with you because you’re the top expert in your field, and I think we can really help each other.”

I looked at our joined hands, then back up at him. Shit. This is… actually pretty cute. “So you’re looking for a do-over?” I asked.

He shrugged sheepishly. “If you’re willing to give me one.”

I heard Janet coo, “Awww.”

I felt myself blushing. I dropped Eli’s hand, but I couldn’t even force myself to sound irritated when I said, “Okay, fine. Let’s talk.” I waved him towards my office. “But seriously, you have got to get the interruptions under control if we’re going to work together. It really bugs me.”

“Fair enough!” he chirped, and he practically skipped into my office.

Our second meeting went so well that it seemed like the previous day hadn’t even happened. “What I really want,” he explained (after waiting to make sure I didn’t have anything to say first), “is for all of our guest authors to get really involved in the con, both for fans and for themselves. The panels are great ways for them to connect with fans and promote themselves, but there’s more to engaging people than just giving them information, as I’m sure you’ve seen. I think your guys could really benefit from that, especially newcomers like December Jones and Stan Spelling. If they could interact with fans one on one, I think it would help put their work at the forefront.”

“I’m not sure you want a lot of my guys talking to people without some sort of structure,” I said honestly. “I get what you’re saying, and I’d be completely behind you on this if I didn’t know them as well as I do, but my guys do what they do because they’re not big on social interaction. People always say ‘don’t meet your heroes’ for a reason, and as someone who knows these writers, I can guarantee that holds true for them.”

Eli chuckled. “Maybe you just know them too well. Wouldn’t they be on their best behavior around their admirers?”

“Well.” I rubbed at the scruff on my chin. “You’re making an assumption that they have ‘best behavior.’”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“It depends on which one you’re asking about. December is terrified of everything and everyone, Stan is paranoid and argumentative, and Lance just… isn’t a people person.” I didn’t want to slam Lance too hard, but I was already asking a lot of him by having him do an extended meet and greet with a fan. I didn’t think he could handle much more than that.

“And Ben and Soren?”

I shrugged. “Keep them away from each other and they’re usually okay. Ben is a good guy. Soren can be a little… aggressive, but I don’t think he’d run from people or start fights, so at least there’s that. Is that something you’re willing to deal with?”

“What, handling a couple of divas? Of course! Honestly, that sounds pretty easy. I was the one in charge of hospitality for the guests the past few years, so I saw all of the guys’ demands. They didn’t seem anywhere near as difficult as some of the actors and actresses we get coming around every year.”

I had to smile. “Okay, so you can handle Ben and Soren. What about the others?”

“I’d say I’d be happy to have a challenge.” He smiled so warmly that my stomach turned over.

When we got into specifics, his idea really didn’t sound as bad as I thought it would. Without guests hanging out in artist alley, going to panels, buying merchandise, taking part in events, and just plain talking to their fans, people were starting to get frustrated; having the guys hang around the convention would make fans happy and give them an ego boost all at once. Besides, it would keep them out of my hair for a lot of the week-long convention, which I usually spent running around doing favors for my writers. I could already imagine myself sitting comfortably in my hotel room, blissfully alone and reading something that, for once, my guys didn’t write. I might even be able to get around to finishing the latest A Song of Ice and Fire book, which I hadn’t managed to finish over the course of six years. I couldn’t imagine any better way to pass the time at Fantasticon.

It also didn’t hurt that Eli was sitting there with his big, brown eyes and huge smile and strong hands, asking me to help him out. Maybe I could spend some time with him, too.

“That should be fine,” I said finally. “They may not love it, but they’ll know it’s a good idea. I don’t know how much I can get December or Lance to actually roam around, but I’m sure they’ll check out a couple of events if I ask them too. Ben will probably be thrilled about the opportunity. I’ve seen him drop hundreds of dollars on fan art commissions of his own books.”

“Great!” I had to look away from Eli; he was practically glowing with delight, and I could feel a blush starting to creep up the back of my neck.

Grab his hand, kiss him, straddle his hips, make him moan into your mouth…

I cleared my throat, trying to disrupt my own thoughts and the tantalizing but terrifying images that accompanied them. Trying to sound businesslike, I said, “Send me the schedule for the week, and I’ll get it out to the guys and have them figure out some places to put in an appearance. I can let you know what they’re willing to do once they get back to me. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds perfect.” My stomach did a little flip. He sounded so happy, and it was nice to know I’d caused that. “I really appreciate you working with me on this, Damien. And I’m sorry I came across so… difficult yesterday. Honestly, I was just nervous.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said with an awkward shrug. I knew I came across as “difficult” pretty often myself.

He must have heard something disingenuous in my words, because next thing I knew, one of his strong hands was on top of mine on the desktop. “Really,” he said, and the pure sincerity in his voice finally made me look at him. “I’m sorry. I was rude, and you didn’t deserve to be talked to that way, especially not in your own office. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just passionate about my work.”

I tried not to shiver under his touch. “I can tell.”

“And…” He withdrew his hand, suddenly shy. I tried to tamp down my disappointment with mediocre results. “If I’m being completely honest, I was excited to meet you. You’re a superstar in your field, you know. I see your name all over writing magazines and websites. Getting to meet you has been kind of a dream of mine for a while.”

I forced out a weak laugh and pulled my hands off the tabletop altogether to hide how badly I was shaking. “I think you need to dream bigger. I’m nothing special. And I wouldn’t be all that helpful, unless you’re a fantasy writer.”

He ducked his head, running his hands over his close-cropped hair and looking up at me through long, thick eyelashes. “Oh,” I murmured, my heart sinking down into my stomach. “You are a fantasy writer.” It was stupid, but I felt a little used over the whole thing.

“Not professionally,” he said quickly. “I mean, I’d love to write professionally, and I’d love to make a career out of it, but right now I’m working as an event planner. I have a book I just finished that I’ve been writing for a few years, but…” He shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t mean to bore you or anything. I’m sure you’re not interested in some random thing some random guy wrote.”

It was at that moment that my mouth decided to disconnect from my brain.

“That’s not true,” I heard myself saying, sounding way more confident than I had any right to. “I’m always looking for new work. And newer writers are one of the greatest resources in the business. Too many agents turn away great talent just because they’re a little green, but I’ve always taken a lot of pride in finding writers who are new, who offer a fresh perspective in the genre.”

What the fuck are you doing?! I screamed at myself from the mental prison I’d been locked in. Shut up, shut up, shut UP!

I was partially telling the truth in that moment; I had pulled all of my top five from total obscurity, and only two of them had actually sent me their work. The others I’d found online. Hell, I’d found Lance on a random fiction website where he posted short stories about his characters. Finding fresh blood was one of my favorite things about my job. It reminded me that there was still more to do, that the genre I’d devoted myself to for years hadn’t gone stale just yet.

But to say that I was interested in new work or looking for it was a huge lie. I already had plenty of work on my plate and enough writers to corral. I’d had to fight with my therapist just to justify keeping all of them when she suggested I pass them off to one of the agents working under me. My job wasn’t just the biggest part of my life anymore – it was my life. All of it. And the stress of it had nearly unraveled me time and time again. My mental health was already naturally unstable, and adding work on top of it made it a daily struggle just to keep myself together.

And yet, there I was, still on autopilot, still talking about how much I’d love to see Eli’s work sometime. I swear I had an out-of-body experience, watching myself hand Eli a business card with my personal contact information on the back. “Send me your manuscript,” my body said as I watched with horror from the ceiling. “I’d be more than happy to take a look and tell you what I think.”

“Seriously?” he asked, beaming. “That’s amazing. Seriously, Damien, I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“Not a problem. Feel free to call or text me any time, day or night, alright?”

“Alright.” Eli, looking elated, shook hands with my body. My body smiled, shook his hand firmly, and guided him to the door.

I re-entered my body after I’d closed the door behind him. “Fuck!” I hissed quietly, desperate to scream but having to settle for whispering. “What did I do?! What did I just do?!”

I’d given him my card. I’d asked to see his work. I’d given him my personal number. I’d told him he could call or text me any time he felt like it.

I’d given him the kind of access into my life that even my own parents didn’t have, and for what?

The tightness in my pants reminded me exactly why I’d done it.

I sat behind my desk, sliding down in my chair and letting my forehead fall against the desk with a thud. The sound was weirdly comforting, so I did it again, then again. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. I only stopped when the door opened and I heard Janet’s voice say, “Um, sir? Are you okay?”

I looked up at her, barely even taking in the sight of her in the doorway. “Janet, do me a favor and have Di push up my appointment as soon as possible, will you?”

Janet frowned. “So the meeting went poorly?”

“No,” I replied. “That’s the problem.”