The Princess and the Fangirl (Once Upon a Con #2)(23)

Jessica checks her phone and says, “So the panel isn’t until two, and it’s in the big ballroom, wherever that is.”

“The main stage,” I say automatically, lacing up my shoes. “I mean—I didn’t mean to correct you.”

“Whatever. I don’t know the lingo for these things.”

“That’s kinda condescending,” I murmur.

“No, it’s not,” she shoots back.

Oh, I can already see this is going to be a problem. I clear my throat and continue, “Okay, just stay away from my moms’ booth because they’ll know you’re not me in two seconds flat. It should be relatively easy to spot—just look for the obnoxiously huge Nox King, and that’s it. The con floor can be a little harrowing. It’s not as big as San Diego or New York, but ExcelsiCon has its own set of problems—”

She cuts me off with an “I’ll figure it out.”

I hesitate because, well, color me shocked but I highly doubt she will. “Should we exchange numbers at least?”

With one hand on the door, she turns to look at me, conflicted. “I don’t think either of us will be hard to find,” she replies, and then says goodbye and heads out.

Leaving me with her jerkface assistant.

Whatever did I do to deserve this torture?

He turns to me and says, “I want to be frank with you because I think you deserve it. You seem like a…nice girl, but if you do anything—”

“Nice,” I echo, not even letting him finish his sentence. “That’s not condescending.”

He blinks. “It was a compliment.”

“Like the weather is nice, or your new pair of shoes are nice? I’m sorry, but I kind of take offense to that word. I’m not nice.”

“I can see that.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot like ten times yesterday. I’m Imogen Lovelace. Nice to meet you, Gryffindor.” I extend my hand cordially. Minerva taught me this move for jerks like him. Extend the hand first, act like the bigger person, grip tightly, and then punch your fist through his sternum—no, wait. That’s a Mortal Kombat move.

To-tal An-ni-hi-la-tion.

He looks down at my hand, then back up at me, then down at my hand again, as if expecting me to replace it with Edward Scissorhands’ finger blades.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re a burnt Hufflepuff, aren’t you.”

He takes the plunge and squeezes my hand firmly, bending a little so we’re eye-to-eye. “How dare you compare me to that marshmallow trash. I’m Slytherin born and bred.”

“Ooh, you missed a good joke there.”

He lets go of my hand and shrugs. “I’ll slither it in some other time.”

I try not to smile, because that was not funny—and, I keep telling myself, think of rule number whatever—but he’s already gathering up the con ID and hotel keycards. I finish putting on my other heel.

“To be fair, I didn’t mean to insult you,” he says as he slips the hotel keys into his back pocket and hands me Jess’s VIP badge. “I just don’t want to see you throw away her career. And don’t have any hard feelings about her not giving you her number. Unlike her costar, who seems to enjoy chatting with strangers on the phone, Jess has had a much different experience.”

“Stalker?”

“Well, let’s say that someone found her number and put it up on an unsavory message board, so…”

My eyebrows fly up in surprise. “Eesh.” He hands me the badge and I slip it on over my head. “Okay so we have everything, but I think we forgot to…”

He picks up the bag with the wig from the bed and holds it out to me. I can now see that there’s also a satin pouch—a contact lens case? “You know how to put on a wig, right?”

“I’ve dabbled in cosplay,” I say, then I make a face. “I hate long hair.”

“Jess has it, so you do, too.”

“Can’t Jess shave her head?” I ask. “I’ll shave mine in solidarity—”

“No. Now go.” He points to the bathroom, checking his smartwatch in the process. “Hurry up. We should probably be at the con by one at the latest.”

“You’re one of those on-time-is-late people, aren’t you?”

“You’re one of those always-late people, aren’t you?”

“I’m mostly on time,” I mutter as I trudge into the bathroom and lock the door. I’m beginning to regret signing up for this scheme. I’m not sure what I thought it would be like—that I’d magically morph into Jessica Stone? Moon Prism Power Make Up and throw some glitter and just…be a celebrity? Don’t be ridiculous, I chide myself.

I start with the contacts first. I hate contacts. Fortunately, I’ve worn them enough for cosplays so I don’t need hours to put them in but, starflame!, that’s going to take some getting used to. It’s like condoms for my eyeballs.

Remember why you’re doing this, I think to myself as I blink the lenses into focus. You’re doing it to save Amara and—who knows?—maybe even Jessica Stone’s career.

True, I did not expect a sorta hot but bossy Slytherin (I still think he’s a burnt Hufflepuff) to hover over me like a helicopter parent the whole time, but I think there’s a way to fix that.