Geekerella (Starfield #1)(64)

“I think that’s illegal,” says the guy at the booth.

“So’s sexual harassment.” I try to give him a mind-melting glare, but nothing fazes this guy. Hell could be rising up around him and he’d probably just think it was so last-year’s Syfy.

He sighs. “Look, if you want to see what you can do about your ‘stolen’ passes, go talk to the organizers. They’re in the office over there.” He gestures toward the corner of the lobby. “Go bother them.”

With a scowl, I turn on my heels, making my way to the offices.

“I’ll wait out here, I guess?” Sage calls behind me. “Have fun storming the castle!”

I wave a hand over my head to signal that I heard her.

This is ridiculous. Of all the years that my dad organized ExcelsiCon, he never would’ve hired a brat like that guy. At least there are other ways of getting into a con, and I know they aren’t at capacity yet. They always leave a handful of badges unattended just in case someone important shows up. Like the president. Or Tom Hiddleston.

I reach the office door and peek inside the little window. A harried older woman is counting bills onto a desk. She looks familiar, but it takes a moment to remember.

“Miss May!” I knock and wave through the window. She jumps at hearing her own name, spinning around to me in her rolly chair. She’s in the regulation purple ExcelsiCon T-shirt and blue jeans, and I swear she hasn’t changed her Keds in the ten years I’ve been gone. Her gray eyebrows scrunch together as if trying to place where she’s seen my face before.

I flash her the promise-sworn salute, and her eyebrows shoot up into her graying-brown hairline.

“Oh my word—Danielle!” she cries, jumping up from her chair. She rushes around the desk and throws her arms around me. “Danielle, you’ve grown so much! You look just like Robin. Just like him,” she echoes, holding me at arm’s length. “Goodness, it’s been, what, six years?”

“A little over,” I reply. Seven years. How has it been that long? I wonder if she blames me too. I pull a smile over my face. “And it’s high time I came back, right?”

“Right as rain!” she replies. “Robin could never keep himself away. I knew you’d be around again.”

“Actually, Miss May, that’s what I need to talk to you about. I—we—”

Suddenly, the office door opens and slams against the knob with a bang. A tall, youngish guy—dark hair, swaggery walk—breezes past me.

“I need to speak with the manager,” he says, his voice icy. “Please.”

My mouth falls open. Because Holy Federation Prince, Batman. It’s Darien effing Freeman.

Miss May looks surprised. “Well now, hold on a moment there…”

A flustered-looking woman—his handler, I’m guessing—trips into the office after him and closes the door quietly. “Darien, it’s okay—”

“Gail, it’s not okay.” He turns back to Miss May. “I just need to talk to the director, please. That’s all. I’m sure it’s a big misunderstanding.”

“The director’s out on the floor,” Miss May says.

“Excuse me,” I interrupt him.

“One second, okay?” He barely glances over.

I feel like I’ve just gone invisible. It’s one thing to feel invisible at home, but this—this is my dad’s con. I shouldn’t feel invisible here. I won’t feel invisible here.

“Is there any way to get in touch with him?” he says. “Call him? Something?”

“Dare, you’re running late to your panel,” his handler pleads. “Maybe we can get this straightened out later…”

“But the signing’s right after the panel,” he says, trying to reason with her.

I set my jaw. First he gets cast to ruin Carmindor. Then he has the indecency to show his abs on national television to sell Carmindor. And now he’s barging into the office interrupting me and pretending I’m invisible? This is why I blog. There are things in this life that I can overlook. Catherine, the twins, the crap at the country club. But you don’t mess with my Starfield.

“Aren’t you a little ungrateful?” I say.

He finally glances over as if seeing me for the first time. Oh, hello there, I think. Nice of you to finally notice.

“I’m sorry?” he says.

“Aren’t you,” I enunciate, “a little ungrateful?”

“I’m sorry, uh, miss, I’m in a bit of a hurry—”

“And I’m not?” I fold my arms over my chest. “I was here first and there’s no reason for you to barge in here and throw a hissy fit because you can’t sit your pretty butt down and sign for thirty minutes. That’s disgraceful. In the grand scheme of life, what’s thirty minutes to you?” I put my hands on my hips. “What’s thirty minutes to make someone else’s day pretty stellar?”

His shoulders stiffen. “You don’t understand. You couldn’t—”

“Couldn’t I?” I laugh. “Give me your paycheck and I’ll sign for you.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but then closes it again and turns back to Miss May. “Please, is there any way you can talk to your manager? We can work out a deal. I just don’t want to sign—”