He puts his phone away. “You don’t understand what’s at stake. I won’t allow it—and neither will Darien.”

I scoff. “Allow me? What can you do to stop me?”

“You’ll ruin her career.”

“Ruin it? I’m going to save it! If the world knows that Jessica Stone backs the movement, maybe the producers will think twice about killing her. Or having her stay dead.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to get behind the movement.”

“Maybe she should. Maybe she should stop being Burr and start being Hamilton.”

He blinks. Of course that reference went straight over his head. He’s the pencil-straight, button-up-shirt kind of guy who probably listens to smooth jazz while reading a Stephen Hawking book. Which is fine, no shade there, but ugh. Of course I have to be stuck with the most uncool person at the con—

He steps up to me, looming like the five-foot-eleven beanpole he is, and says in a soft rumble, “She is. She just doesn’t want to waste her shot.”

Gooseflesh ripples across my skin.

“You know the rules,” he says. “And that thing you just tried to pull with Vance? Yeah, smooth move, criminal.”

“I wasn’t actually—that wasn’t—I had it under control.”

“Right, ‘under control.’” He puts it in finger quotes. Starflame, who does that anymore? “Jess would never have given him that much face time. Not to mention he interrupted you.”

“It was a great entrance!” I defend. “And it was a crowd-pleaser. Besides, he apologized.”

“Get the lovesick out of your ears, Imogen.”

I grit my teeth as I feel a blush redden my face. “I am not lovesick. I just had a minor brain fart, okay?”

“A brain…” He pinches the bridge of his nose and mumbles under his breath, “I should get a raise for this.” Then he pushes up his thick black glasses. “Jess—you—have a meet-and-greet in”—he checks his watch—“twenty minutes. We should get lunch, and I’ll teach you how she signs her name, and you need to fix your makeup and—”

“Chill, dude.”

He shakes his head. “Jess’s career is already on the line and I’m here to make sure she doesn’t screw up her chances because of some rapscallion look-alike.” He stands a little straighter, as if needing the extra height in order to call me names, even though he is already a full head taller than me.

Which, point taken. He does. Especially after that name-calling.

“Rapscallion?” I echo, keeping my voice even. “That’s all you’ve got? Rapscallion?”

He hesitates, unsure whether I’m just so angry that I’ve lost all inflection or I’m about to burst out laughing. “It—it sounded fine in my head.”

And he looks so uncomfortable and so embarrassed but trying so hard to keep his cool that I just sort of…lose it.