Chapter 4: Face to Face

The LitCon pre-convention mixer buzzed with the electric energy of a thousand book lovers finally meeting their online communities in person. The hotel's grand ballroom had been transformed into a literary wonderland—fairy lights strung between towering displays of romance novel covers, cocktail tables scattered with bookmarks and swag, and everywhere the animated chatter of readers, authors, and influencers greeting each other with the enthusiasm of long-lost friends.

Ellie stood near the entrance, smoothing down her vintage floral dress and second-guessing every choice that had led her to this moment. The coordinating call with Cal had been... intense. Two hours of verbal sparring disguised as professional planning, during which she'd discovered he was even more infuriatingly articulate in real-time conversation than in his carefully edited videos.

"You made it!" A familiar voice cut through her spiraling thoughts as BookishBae—Marina in real life—appeared at her elbow with two champagne glasses. "I wasn't sure you'd actually show up after... well, you know."

"After your nemesis spent the last two weeks using me as target practice?" Ellie accepted the champagne gratefully. "Yeah, I considered hiding in my hotel room until the panel tomorrow."

"Speaking of which—" Marina's eyes widened, looking somewhere over Ellie's shoulder. "Don't look now, but he's here. And he's... wow."

Despite the warning, Ellie turned.

Her breath caught.

Caleb Thorne stood near the bar, and he was nothing like she'd expected. Her mental image, built from carefully curated social media photos and the harsh lighting of his TikTok videos, hadn't prepared her for the reality of him. He was taller than she'd imagined—easily six-two—with the kind of presence that seemed to bend space around him. His dark hair was perfectly styled but looked like he'd run his fingers through it, and even from across the crowded room, she could see the intricate tattoos that wound up his forearms.

But it was his face that stopped her cold. The sharp angles and cynical eyes she knew from his videos were there, but softened somehow by the warm lighting and the absence of his usual camera-ready sneer. He looked... human. Approachable, even, as he laughed at something the woman next to him had said.

"Earth to Ellie," Marina's voice brought her crashing back to the present. "You're staring."

"I'm not—" Ellie tore her gaze away, heat flooding her cheeks. "I was just... surprised. He's different than I expected."

"Different how?"

"Less..." she searched for the word, "menacing? In his videos he always looks like he's plotting someone's literary destruction. But here he just looks like a guy at a party."

Marina snorted. "A guy at a party who spent the last month systematically destroying your online presence. Don't let the pretty face fool you."

But Ellie found her gaze drifting back toward the bar despite herself. As if sensing her attention, Cal's eyes suddenly found hers across the room. For a moment that stretched like an eternity, they simply looked at each other—her with wide-eyed uncertainty, him with something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes.

Then he smiled. Not the sharp, predatory smirk she knew from his videos, but something smaller and infinitely more dangerous. Something that made her stomach flip in ways that had absolutely nothing to do with fear.

"Oh no," Marina muttered. "Oh, Ellie, no. I know that look."

"What look?" Ellie forced herself to turn away, but she could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing.

"The look that means you're about to do something catastrophically stupid. Like find him charming."

"I am not—"

"Elara Vance."

The voice came from directly behind her, low and smooth with just a hint of an accent she couldn't place. Ellie spun around to find Caleb standing less than three feet away, somehow having crossed the crowded room without her noticing.

Up close, he was even more devastating. His black button-down shirt was rolled up to reveal those tattoos she'd glimpsed in his videos—literary quotes in elegant script wound around thorny vines, disappearing beneath the fabric in ways that made her imagination run wild. His cologne was subtle but intoxicating, something dark and woodsy that made her want to lean closer.

"Cal," she managed, proud that her voice came out steady. "I was wondering when you'd make your grand entrance."

"Grand entrance?" His eyebrow arched in that signature move she'd seen destroy countless other creators. "I've been here for an hour. You're the one making an entrance—I can feel the tension in this room ratcheting up by the minute."

Marina cleared her throat loudly. "I'm going to... go find the bathroom. Or the bar. Or literally anywhere else." She disappeared into the crowd with the efficiency of someone who'd perfected the art of avoiding drama.

Ellie found herself alone with the man who'd spent weeks tearing apart her online presence, and the air between them crackled with something she couldn't name.

"So," Cal stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "This is awkward."

"Is it?" Ellie lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated by his proximity. "I thought this was exactly what you wanted—another opportunity to eviscerate me in public."

"Eviscerate?" He looked genuinely surprised. "Is that what you think I've been doing?"

"What would you call it?"

"Holding you accountable." His voice was matter-of-fact, but something flickered in his expression. "Though I'll admit, seeing you here... you're not quite what I expected either."

"What did you expect?"

"Someone smaller." He studied her face with the intensity of someone solving a puzzle. "In your videos, you always seem so... soft. Fragile. But you're not, are you? There's steel under all that sweetness."

The observation was too perceptive, too close to truths she'd spent years hiding behind carefully crafted positivity. It made her feel exposed in ways that had nothing to do with her dress's modest neckline.

"You don't know anything about me," she said, but the words lacked the bite she'd intended.

"Don't I?" He leaned against the high-top table beside them, close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. "Six years of content, remember? I've watched you evolve from genuine book lover to corporate-friendly influencer. I've seen the moments when your real opinions slip through the cracks."

"And what exactly do you think my real opinions are?"

"I think you're smarter than you let yourself appear. I think you have thoughts about the problematic elements in half the books you promote, but you're too afraid of conflict to voice them. I think you're tired of performing happiness for an audience that demands increasingly impossible standards."

Each word hit like a precision strike, and Ellie felt her carefully constructed defenses crumbling. How could he see so clearly the very things she'd spent months in therapy trying to articulate?

"You're wrong," she said, but her voice came out breathless.

"Am I?" He shifted closer, and she caught another hint of that intoxicating cologne. "Then why did you disappear for six months? Why did you come back with a post begging for kindness instead of engaging with the criticism that drove you away?"

"Because the criticism wasn't constructive," she shot back, finding her fire at last. "Because there's a difference between holding someone accountable and publicly humiliating them for sport. Because some of us still believe that loving books doesn't have to come with a side of cruelty."

"Ah." His smile was sharp and pleased. "There she is again."

"There who is?"

"The woman behind the brand. The one with actual opinions instead of focus-grouped responses." He paused, studying her flushed face. "She's much more interesting than the influencer."

The compliment—if it was a compliment—sent heat spiraling through her chest. This close, she could see the faint lines around his eyes, the small scar above his left eyebrow, the way his lips curved when he was genuinely amused rather than performing for a camera.

"You're infuriating," she breathed.

"So I've been told." His voice dropped lower, intimate despite the crowd around them. "But you're not running away this time."

"Maybe I should be."

"Maybe." His gaze dropped to her lips for just a moment before returning to her eyes. "But you won't. Because despite what you tell yourself about avoiding conflict, you're drawn to it. You're drawn to the fight, to the challenge of proving me wrong."

"I'm not drawn to anything about you," she lied.

"No?" He leaned back slightly, giving her space to breathe while somehow making her feel his absence like a physical loss. "Then why haven't you walked away? Why are you standing here letting me psychoanalyze you instead of networking with people who actually support your work?"

Because you're the most fascinating person I've met in years, she thought but didn't dare say. Because you see things in me that I've spent years hiding from everyone, including myself. Because for the first time in months, I feel completely, electrically alive.

"Because," she said instead, "someone needs to remind you that not everyone who disagrees with your methods is an intellectual inferior. Some of us just choose to build instead of tear down."

"Building." He seemed to consider this. "And what exactly have you built, Elara? Besides a platform that prioritizes aesthetics over analysis?"

The question stung because it echoed her own deepest insecurities. But instead of retreating, she stepped closer, close enough to see the surprise flicker across his features.

"I've built a community where readers feel safe to love what they love without shame. I've built careers for authors who might never have found their audience otherwise. I've built connections between people who found solace in the same stories." Her voice gained strength with each word. "What have you built, Cal? Besides a reputation for brilliance wrapped in cruelty?"

For a moment, something raw and unguarded flashed across his face. Pain, maybe, or recognition. Then his mask slipped back into place, but not before she'd seen enough to realize that her arrow had found its mark.

"Touché," he said softly. "Though I'd argue that sometimes cruelty is just honesty without the pretty packaging."

"And I'd argue that sometimes honesty is just cruelty with intellectual justification."

They stared at each other, the air between them charged with something that felt far more dangerous than simple antagonism. Around them, the party continued—laughter and conversation and the gentle clink of glasses—but Ellie felt like they existed in a bubble of tension that might shatter at any moment.

"Tomorrow should be interesting," Cal said finally.

"Yes," she agreed, though she wasn't entirely sure they were talking about the panel anymore. "It should be."

He pushed away from the table, breaking the spell that had held them suspended in their bubble of mutual fascination and friction.

"I should let you get back to your networking," he said, but he didn't move. "Though fair warning—I won't go easy on you tomorrow just because you're more formidable than I expected."

"I wouldn't want you to," she replied, surprised to find she meant it.

His smile this time was genuine, transforming his entire face into something that made her breath catch.

"Good. I have a feeling this is going to be far more entertaining than either of us anticipated."

He turned to leave, then paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"And Elara? Wear something you can fight in tomorrow. The dress is lovely, but I have a feeling you're going to want full range of motion."

Then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd and leaving Ellie standing alone beside the table, her heart racing and her mind spinning with the impossible realization that she was looking forward to tomorrow's battle almost as much as she was dreading it.

Marina reappeared at her elbow, two fresh champagne glasses in hand.

"So," her friend said, taking in Ellie's flushed cheeks and bright eyes. "How catastrophically stupid are we talking here?"

Ellie accepted the champagne and drained half of it in one gulp.

"I'm in so much trouble," she admitted.

"Good trouble or bad trouble?"

Ellie watched Cal's retreating figure, admiring the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and hating herself for noticing.

"I honestly have no idea."

But as she stood there, surrounded by the warm chaos of her community and still feeling the electric aftershock of Cal's presence, she realized that for the first time in months, she felt truly, vibrantly alive.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.