Chapter 5: The Secret Alliance

Ellie woke up to her phone buzzing like an angry hornet on her nightstand. Through the fog of too little sleep and too much champagne, she fumbled for the device, squinting at the screen through bleary eyes.

Seventeen missed calls. Forty-three text messages. And notifications flooding in faster than she could process them.

"What the hell?" she croaked, sitting up in the hotel bed that suddenly felt too small, too suffocating. The curtains were still drawn, but harsh morning light leaked around the edges, promising another day of Seattle's stubborn autumn gloom.

The top notification made her blood run cold: @BookDramaTea tagged you in a video.

BookDramaTea was the romance community's most notorious gossip account, run by someone with an uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time with a camera phone. Ellie's hands shook as she opened TikTok, dreading what she'd find.

The video was already at 2.3 million views.

It showed her and Cal from the night before, caught in their intense conversation by the high-top table. The angle was perfect for maximum drama—Cal leaning close, her tilting her head back to meet his eyes, the space between them crackling with unmistakable tension. The caption made her stomach lurch: "ENEMIES TO LOVERS ARC??? The Lit Critik and Ellie Vance having a VERY intense conversation at the LitCon mixer 👀 Are we witnessing a secret alliance or something SPICIER? #BookDrama #EnemiestoLovers #LitCon2024"

The comments were a mixture of shipping enthusiasm and conspiracy theories:

"THE SEXUAL TENSION IS UNMATCHED" "Plot twist: they've been secretly collaborating this whole time" "She's obviously trying to seduce him to go easy on her" "This has to be a publicity stunt" "I NEED the enemies to lovers slowburn immediately"

But it was the responses from verified accounts that made her blood pressure spike. Other influencers were quote-tweeting with speculation, romance authors were sliding into the drama with popcorn emojis, and worst of all, legitimate book news accounts were picking up the story.

Her phone rang, Jessica's name flashing on the screen.

"Please tell me you're seeing this," her friend's voice was tight with concern. "Please tell me there's an innocent explanation for why you and Caleb Thorne look like you're about to either murder each other or make out."

"It wasn't—" Ellie started, then stopped. How could she explain that the most emotionally charged conversation she'd had in years had been with the man who'd spent weeks publicly dismantling her? "It was just talking. Professional coordination."

"Professional coordination that required you to stand close enough to share oxygen?"

Ellie rubbed her temples, feeling the beginning of a headache building behind her eyes. "It was crowded. The music was loud. We had to—"

"El." Jessica's voice was gentle but firm. "I've known you for eight years. I've never seen you look at anyone the way you're looking at him in this video."

Before Ellie could formulate a response, her phone chimed with a new message. From a number she didn't recognize, but the tone was unmistakable.

Well. This is unfortunate.

Her heart did something complicated in her chest. She'd deleted Cal's number after their coordination call, not wanting the temptation of further contact, but apparently he'd kept hers.

Cal? she typed back.

Unless you have other enemies who photograph well in compromising positions.

Despite everything, she almost smiled. Even in crisis, his wit was razor-sharp.

This is bad, she replied.

Catastrophic. My mentions are a war zone, and not the fun kind where I'm obviously right.

What do we do?

The typing indicator appeared and disappeared several times before his response came through.

We need to talk. In person. Somewhere private where we won't end up as someone else's content.

Ellie hesitated. After last night, being alone with Cal felt dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with their public feud. The memory of his cologne, the intensity of his gaze, the way her body had responded to his proximity—all of it spelled trouble she wasn't equipped to handle.

But the alternative was letting other people control the narrative, and she'd spent too many months watching from the sidelines as her story was told by everyone except her.

Where? she typed.

Coffee shop on Pine Street, three blocks from the hotel. Twenty minutes?

I'll be there.

She was halfway dressed when Jessica called back.

"Where are you going? I can hear you moving around."

"To fix this." Ellie pulled on jeans and a soft gray sweater, something that felt like armor disguised as comfort. "Cal and I are going to figure out how to handle the situation."

"Ellie, no. This is exactly what that video makes it look like—you two collaborating in secret. It's only going to make things worse."

"Then what do you suggest? That I hide in my hotel room while the internet decides whether I'm a manipulative seductress or a naive pawn?"

"I suggest you remember that this man has made a career out of destroying people exactly like you. Don't let a pretty face and some sexual tension make you forget that he's dangerous."

But as Ellie grabbed her jacket and headed for the door, she wondered if the real danger wasn't Cal himself, but the way he made her feel like a more interesting version of herself. Someone worth challenging, worth understanding, worth the kind of passionate argument that left her breathless and energized instead of drained and defeated.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, just a few early morning regulars nursing their drinks and avoiding eye contact with the world. Cal was already there, sitting in a corner booth with his back to the wall and a clear view of the entrance. Even in casual clothes—dark jeans and a gray henley that clung to his broad shoulders—he radiated the kind of controlled intensity that made people give him a wide berth.

He looked up as she approached, his expression unreadable.

"You came," he said, sounding almost surprised.

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I thought you might decide I was too radioactive to risk further association." He gestured to the seat across from him. "Coffee's on me. Least I can do since I seem to have gotten you dragged into another scandal."

She slid into the booth, hyperaware of the way her knees almost brushed his under the small table. "You didn't get me dragged into anything. We both participated in that conversation."

"Did we?" His smile was wry. "Because from the comments, it sounds like I was either manipulating you with my devastating masculine wiles or you were playing some long game to seduce me into submission."

"The internet loves a simple narrative," Ellie said, accepting the latte he'd ordered for her. He'd remembered her drink from their phone call—oat milk, extra shot, cinnamon. The small gesture felt unexpectedly intimate. "Complex motivations don't fit in a sixty-second video."

"No, they don't." He studied her over the rim of his black coffee. "So what's our complex motivation here, Elara? What's the story we want to tell about last night?"

She considered lying, creating some sanitized version that would minimize the damage. But the way he was looking at her—like she was a puzzle he actually wanted to solve rather than simply tear apart—made her choose honesty instead.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I went to that party planning to avoid you completely. And then you were there, and you were... different than I expected. More human. Less performatively cruel."

"Performatively cruel." He repeated the phrase like he was tasting it. "Is that what you think I am?"

"Aren't you?"

For a moment, something raw flickered across his features. "Sometimes. When the alternative is being vulnerable enough to get hurt again."

The admission hung between them, more intimate than anything that had happened the night before. Ellie felt like she was seeing behind his carefully constructed persona to something real and unguarded underneath.

"What happened to you?" she found herself asking. "To make you so..."

"Defensive? Suspicious? Generally unpleasant to be around?" His smile was self-deprecating. "Long story. Not particularly interesting."

"I doubt that."

"Trust me, it's the same sob story as half the internet. Mentor betrayal, dreams crushed, cynicism as armor." He waved dismissively, but she caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tightened around his coffee cup. "The point is, we need to figure out how to handle this situation before it spirals completely out of control."

"What do you suggest?"

"Option one: We ignore it completely. Let people speculate, don't give them any more content, and hope the internet's attention span does what it does best."

"Which is?"

"Move on to the next shiny drama within forty-eight hours."

Ellie considered this. "What's option two?"

"We lean into it." His eyes met hers, dark and calculating. "Give them the collaboration they think they're seeing. Present a united front about the toxic nature of online discourse, show them that enemies can find common ground."

"A ceasefire."

"More than that. A demonstration that the future of book communities doesn't have to be about choosing sides. That criticism and celebration can coexist."

It was a compelling vision, the kind of idealistic goal that had drawn her to book blogging in the first place. But she'd learned to be suspicious of solutions that sounded too good to be true.

"What's the catch?"

"The catch is that we'd have to actually mean it. No performative politeness, no fake friendship for the cameras. We'd have to find genuine common ground, which means..."

"Which means?"

"Which means you'd have to be willing to acknowledge that not every book deserves unconditional love, and I'd have to admit that maybe tearing things down isn't always more valuable than building them up."

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and Ellie felt that familiar spark of defiance that he seemed to ignite in her.

"You think I can't handle real criticism?"

"I think you've spent so long avoiding conflict that you've forgotten how to engage with it productively. But last night..." He paused, something almost like admiration flickering in his expression. "Last night you reminded me that you're capable of more than I gave you credit for."

"And you think you can learn to be constructive instead of destructive?"

"I think," he said slowly, "that having someone worth arguing with might make the difference."

The words sent heat spiraling through her chest, dangerous and thrilling. They were talking about professional collaboration, strategic damage control, but underneath ran a current of something far more personal.

"So we present a united front," she said. "Show them that enemies can become... what? Allies?"

"Something like that." His gaze dropped to her lips for just a moment before returning to her eyes. "Though I should warn you—people are going to read into everything we do. Every interaction, every glance, every moment we're in the same frame."

"Let them," she said, surprising herself with her boldness. "Maybe it's time I stopped caring so much about what people think."

His smile was slow and genuine, transforming his entire face. "Now that sounds like the woman I argued with last night."

As they sat there, planning their strategy and carefully not acknowledging the electricity that sparked between them every time their eyes met, Ellie couldn't shake the feeling that she was stepping into something far more complicated than professional collaboration.

But for the first time in months, complicated felt like exactly where she wanted to be.

"Partners?" Cal extended his hand across the table.

"Partners," she agreed, taking it.

His skin was warm, his grip firm, and when their fingers touched, she felt a jolt of awareness that had nothing to do with their newfound alliance and everything to do with the way he was looking at her like she was the most fascinating puzzle he'd ever encountered.

Tomorrow's panel was going to be interesting indeed.