An Unconventional Meeting: The Fangirl Series, #1

One

Wednesday: 00:12

Ellie groaned as she spied the tiny clock on her computer screen and rubbed her tired eyes. The computer’s speakers uttered a soft sound alerting her to an incoming response. As she read the words, she frowned, her lip curling a little in disgust, before she frantically typed an over-zealous comeback. Her little finger hovered over the enter button as her eyes flickered over her impassioned words.

They were words that explained why Gabriel and Lucifer, archangel and devil, were soul mates. Destined for one another since the beginning of—

She groaned as she lowered her head to the desk and gently bumped it against the smooth wood.

Repeatedly.

‘Something up?’ Marie’s amused voice came from the doorway to the small box room they used as an office. Ellie could feel her friend’s eyes watching, as she finally rested her head against the cool wood of her desk.

‘I’m too old to be a fangirl,’ was Ellie’s muffled response.

‘Tosh, you’re never too old to fangirl it up. It’s what we live for.’ The platinum blonde shrugged her shoulders as if the statement was a natural fact of their existence and the whole world knew it.

‘That’s the point.’ Ellie sat up and turned to her friend. ‘It shouldn’t be all we live for. Other people have lives, honest to God lives! They go out. They get hammered. They have pure, unadulterated sex and wake up the next morning regretting everything and swearing it will be the last time. And it is, until the following weekend when they do it all over again!’ She spun her chair back around to the computer screen with its Luc Truman and Marc Matthews wallpaper—the stars of the hit show Destiny. The conversation box was still open down the right-hand side of the screen.

‘Instead,’ Ellie said—her shoulders slumped in the disappointment of her own reality—‘when I’m not working, I sit in, watching my shows over and over until I can recite them word for bloody word. I write bad fan fiction—’

‘Fan-fucking-tastic fan fiction.’

‘—based on relationships that aren’t even in the show—’

‘They should be.’

‘—and get a thrill from it when sad housewives and women with no hope of getting laid—’

‘Oi! I get plenty laid!’

‘—tell me how hot it made them, or how it changed how they saw the show. Oh, and now I apparently sit up until after midnight responding to trolling little shits who probably get a sick sexual twist from yanking the chain of some sad woman who can’t get a guy in the real world!’

‘You could get a guy,’ Marie stated matter-of-factly, but her voice softened as she spoke next. ‘After everything that’s happened, you’re just taking your time deciding which one you want next.’

Ellie snorted at the comment; taking her time was the understatement of the century. Her divorce from Andrew had been finalised for ten years now, and she’d been separated from the cheating, chauvinistic bastard for twelve; while she’d tried seeing other men on occasions since, she just couldn’t get over the what ifs Andrew had instilled in their short marriage. The closest thing she had to a man in her life was sitting in the bottom drawer of her bedside table.

‘Now,’ Marie continued as she leant over her friend and dropped a kiss to her forehead. ‘Stop fucking about on Tumblr; we’ve got a busy day tomorrow!’

‘Fine,’ Ellie huffed, but she smirked as her friend ruffled her dark hair and told her good girl, before going off to her own bed. Ellie viewed the conversation box one last time before deleting her impassioned defence and closing the window without comment.

Clicking the browser window, she skimmed her eyes over her blog, taking in the pages of links to fan fiction, quotes of the programme, gifs, and images. The latest post was a collection of photos of Sophie Collins’ recent wedding to an attractive-looking redhead. It was a unique incident, a fan story if ever there was one. At the airport, the starlet had got into the wrong car; the man who eventually would become her husband just happened to be its driver and by the time they’d realised the error, the two had felt the pull to one another.

Ellie smiled softly as she looked at the little moving pictures. Each image showed two people oblivious to the world, eyes only for each other, their love clear. It was a fairy tale. These things weren’t supposed to happen in real life; they certainly hadn’t in hers.

But perhaps if they had for one couple…

She snorted at the thought of casually bumping into Luc at Desti-Nation, having him fall immediately to his knees and beg her to be his. He’d leave his wife, he’d run away with her back to the UK and they’d lead a happy life with two-point-four children and a dog.

She rolled her eyes at herself and saw Marc Matthews glaring at her. She mentally gave him the finger, thanking whatever deity that was listening that he never went to the conventions.

Handsome bastard.

Shaking her head of her thoughts, she closed Tumblr and switched to Facebook, to answer an earlier message from her friend in the US.

Mallory Davies

Tuesday: 22:41

Can’t wait to see you again—VEGAS BABY!

P.S. I have an amazing surprise for you guys!

Ellie Roscoe

Wednesday: 00:17

HAHA. Can’t wait to see you too. Ooooh—tell me!

We have to make this one amazing; it’s the last Con I’m going to.

Ellie closed down the computer and stretched her back as she stood. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and frowned, thinking of the starlet in those images; how young, carefree and happy she’d looked in them. Sophie was three years older than Ellie, yet Ellie could easily be mistaken for the elder. There was no happiness in her blue-grey eyes; crows’ feet were already softly creeping around them, and it appeared as if her lips had forgotten how to smile.

Perhaps they had, she mused, but what reasons were there to smile? She was a thirty-two-year-old divorcee, working for someone she couldn’t stand, with an addiction to TV shows and the internet.

She blinked at her reflection, wiping the frown from her brow as she swallowed.

It was time to stop hiding and take control over her life.

They didn’t come across as the cool and collected pair they’d planned on being as they rushed through the airport. They’d spent a frantic day searching under beds, on top of bookcases and in cupboards for all the little bits and pieces that had slipped their minds until the last minute. Ellie was frantically checking her watch and gazing around, desperately trying to ensure the duo headed in the right direction, when suddenly, yards from the gate, she was yanked back by a hand on her arm; Marie stopped dead and squealed, ‘O.M.G!’

‘What?’ Ellie asked, panicked, stopping herself falling at the sudden change of direction.

‘He’s going,’ Marie whispered. Then she squealed, ‘He’s going to be there! O.M.G! O.M.G!’

‘Use the bloody words!’ Ellie snapped at her friend, who was reading something from her smartphone. Marie’s eyes widened to comical proportions, her face splitting into a huge, excited smile. ‘Who is going, Marie? The plane won’t wait for us!’ Ellie reminded her, exasperated.

‘Marc Matthews is going to Desti-Nation!’ the blonde shrieked as she bounced on the spot, green eyes alight with happiness. Ellie thought she looked as if all her Christmases had come at once.

‘Oh.’

‘Oh?’ Marie asked as she stilled, looking at Ellie as if she had no clue who she was. ‘That’s it? Marc-I-never-go-to-any-public-event-Matthews is going to be at the Con and all you can do say is oh? I’m sorry, who are you and what the fuck have you done with my Ellie?’

‘Marie, we’re late for boarding, the plane isn’t going to wait for us. So get your arse in gear and fangirl it as you walk!’

Ellie turned and stormed towards their boarding gate as another call for their flight was announced over the PA system. She was frazzled from the morning rush and from the stress of having nearly missed check-in, and having paid out extra money for the overweight bags; she certainly wasn’t going to be soothed by the idea that the actor she completely disliked would be at the convention! Marc Matthews had become known for his disdain of the Destiny fans; he snubbed any public event to promote the show and would only do network interviews to talk about it.

Ellie snorted at the thought of him sitting at an empty table while all the other stars had snaking lines of fans waiting for their autographs.

‘He’s the only one we didn’t think we’d get,’ Marie continued, breathless, as she caught up. Her high heels clacked against the tiled floor as she waved her phone in front of her for Ellie to see. ‘He’d finally complete your print, and we’d have our photo with every star of the show—a complete collection, Ellie! No one thought they’d ever get it and we can!’

Ellie’s happy image of an ignored Marc disappeared, and a queue, longer than anyone else’s, formed in her mind. A chorus of we forgive you was being chanted by the far-too-large group in her head.

Fucking fickle fangirls.

‘We won’t if we don’t make this flight!’

Ellie caught hold of Marie’s flouncy skirt as the other girl was about to slow to a halt again, and dragged her forward as they finally reached the gate. The flight attendant forced a smile and Ellie had to nudge Marie in the ribs to get her to look up from whatever gossip site she’d gone back to perusing. The blonde blinked as she took in where she was, surprised to be standing at the gate.

‘Sorry,’ she offered to the clearly unimpressed stewardess; she shoved her phone under her arm then opened her giant bag, rummaging through for her boarding pass. ‘It’s in here somewhere.’ She started pulling items out.

‘Marie,’ Ellie huffed. By now, her friend was tugging out her just-in-case-they-lose-our-luggage underwear, pushing it to one side.

‘I’m looking!’

‘It’s here!’ Ellie pulled the pass from the front pocket of her friend’s bag, where it had been on the verge of falling to the floor. Marie flashed a sheepish smile at the flight attendant while Ellie handed the ticket over.

‘That has to go off and away,’ the attendant told the red-faced girl as they were hurried through the gate towards the ‘plane.

People huffed and puffed as they stepped on board, the subdued duo muttering apologies as they made their way through the aircraft to find their seats. When Ellie finally reached hers, she sank into it, letting out a deep, bone-weary sigh as her head dropped back on the headrest. The flight attendants started their safety routine as the plane taxied towards the runway, and Marie just continued to babble on about the sudden—and very surprising—appearance of the usually elusive Marc Matthews. But Ellie’s mind was far, far away from it all.

By now she’d usually be bouncing in her chair, chattering away to Marie about what they could possibly expect, their previous trips to the event, the season finale that had occurred just days before and what questions they might consider asking at the stage talks…

Perhaps, once they landed—she mused as her eyes fluttered closed—she’d start to feel the familiar excitement; there’d be the thrill of meeting other fans so they could openly talk and debate the pros and cons of that season’s story arc, not being judged for squealing excitedly over something that popped up on their Twitter feed, and being accepted for dressing up in wild and crazy costumes. But, right now, all Ellie felt was tiredness and it had nothing to do with the late night or their early start that morning.

As the aeroplane levelled out somewhere high above the British Isles, and the flight crew handed out complimentary drinks, Marie’s constant chatter finally won over and wormed its way into Ellie’s thoughts; yes, why had Marc Matthews decided to grace this convention, of all conventions, with his presence? What had finally won over the hard- hearted actor Ellie had gushed over during the first season—well, until she heard the stories of his discourteous nature towards fans, anyway. What would make the man who treated all fans as if they were rabid dogs, suddenly want to be amongst them?

Two

Marc stepped out of the bedroom with his young son snuggled tightly to his chest as the boy tried to fall back to sleep against him.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ he chuckled, descending the stairs, his own voice still low and rough with tiredness. It had taken days to get Tyler back into any kind of sleeping pattern; while the change from filming to hiatus was always difficult on Marc, it was absolute murder for his four-year-old. Tyler got so excited when he realised his papa would be staying throughout the whole day and night, that it took so long to get him back into the habit of getting some rest. He clung to Marc, painfully, at night-times, refusing to fall asleep just in case his papa tried to sneak away again.

It pained Marc every time Tyler asked why his father had to leave him for days—sometimes weeks—on end. His heart ached seeing his son’s big blue eyes silently pleading with him to stay.

He rubbed his son’s back unconsciously as the boy shifted, trying to get impossibly closer to his papa; Marc entertained the thought of never going back on set, of calling the new Powers That Be at the network and saying those two words he’d been considering more and more over the past season.

He was so lost in the daydream of marching into the network’s LA office and announcing he was quitting, that he almost missed Jen, his personal assistant, wishing him a good morning as he completed the final stair onto the ground floor. She beamed up at him, brightly, and her dark hair folded neatly into two short braids over her shoulders told Marc he had a Tyler-centric day ahead of him. He returned her smile with enthusiasm. Perhaps they could finally get to the park, as he’d been promising his son for days.

‘How’d he sleep?’ Jen asked, her voice warm and welcoming with her soft Jamaican twang.

‘Didn’t hear a peep out of him all night,’ replied Mark as they walked together into the warm kitchen and wished Cynthia, his housekeeper, a good morning. ‘I think he’s settled again, which means I can finally start looking for a replacement for Jamie.’

That was another problem this off-season period. Jamie, Tyler’s nanny practically since he was born, had finally left so she could get married and start a family of her own. Graciously, Jamie had timed it perfectly so that Tyler, with the excitement of having his father with him again, wouldn’t immediately register her absence. Marc just hoped he could keep it that way a little longer.

Finding a nanny for Tyler was a difficult task, not only because Tyler had to connect with the new person in his life, but also because they needed to be specialised in Sign Language. Tyler had been born deaf but had a hearing implant.

However, Tyler was just a regular little boy, rushing here and there and throwing himself into life. He never really thought about his hearing holding him back and while Marc relished and encouraged this way of thinking, it was highly annoying when his son broke yet another processor.

It was the third in eight months that he’d broken, this time by running through the house in the excitement of his papa swimming with him and, without hesitation, jumping straight into the pool before Marc had a chance to remove the processor.

He kissed his son’s cheek, a mix of happiness and sadness warring within him at how excited his son had been to get to spend some time with him.

‘I’m already on it,’ Jen informed him, as she scrolled through her tablet and loaded up their schedule for the day. ‘I’ve gone through the résumés the agencies sent over, and narrowed it down to six. I think you’ll like them.’ She paused for a moment, glancing up over her thick-framed glasses. ‘She’s left you a voice-mail, by the way. I think it was to say thank you for the wedding present, but all I got from it was a lot of squealing and screaming and oh my Gods—really, Marc, a house?’

‘Hey, she practically raised Tyler with me!’ He smiled sheepishly at being caught out in his generosity. ‘You and Jamie are the closest he has to a mother figure.’ Jen smiled at the compliment before she leant over the table and tapped her employer’s tablet to run the ‘sync’ app. Marc settled a still-sleepy Tyler into his chair, before tilting his boy’s face up to look at him.

‘Breakfast?’ he asked his son, ensuring his lips were in view. Tyler was still developing lip reading skills.

‘Sharms!’ the boy squealed, suddenly awake and looking around the room for the candy-filled cereal. Marc peered down at Tyler with a frown, shaking his head.

‘That is not how you ask,’ he said softly, as his hands signed his words. Tyler bit his lip and pouted before indicating he was sorry. ‘Use the words too, Tyler.’

‘Sorry,’ the boy murmured before he brightened again as the red box came into view.

‘Well, Cami and I already own.’ Jen continued their conversation as Marc poured his son a bowlful of the worst-tasting concoction Marc had ever tried. He had no idea where his son got his taste buds. ‘So we’ll settle for a round-the-world honeymoon when she finally proposes to me.’

‘Why don’t you just pop the question to her?’ he asked, before thanking Cynthia for presenting him with bacon and eggs.

‘Oh, please,’ Jen drawled as she settled herself opposite. ‘If anyone here is the man in our relationship, it’s her.’ Marc snorted at her comment, a long-running joke from when he’d once been ignorant of same-sex couples. He began eating as his personal emails loaded. ‘Anyway, I asked her to move in with me, so it’s her turn now.’

‘Really? That’s how you’re doing it? Romantic.’

The two traded conversation easily, back and forth, a quiet morning routine settling over them as they relaxed into the hiatus break. Most personal assistants spent more time off during hiatus than when filming—Jen’s girlfriend had pointed out that fact on more than one occasion—but for Jen, hiatus was when Marc needed her most.

Marc had barely spared a glance at his emails and schedule, instead giving his full attention to his son who was a miniature mirror image of his father. Jen smiled at the pair, as two identically messy dark heads moved in merriment and two sets of big blue eyes danced with glee. Tyler giggled with abandon as his father tickled his feet, and Marc chuckled wholeheartedly at his boy’s full body laughs.

‘Stop, Papa!’ he squealed. ‘Stop!’

‘Good boy.’ Marc ruffled his son’s hair and tucked into his cooling breakfast as the boy, a grin on his face, returned to his now soggy cereal.

Just as the breakfast dishes were being cleared away, the good mood and relaxed atmosphere of the morning was shattered; Sonya Adams appeared, unannounced and unplanned. She was Marc’s agent of almost fifteen years and both Marc and Jen knew her unexpected and flustered arrival couldn’t mean anything good.

Settling Tyler down with his Lego set, Marc closed the doors to his office—just enough to give them some privacy, but slightly ajar so Tyler could get him if needed.

‘What’s going on, Sonya?’ he demanded, blue eyes narrowing in suspicion at his agent. He’d known her since she’d pried him out of being represented by another agency, the one he’d been with since he was six months old; she’d proved they were skimming money from his earnings. Partly because of this, he trusted her with his career and never questioned her judgement on scripts or contracts, as not once had she led him to a bad movie, show, or deal. Her carefully-maintained appearance of Gucci and Armani suits, perfectly manicured nails, well-tended make-up and raven dark hair immaculately styled into a no-nonsense twist, conveyed the cool exterior of someone in charge; it always filled Marc with a calm confidence in Sonya and her decisions.

Her current appearance, however, was making him anxious. Dressed in washed-out, stained jeans, a UCLA alumni jacket hanging open over a worn-out Beatles t-shirt and scruffy Converse trainers, she’d shocked him for a few moments, barrelling into his home less than ten minutes earlier.

‘Marc, I’m sorry, but I didn’t know!’ Sonya’s Texan drawl was pleading, causing Marc to shut his eyes and count to ten. Whatever screw-up she was pleading innocence for, he knew he’d be the one to pay for it. ‘I swear, they slipped it in without a word; you know I ask for all contractual changes to be clearly labelled or highlighted—they said they labelled it, but I know for a fact it wasn’t and now—’.

‘Sonya. Get to the fucking point.’

Marc hated surprises; he always had Jen map out his days—his whole damn life—to ensure these types of things just didn’t happen.

‘Like I said, I didn’t know; listen, I get a phone call late at night, just as I’m about to hit the hay, from some stupid limp-dick panicking because he can’t find your travel or hotel requirements for Desti-Nation—’

‘That silly convention for the show?’ Jen interrupted as she frowned and shook her head. ‘But Marc never goes—Oh my God, no! Oh, Son, please tell me they didn’t put that in his contract!’ Jen hurried around Marc’s desk and began to rifle through the bottom drawer.

Marc felt his stomach drop. They wouldn’t—no, he couldn’t go to that. The idea of being surrounded by hundreds of screaming fans, of them clamouring to get his attention, to touch him—

‘They’d better not have!’ Marc snapped, but Sonya’s immediate silence, slumped shoulders and inability to meet his eyes told him everything. ‘Sonya, what the hell? You’re supposed to check a contract thoroughly. That’s your job!’

‘I know, I know, I’m sorry! But like I said, every change from the previous contract is supposed to be labelled or highlighted. I swear they didn’t. I don’t care what their legal team says!’

‘Their legal team? You’ve spoken to them already?’ If the legal team had got involved, Marc was most certainly screwed. The new bigwigs at the network were notorious for ensuring contracts were adhered to by the letter.

‘Of course, I have,’ she snapped back. ‘I woke the whole division last night, on my way to catch the damn red-eye, trying to figure out what was going on. They have copies where it’s labelled as a change, but mine doesn’t have that.’

‘Are you saying they’ve done this on purpose?’ Jen asked as she stood, flicking through the contract to try and find the public appearance and interview clause; three promotional interviews a year conducted by the network. The first in the lead-up to the start of the season, the second after the mid-season hiatus and the third right before the season finale. She closed her eyes as she saw the tiny asterisk highlighting the change. There’d be no pre-season interview; instead, Marc Matthews would appear at the studio’s Desti-Nation public event.

No wonder Sonya had missed it; the other three changes had arrows pointing directly at them. This was tiny, minuscule, almost unnoticeable—unless you were specifically looking for it. She pushed the contract across the desk towards Marc, tapping at the clause with her manicured nail.

Marc’s eyes went wide, his jaw clenched. ‘Get me out of it, Sonya! Use the I have no childcare for Tyler excuse; it’s not as if I can just have anyone—especially right now!’

‘I know, I know.’ Sonya tried to soothe him. ‘I explained it all to the studio, but they just said they’d send someone over—’

‘Well, they have to be able to sign. He broke his processor jumping in the pool! Can they sign? I won’t leave him with someone unable to fully communicate with him.’

‘I explained about his hearing, but they said they didn’t have anyone on staff with that level of skill. They said we should either have arranged this or notified them in advance.’

‘In advance? In advance!’ Marc’s voice was loud now, bellowing. He ran his hands through his dark hair, making it even more of a mess than normal. ‘Are you kidding me! If they had told me— You know what—’

He paced in front of his desk. Sonya watched with wide eyes as Jen tapped furiously on her tablet.

‘Never mind, just get me out of it, I don’t care if I get fired, I’m not doing some public event with screaming fangirls! You know how I feel about them.’

‘Marc, not everyone is Kelly.’

He froze mid-step at his agent’s words, his face drained of colour and his blue eyes widened at the mere mention of his ex-fiancée.

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Don’t,’ he bit out, his fists clenched at his side. ‘Don’t mention her name, not in front of me and never, ever when Tyler is anywhere near, do I make myself clear? I will never forgive her for what she did to Tyler, never!’

Marc turned to look through the doors towards his son who was sitting silently, playing with colourful blocks and toy cars.

‘And,’ Marc continued, his voice soft, and a sadness deep within it. ‘If I have to tar all fans, all women, with the same brush to keep my son safe, to protect him, even if it means I never get involved with anyone again, I damn well will.’

‘Marc,’ Sonya sighed, collapsing onto the couch as she rubbed her forehead. It was a common argument they’d revisited time and again over the years, in fact, every time Sonya tried to get him to do a public event, but it had been nearly five years since Kelly had left; Marc needed to start living again. So instead of bowing to him, this time, Sonya simply tried the truth.

‘You know what Doctor Hasting says. Kelly’s unstable; she has a personality disorder. It was