Sarah Silkinson practically jogged down the brightly lit, poster-adorned corridor of the Miami Comic Con headquarters, her heels clicking sharply on the polished concrete floor. The pre-convention buzz was palpable… phones ringing, stressed voices overlapping, the scent of fresh paint mingling with industrial-strength coffee. Her mind, however, was still replaying the exhilarating phone call she’d just ended with Lena Alvarez in San Diego. Hank Avery. @HankShootsReal. Getting him here, even on such short notice, would be a massive coup, exactly the kind of high-profile win she needed right now, especially with her personal life imploding. She reached the imposing oak door of her boss’s office, took a quick, steadying breath, smoothed down her business dress, and pushed it open.
“Sorry I’m late, sir,” she apologized, slightly breathless as she stepped inside Michael Diego’s spacious office. He sat behind a large, organized desk, looking every bit the seasoned veteran of the chaotic convention industry… calm amidst the storm. Framed posters from previous cons adorned the walls. “Something… important… came up.”
Michael waved a dismissive hand towards the plush visitor chair opposite his desk, his expression surprisingly understanding. “It’s quite alright, Sarah. No need to apologize. Life throws curveballs,” he said, his voice calm and measured. He offered a wry, empathetic smile. “Believe me, I myself went through a divorce or two back in the day. Takes time to navigate the fallout.”
Sarah felt a flicker of surprise, then gratitude, at his unexpected empathy. She managed a tight smirk as she sat down. “Yeah,” she agreed softly, the raw wound of her own situation momentarily exposed. Eight months. Only eight months into what she thought was a happy marriage before discovering her husband wasn’t just cheating, but doing so with her own sister. The betrayal was a double-edged knife, twisting constantly in her gut. “Zero tolerance for that kind of… disloyalty,” she added, her voice hardening slightly before she forced professionalism back into place. She nodded. “I know, sir. It’s… still hard though.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze perceptive. “Yes, it always is. But from what little you’ve told me, you did the right thing by walking away.” He leaned forward slightly, his tone softening. “Have you talked to your sister since you found out?”
Sarah frowned, shaking her head curtly. “No, sir. Not that she isn’t trying. She calls every single day, twice at least, leaves these tearful voicemails. I just… I don’t answer. I can’t.”
Michael chuckled softly, a dry, approving sound. “Good on you. Boundaries are essential.” He leaned back then, smoothly transitioning the conversation. “So, enough personal drama for one morning. Let’s talk about the con coming up. Everything on track for next week’s opening?”
Sarah straightened up, seizing the professional lifeline. “Yes, sir, mostly. But,” she added, her voice gaining excitement, “that’s actually why I was late. That important thing that came up? It was a call from Lena Alvarez. In San Diego.”
Michael Diego leaned back further in his chair, a flicker of interest lighting his experienced eyes. “Lena? Well now, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a bit. How is she doing these days?” He had personally mentored Lena years ago, recognizing her talent and potential, even sending Sarah down to train under her at SDCC the previous year specifically to learn from the best.
“She’s doing great,” Sarah confirmed quickly. “And sir, she called with a potentially huge opportunity… a proposition, really. @HankShootsReal… Hank Avery? The photographer who blew up at SDCC this year?” Michael nodded slowly, recognition dawning. “He’s coming to Miami, sir. For all four days. Lena asked if we could possibly hook him up with a booth, maybe some access.” Sarah leaned forward again, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “Sir, after what he did in San Diego… the exposure he generated was insane! You saw the metrics, the social media buzz. He genuinely cares about the cosplayers, interacts with everyone, takes the time… his photos are incredible. He’s the name everyone is talking about right now in the community.”
Michael leaned forward now, his interest clearly piqued, elbows resting on his desk. “And this Hank Avery… he wants this? He reached out asking for a booth?”
Sarah nodded eagerly. “Through Lena, yes. Apparently, she made a deal with him. If she can help secure him a good booth here in Miami, he’s agreed to sit on panels for her next year in San Diego – an hour Friday, an hour Saturday. It’s a win-win.”
Michael leaned back again, steepling his fingers, deep in thought. “Hank Avery…” he murmured, accessing his mental archive of convention layouts. “If I remember the SDCC floor plan correctly from the reports, they gave him prime real estate this year, positioned him right between the Disney and Marvel mega-booths. Smart placement.”
Sarah nodded. “Exactly. High traffic, great visibility.”
Michael swiveled his chair slightly and pulled up the digital map of the Miami Con floor on his large monitor, zooming in on the main exhibition hall. “Okay… booth space is tight this close to the event, but maybe…” He studied the layout intently. “How big a booth are we talking? Standard ten-by-ten?”
Sarah smirked, feeling bold. “Ideally? Maybe twenty-by-twenty, sir. Give him room for a backdrop, maybe some seating for consultations. We could adjust a few things near the artist alley section, place him around the same vendor cluster he had in San Diego. He’ll already know the neighbors, feel comfortable.” She pressed her advantage, her voice filled with conviction. “Sir, if we announce he’s coming, if we post it on our official page today… the cosplayers will line the streets to get photos with him, to meet him. He’s that big right now.”
Michael looked from the map to Sarah, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. He recognized the opportunity, the potential surge in excitement and attendance Hank’s last-minute addition could generate. “It’s short notice,” he mused, “damn short notice. Reshuffling booths now is a logistical nightmare…” He paused, then slapped his hand lightly on the desk. “…But we can make this work. The buzz alone will be worth the headache.” He met Sarah’s eager gaze. “Alright, Sarah. Get Lena on the phone. Confirm his acceptance of the panel deal in exchange for the booth. Find him a twenty-by-twenty space in that artist alley cluster. And draft an announcement for our social media. Let’s blow this up.”
Sarah beamed, relief and triumph flooding through her. “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! I’ll call her right away!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing out of her chair. She hurried out of the office, her earlier personal turmoil momentarily forgotten, replaced by the exhilarating rush of securing a major win for the convention.
---
The elevator doors slid open onto the eighth floor, and Fiona Kells erupted out like a small, ecstatic cannonball. Spotting Hank relaxing on the large, comfortable sofa in the apartment's main living area, she sprinted across the room, her face alight with pure, unadulterated joy. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!” she shrieked, launching herself into his lap, throwing her arms around his neck in a fierce hug.
Hank chuckled, easily absorbing the impact, his arms coming around her small frame instinctively. The sheer force of her happiness was infectious. He had guessed Molly must have told her about the surprise Miami Comic Con tickets he’d arranged. “You are very welcome, my little Bowser girl,” he said warmly, ruffling her hair affectionately.
Molly followed at a more sedate pace, a soft, grateful smile illuminating her own features. She leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to Hank’s lips. “You have absolutely made her whole year, possibly her entire decade,” she whispered against his mouth, her eyes shining with appreciation for his generosity towards her daughter.
Hank smiled back, his heart swelling with affection for them both. “Well then, this next part might just make her even happier,” he replied, looking down at Fiona, who was still beaming up at him. “I’ve arranged our hotel room for Miami… and you two are staying in it with me.”
Fiona’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Really?! We get to stay with you? In your actual hotel room? The whole time?” she gasped, bouncing slightly on his lap.
Hank nodded, smiling at her unrestrained excitement. “That’s the plan. I might not be there every single night, depending on late photoshoots or events,” he clarified gently, wanting to manage expectations, “but yes, when I am back in the room, it will be with you two. Our home base for the con.”
Fiona let out another squeal of delight, burying her face happily against his chest. Molly, however, leaned closer again, her expression shifting slightly. Her gaze was perceptive, noticing a faint shadow, a subtle preoccupation behind Hank’s smile that Fiona’s exuberance hadn’t entirely erased. “Who is she?” Molly whispered softly, her voice filled with quiet understanding rather than jealousy, sensing the lingering thoughts of the woman he’d almost didn’t send that last ticket to.
Hank met Molly’s knowing gaze, appreciating her insight and trust. He offered a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “There is no ‘she’… not yet, anyway,” he murmured, the unresolved feelings about Yuna Mei stirring briefly before he pushed them down.
Molly simply nodded, accepting his deflection without pressing. “You tell me when you’re ready,” she added quietly, her hand squeezing his arm gently, reaffirming her unconditional support. He nodded back, grateful for her patience.
Just then, the sharp ring of Hank’s personal cell phone cut through the relative quiet of the apartment. It sat on the coffee table, just out of his reach with Fiona settled comfortably on his lap. Before Hank or Molly could move, Fiona scrambled off his lap, grabbed the phone, and answered it with comical self-importance, holding it to her ear. “Hello?” she announced brightly. “This is Fiona, speaking for Hank Avery’s office. How may I direct your call?”
Hank chuckled, shaking his head at her playful mimicry. Molly stifled a giggle. Fiona listened intently for a moment, then looked over at Hank, holding the phone out. “It’s some lady,” she reported seriously. “Says her name is Sarah… Silkinson?”
Hank smiled, recognizing the name immediately. Lena did work fast. “Ah, yes. She’s one of the coordinators for the Miami Con,” he explained, taking the phone from Fiona. “Thanks, Madam Secretary.” Fiona giggled and snuggled back onto the sofa beside Molly. Hank put the phone to his ear. “This is Hank Avery,” he said professionally.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Good evening, Hank! This is Sarah Silkinson from Miami Comic Con,” the cheerful, efficient voice from the other end responded. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time? Lena Alvarez passed along your number.”
Hank smiled. “Not at all, Sarah. Thanks for calling back so quickly. Lena certainly works fast,” he commented.
Sarah laughed. “Yeah, she does! Especially, she mentioned, when you’ve promised her something rather significant in return for her networking skills?”
Hank chuckled, recalling the agreement. “Yeah… looks like I’m officially on the hook as a panelist for San Diego next year, doesn’t it?”
Sarah laughed again, the sound warm and relieved. “Yes, I’m afraid Lena is holding you to that! But seriously Hank, we’re thrilled she made the connection. So,” her voice shifted slightly, becoming more business-like, “you have a booth. Twenty-by-twenty, prime spot near the main artist thoroughfare, similar vendor neighbors to what Lena described you had at SDCC. What do you need from us besides the space itself?”
“Just a simple table for consultations and maybe a large, plain backdrop… green screen preferred, if possible. I bring all my own lighting and camera gear,” Hank replied.
“Consider it done,” Sarah confirmed instantly. “Table, chairs, power drop, and a large green screen backdrop will be set up and waiting for you. All you need to bring is your good nature for the cosplayers and your incredible artistic skills.” She paused for a beat. “My boss, Michael Diego, was also wondering if we could get your official approval to make a quick announcement on the convention homepage and our social media? Just a small blurb saying @HankShootsReal will have a booth. It’s very short notice, obviously, but we think announcing your attendance would be a fantastic way to attract even more cosplayers this year.”
Hank chuckled again. “Yeah, I think that’s perfectly okay, Sarah. Happy to help generate some buzz. In fact, tag me when you post it, and I’ll share it on my own page too.”
“Oh, thank you, Hank! That’s amazing!” Sarah sounded genuinely thrilled. “You and Lena have really helped us out here. We definitely needed this kind of boost for this year’s event. Michael is ecstatic.” She paused again. “So, you’re all set from our end. I guess I’ll see you in Miami next week?”
“Looking forward to it, Sarah,” Hank confirmed.
“Great! I’ve actually been put in charge of making sure you’re personally taken care of throughout the event… consider me your official liaison. Anything you need, just ask,” Sarah offered enthusiastically. “Lena gave me a heads-up about some of your… specific needs… regarding access and timing,” she added, her tone implying VIP treatment protocols.
Hank smirked inwardly at the slightly ambiguous phrasing, knowing Lena likely just meant flexible scheduling and maybe backstage access, nothing more scandalous. Definitely not ALL my needs, he thought wryly, pushing aside the lingering image of Yuna Mei. He focused back on the call. "That's great, Sarah. I appreciate you looking out for me. See you next week." He ended the call, feeling a sense of satisfaction. Miami was falling into place.
---
The automatic glass doors of the familiar Jeep dealership slid open with a welcoming whoosh, admitting Hank and Kamilla into the bright, cavernous showroom. Polished concrete floors reflected the intense overhead lighting, making the array of rugged vehicles gleam invitingly. The distinct, slightly chemical scent of new cars hung in the air. Hank scanned the room, a sense of purpose guiding him, while Kamilla looked around with open curiosity, taking in the various models… Wranglers, Grand Cherokees, and the familiar Gladiators.
Almost immediately, Jill spotted them from across the floor where she was chatting with another customer. Excusing herself politely, she walked over quickly, a wide, genuine smile lighting up her face. She clearly remembered Hank from his previous, rather significant purchase. “Hank Avery! Welcome back!” she greeted warmly, her eyes sparkling. “Please don’t tell me you managed to break another brand-new Gladiator already?” she teased, her tone light and friendly.
Hank chuckled, appreciating her humor. He gestured out the large showroom window towards the parking lot where his Mojito Green beast was parked. “No, no,” he reassured her, “she’s driving just fine. Absolutely love it.”
Jill’s smile widened. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear it! Seriously.” She clasped her hands together professionally. “So, what can I help you with today? Looking for another addition to the fleet already?”
Hank’s gaze swept the showroom floor again, bypassing the larger models. His eyes landed on a sleek, compact SUV tucked near a display of off-road accessories… a Jeep Renegade, finished in a deep, glossy metallic black that seemed to absorb the surrounding light. It looked surprisingly sophisticated for its size, sporty yet capable. “Actually,” Hank said, already walking towards it, Kamilla falling into step beside him, “I’m thinking something a bit smaller this time. Tell me about this one.”
Jill followed them over, her expression shifting seamlessly into knowledgeable salesperson mode. “Ah, the Renegade! Excellent choice, especially this particular one,” she began enthusiastically, gesturing towards the black SUV. “This is the Limited trim, top-of-the-line for comfort and tech, but still absolutely Trail Rated? capable if you need it. You’ve got the upgraded 1.3-liter MultiAir? Turbo engine in this one… fantastic balance of power and efficiency, especially for city driving like LA or San Diego, but plenty of pep for the highway too.”
She ran a hand smoothly along the glossy black paint. “You can see it has the full premium LED lighting package… the signature halo running lamps, projector headlamps, fog lamps, and taillights. Really sharp look, day or night, and incredible visibility. Plus, the upgraded 19-inch granite crystal painted aluminum wheels and the panoramic sunroof give it that extra touch of luxury.”
Jill opened the driver’s door with a flourish. “And the interior is where the Limited really shines,” she continued, inviting them to look inside. “Full leather-trimmed seats, heated and ventilated in the front, of course. Leather-wrapped, heated steering wheel… perfect for those rare chilly California mornings.” She pointed towards the dashboard. “You get the top-tier Uconnect? 4C NAV system with the large 8.4-inch touchscreen, integrated voice command, full navigation, plus Apple CarPlay? and Android Auto? standard. And this one includes the upgraded Kenwood premium audio system – sounds absolutely phenomenal.”
Her hand swept across the dash and console. “Dual-zone automatic climate control, remote start system, Keyless Enter 'n Go?… plus the full suite of driver-assist safety features: Blind Spot Monitoring, Rear Cross Path Detection, LaneSense? Lane Departure Warning with Lane Keep Assist, Adaptive Cruise Control, ParkSense? front and rear park assist… basically, it makes driving safer and easier, whether you’re navigating tight city streets or cruising on the freeway.”
Hank nodded slowly, impressed by the feature list crammed into the compact frame. Kamilla peered inside, running a hand over the supple leather seat.
“And even though it’s luxurious,” Jill added, tapping the Selec-Terrain? dial on the center console, “it’s still a Jeep. This system gives you optimized traction control for various conditions… Auto, Snow, Sand, Mud. So, if your… ah… friend,” she said, glancing briefly between Hank and Kamilla with a knowing smile, “ever feels like a spontaneous adventure, the Renegade is more than ready.”
Hank looked at Kamilla, saw the impressed look on her face, and turned back to Jill. “It seems perfect,” he said decisively.
Kamilla nodded, running an appreciative hand over the smooth, cool finish of the black Renegade's fender. She peered again through the open door at the luxurious leather interior and high-tech dashboard Jill had just showcased. “Wow,” she murmured, a wistful note entering her voice, “It’s almost too nice. Almost makes me not want to give it to Jaz.”
Hank chuckled, leaning against the side of the Renegade beside her. “Really? I thought you were more of a ‘real Jeep’ kind of girl,” he teased gently, referencing the rugged Wranglers and powerful Gladiators scattered around the showroom. “Figured this might be a bit too… refined for your tastes.”
Kamilla smirked, nudging him playfully. “Maybe usually,” she conceded, her eyes briefly flicking towards his own unmistakable Mojito Green Gladiator parked outside. “But maybe that much bright green is a bit too much attention for me on a daily basis,” she retorted dryly.
Hank laughed, following her gaze. His eyes, however, didn't linger on his own vehicle but caught sight of a different Gladiator sitting just outside the main showroom doors… a pristine, gleaming white Sport model. An idea, sudden and perfect, sparked in his mind. A slow, deliberate smirk spread across his face. He turned back to the Renegade, running his own hand decisively over the cool metal of the hood. “Well, Jaz is getting this one,” he stated firmly to Jill, his decision made regarding the Renegade. “We’ll take it.”
Jill beamed, her professional smile widening into genuine delight. “Hank Avery, I swear, you are quickly becoming the best, and possibly fastest-decision-making, customer we have ever had!” she exclaimed happily.
Hank smiled back, a confident glint in his eyes. “And I plan on continuing to be so, Jill,” he assured her. With that, he gestured towards the glass-walled sales offices tucked away at the back of the showroom. “Let’s go finalize the paperwork for this one.” He glanced back at Kamilla. “Why don’t you hang out here for a moment, get better acquainted with Jaz’s new ride? I’ll be done soon,” he suggested casually.
Kamilla nodded eagerly, already sliding into the Renegade’s driver’s seat, her hands gripping the leather-wrapped steering wheel, imagining her friend Jaz’s reaction. Hank followed Jill towards the quieter office space.
Once seated across from Jill at her functional desk, surrounded by brochures and financing forms, Hank leaned forward slightly. “So, Jill,” he began, his tone shifting conspiratorially, “separate question. Can your service department arrange for a custom paint job on a vehicle as well?”
Jill looked intrigued. “Absolutely,” she confirmed readily. “We work with a fantastic custom shop nearby. New vehicle or one you already own?”
Hank smiled, glancing pointedly through the office window towards the parking lot. “The white Gladiator Sport you have sitting right out front there,” he said, nodding towards it.
Jill followed his gaze, then looked back, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Okay… what color did you have in mind?” she asked, pulling up the vehicle’s stock information on her computer.
Hank chuckled softly, picturing Kamilla’s face. He knew purple was her absolute favorite color, a deep, vibrant shade. “Purple,” he stated clearly. “A rich, deep metallic purple. With twin black racing stripes running up the middle, over the hood and roof.”
Jill’s eyes widened slightly, then she smiled. “Ooh, I like that idea! That’s going to look seriously badass,” she commented appreciatively, already visualizing it. “However,” she added, turning back to her screen, her tone becoming practical, “a full custom job like that, especially with high-quality metallic paint and stripes… that won’t be cheap, Hank.”
He nodded dismissively, cost being the least of his concerns. “Not a problem at all, Jill. Add it to the total. I will gladly pay whatever it takes to make her happy,” he said sincerely, his gaze drifting back out the window to where Kamilla was now opening the Renegade’s hood, peering curiously at the engine like a true gearhead.
Jill followed his gaze again, then looked back at him, her expression softening with a hesitant curiosity. “Hank… forgive me for asking, it’s really none of my business, but… I get the distinct feeling you might have more women in your life than is strictly… normal?” she asked carefully, her tone gentle, not judgmental.
Hank met her curious gaze directly, offering a calm, honest nod. “I do,” he confirmed simply. “But no one is being hurt by it, Jill. The girls all know about each other. In fact,” he added with a slight smile, “most of us live together now. We’re building a family.”
Jill shook her head slowly, a look of mingled disbelief and amusement on her face. “Wow. My husband would die,” she confessed with a wry laugh. “He can barely handle me telling him what to do, let alone sharing me.”
Hank laughed heartily at that. Jill efficiently completed the necessary paperwork for both the black Renegade Limited and the white Gladiator Sport, adding the detailed work order and cost estimate for the custom purple-and-black paint job. Hank reviewed it quickly, then seamlessly paid the entire amount using the business card Constance had provided.
“Okay, you’re all set,” Jill confirmed, printing out the receipts. “The custom paint will likely take a week or two, depending on the shop’s schedule, but they do incredible work. The Gladiator will be ready before you know it,” she assured him. Hank stood and shook her hand firmly.
“Not a word to Kamilla about the Gladiator, obviously,” he said quietly, his eyes serious.
Jill smiled, making a zipping motion across her lips. “Mum’s the word, Hank. My lips are sealed,” she promised conspiratorially.
Together, they walked back out onto the showroom floor where Kamilla was now admiring the Renegade’s cargo space. Jill held out the keys to the black Renegade, placing them firmly in Kamilla’s hand. “Here you go! Drive safely. I really hope Jaz loves her new car,” she said warmly.
Hank smiled, clapping Kamilla lightly on the shoulder. “So do I, Jill,” he echoed sincerely. “So do I.”
