Love Rush

Chapter 1

I’ve never been the adventurous type, unless wearing red as a ginger counts.

In fact, the bravest thing I’ve ever done is punch Alex Chompin in the face at my ninth-grade homecoming dance; and that’s only because, mid-slow dance, he confessed to inviting me when he learned my cousin Sarah already had a date.

Okay, that was more foolish than brave, since it meant a week’s suspension from school.

But if I’d known Sarah’s fate then, I would’ve let her have everything.

I’d have gone on that spring break trip with her and her college friends, even if she was the only person I knew. Then I could have suggested we skip the last round of shots and late-night skinny dipping and just go back to the hotel for movie night and face masks.

That’s how unadventurous I am. Though now, I can fake adventure like nobody’s business.

“Dang, girl!” Corina’s eyes don’t stray from the photoshoot in front of us. “When you first said neon and industrial, I admit I didn’t see the vision. But Brody Bannam has never looked better.”

The photographer clears his throat before shouting more directions to Brody.

Meanwhile, Corina uses her free hand to fan herself.

It’s justifiable, given the heat of the parking garage where the shoot is taking place.

Rays of sunshine slice between the garage’s cement beams, creating a shadowy contrast we’re all thrilled with on set.

The same rays turn the garage into an intense pressure cooker, making Vegas’s forecasted 80-degree temps feel more like 120.

Corina’s maxi dress isn’t helping things. Even my sleeveless teal dress, which hits above my knees, leaves me savoring every rare breeze passing through, though the relief is temporary. Corina’s fanning could also be because my Brody is nailing this assignment.

With his sharp jaw and dark hair pulled back into his signature bun, adrenaline junkie and rising TV star Brody Bannam can pull off any look.

The usually blinding neon spandex hugs his muscles in all the right places and, thanks to the gray industrial background and all-black road bike, will pop on his social media grid and in his sponsor’s digital ads.

“It’s day 175,” I say, the reminder sending tingles down my spine all over again. “This photoshoot needs to be perfect. Everything does.”

Corina gasps, nearly dropping what remains of her iced chai. “Already? In less than a week, you’ll finally be a real account manager! In Fiji, no less!”

I inhale deeply, enjoying the subtle sweetness of spring—of blooming flowers, desert flora, and dreams fulfilled—as I pinch the gold locket hanging around my neck. This is real life. My life.

It took a lot of convincing for my boss to let me manage Brody’s account on my own, especially since the account was initially Travis’s.

But his strategy was lacking, and I had been the one to step in and save the Bannam account.

Now I’d be going with Brody to Fiji to gather brand content while he films the next season of his adrenaline-junkie show, Rush.

All my dreams and hard work are finally paying off.

Sure, Carl wouldn’t have given me the opportunity had Brody not requested me specifically, but he had.

One simple request led to me managing Brody’s account solo (even though I’m technically only an assistant brand manager), and to Carl agreeing to consider my official promotion after a successful 180 days on the job.

This photoshoot is the final assurance that I—Abigail freaking Adams—have earned my promotion. It’s in the bag.

“Congrats, Abs.” The photographer says, joining our conversation while still clicking his camera. The sunlight glints off his wedding band.

“Abigail, could you please tell Marco no one invited him to this conversation? Then remind him it’s rude to eavesdrop, and that you’re my friend, not his.

Surely we won’t be debating that in the divorce.

” Corina rolls her shoulders back with confidence as she stares straight ahead at Brody and the set, though it’s unlikely she’s really seeing either.

Her attention is tracking Marco’s every move.

With him this close after four years of marriage and a separation, how could it not be?

As her best friend, it’s my job to help her maintain the buffer she’s so eager to keep, even if I don’t fully understand it.

I turn to Marco, ready to repeat a calmer, less crazy-sounding version of what Corina said, but he waves me off while continuing to take photos.

“Caught it fine the first time. Please remind Corina I regularly work with BrandMe and she’s on my set, so we play by my rules, at least here.”

“I’m just here for Abigail.”

“Whose client is on my docket later today? Is that one suddenly Abigail’s too?”

Corina’s tan cheeks flush as she bites her tongue. Her thumb rubs the side of her wedding ring.

“Busted,” I whisper.

“They call me the best for a reason,” Marco says, as Brody shouts, “Cut!”

“Brody, we aren’t filming. It’s a photoshoot.

No need to call cut.” Marco’s voice is tired, growing more exhausted by the realization Brody isn’t listening.

He’s already stepping off set to grab water and finish what little remains of his green smoothie, which was icy but is more of a juice by now. Potentially even warm.

I refocus on my job, pulling out my phone to order Marco another double espresso to help him finish strong. A caffeinated photographer is a happy photographer. That coffee logic tracks for most people, certainly for me.

“What’d you think?” Brody asks as he crosses to me, planting a kiss on my lips before I can reply.

“Fantastic. You’re a natural.” It’s the truth.

There’s nothing more natural for Brody than being in front of a camera, and nothing more natural for me than hiding behind a screen, shaping someone else’s story.

All my hard work will pay off soon, though.

With the official promotion to account manager, I’ll have full control of my clients’ narratives and not just a supporting role with little to no recognition.

“Let’s see these photos,” Brody says to Marco’s assistant, who starts scrolling through the images on the laptop in front of him.

“That’s not a conflict of interest?” Marco gestures between Brody and me. Brody is too focused on the images flitting across the laptop screen to notice.

“No, that’d be working with your soon-to-be ex-husband,” Corina says.

“I’m not the only photographer contracting with BrandMe, so find another one if you’re feeling so conflicted.”

“Abigail, tell Marco I’m not conflicted! I just don’t think it’s fair to get lesser treatment because of impending divorce proceedings.”

Marco clears his throat. “I give you the same treatment as every other client, so your claim is false.”

“False? You gave me the worst time slot today!”

“Or did I give you the only spot I had when you insisted the shoot needed to happen this week?”

She pouts. “You used to let me pick first.”

“Ah, so you admit there was something good about our marriage!”

Corina mutters something like “whatever” or “why do I bother?” as she tosses her empty cup in the trash. “And no, Abigail dating Brody isn’t an issue. Our office is full of people dating clients.”

“Doesn’t make it the best idea,” Marco says, adjusting his camera.

Corina studies the nude polish on her nails. “That’s what I said about marriage.”

The sound of a car engine rumbling reverberates through the garage, pausing the conversation before it can escalate.

“It’s not a conflict,” I confirm as soon as the rumbling subsides. “As Corina said, lots of people at work do it. Plus, my results on Brody’s account speak for themselves.”

“Isn’t there a rule against it?” Marco knows there is because Corina scoured the employee handbook when they started dating, looking for any potential blowback on their careers. There is no “rule” about dating contractors or even coworkers—only clients. But it’s not enforced.

“No one pays attention to it.” I don’t mention my boss has violated the same policy countless times, so that’s solid proof.

He shrugs. “I guess you can’t help who you fall for.”

Corina scoffs. “Yeah, right!”

Brody reappears in front of me. “Ready for dinner?”

“Yep! We have a reservation at that new place over on?—”

“Perfect,” he interrupts, although I can tell he thinks I finished my sentence.

He grabs his phone off the folding table where I’d been watching it, purposely not looking at the screen despite how many times it buzzed.

He scrolls through a series of notifications, pausing when something on the screen catches his attention.

His thick, dark brows furrow, and a frown flashes across his face. As quickly as it appears, it’s gone again. “Nate can’t make it.”

“Seriously?” I don’t like the note of irritation in my voice, but this is far from the first time his brother has canceled on us.

Not the first time he’s done so with no notice, either.

But my disappointment is strictly for Brody, who, despite everything, wants me to meet Nate and gets let down when his brother bails.

I take a deep breath. “I thought he agreed. Isn’t he in town? ”

Nate’s favorite excuse is work travel, as if novelists do book tours year-round. Especially when they haven’t released a book in over a year.

“He did, and he is. Something must have come up. A deadline, or meeting, or something.” He tries not to sound deflated as he lets the phone screen darken.

Then he points to the makeshift dressing room on the far side of the garage.

“Let me get changed, and we can head out.

We can have a romantic dinner for two, and Nate can suck it.

“What the fuck?” Brody’s loud confusion jolts me awake far too early the next morning. He’s already dressed and checking his phone.