by Mira Gibson
Should she smile back instead of looking slightly nauseous and completely terrified? Or was the whole deer-in-headlights thing working for her?
Her finger was so badly entwined in her cross necklace at this point that the chain was now cutting off circulation and her hand was trapped awkwardly beneath her chin.
The one thing saving her from having an actual star-struck induced heart attack was the fact that Zach seemed tethered to the conversation he was having with the polished looking woman sitting across from him. She was feeling fairly certain that if he wasn’t actively listening and rarely replying to the woman who was seated with her back to Abby, he might actually get up from his table and approach her.
Braving it yet again, as the line of customers she was sandwiched in continued to inch along at an actual snail’s pace, Abby lifted her heart-shaped face into a shy smile and peered coyly at Zach across the bustling coffee shop.
He shot her a thousand-watt smile, indicated her cross necklace that was practically strangling her, and mouthed the word, Nice! while nodding his approval.
She didn’t have a full-blown heart attack in that moment, but if her pulse rate climbed any higher, she’d definitely drop like a sack of potatoes.
With her eyes locked on Zach, she beamed what she hoped looked like a kittenish yet confident smile, and mouthed, Thank you!
In response, his gaze turned smoldering and the crooked grin on his sexy face pulled straight as an air of seriousness took hold. Lingering, he didn’t break eye contact, and neither did she.
This was a moment, right? They had a connection, that’s what this was, wasn’t it? It felt like the coffee shop was disappearing and Zach and her were the only two people in the universe.
As questions swirled through her mind, holding his unwavering gaze, and as the annoyed barista tried to get her attention over and over again, the line in front of her having finally disappeared, Abby was completely certain of only one thing:
If ever there was a man to lose her virginity to, it was Zach freakin’ Canning.
And if that happened, Abby Gallagher would feel seriously hashtag blessed.
Chapter Three
It was hard to tear his gaze away from the red-headed bombshell who must have cast some kind of spell over him—it felt like he was magnetized to her on a cellular level—but Zach managed, touching eyes with his publicist, Darlene only to tell her, “That one. I want her.”
Darlene glanced over her shoulder at the pretty young thing that had Zach stiffening in his pants. She turned back around and said, “I like the cross. Good work.”
Work?
Zach snorted a laugh, drinking in the sight of his new girlfriend—the long legs and bubble butt, the slender waist and wild mane of auburn hair—and thought, nothing about this situation was going to feel like work.
He couldn’t wait to get this party started.
Red heads were fucking kinky in bed.
Chapter Four
Abby spent the greater part of her work day trying not to fantasize about Zach Canning and failing. She made repeated efforts to stay in the present, grounding herself in her duties, whether it was coordinating Olivia’s meetings or drafting her emails or conducting basic research she’d requested. But her mind kept playing tricks on her. Had she shared an intense yet unspoken moment with an American heartthrob from across a crowded café? Had the magnetism she felt been an indication that they truly shared some kind of connection? It had certainly felt that way, like his tight green gaze had buzzed through every cell in her body, waking her up so profoundly that she was left questioning if perhaps she’d actually been asleep her whole life. She couldn’t stop overanalyzing the situation. She played and replayed every detail of the interaction over and over in her mind. She couldn’t suppress the dreamy grin that kept slipping across her face. Abby was seriously distracted.
But the bottom line, whether unfortunate for her or extremely lucky, was that in a city of 8.5 million it would be entirely unlikely that she’d ever see him again. Having one celebrity sighting a day or a week was rare. Having two simply never happened, not to Abby anyway. Spotting the same star more than once? It just wasn’t ever going to happen.
She tried not to feel disappointed by that fact, as she closed out of Outlook, shut down her computer, and pulled her purse over her shoulder, preparing to head out for the evening. If she was being honest with herself, her infatuation with Zach Canning, as guilty a pleasure as watching #Blessed was, probably started and ended with his character. On the show, Brian was kind and discerning. He had a longstanding crush on his best female friend who was involved with another guy. Everything about the storyline was designed to make girls across the US pine to be with Brian or a guy like him. And it worked.
But the reality was that Zach Canning could not be more different than the character he played. They were practically polar opposites, and Abby wasn’t naïve. She watched TMZ. She grazed the tabloid covers whenever she was standing in line at the grocery store. He seemed to be always getting into some kind of trouble, but in a strange way that was part of his appeal. He was a total bad boy. Dangerous and sexy because of it.
He was also rumored to be gay, she recalled with a frown as she made her way to the elevators after peeking her head into Olivia’s office to wish her a good night. Nothing about the moment she’d had locking eyes with him in The White Rabbit caused her to question his sexuality, but then again, he wasn’t a womanizing bad boy. Come to think of it, he never had a girlfriend, not one he shared in the public eye at least. He’d attended award shows stag. And Abby had seen the photos—the magenta speedo, his toned body glistening with tanning oil, the cluster of gyrating and equally unclothed men around him.
Her heart sank as quickly as the elevator she was riding down to the lobby and she reminded herself that this was one more reason why she shouldn’t feel disappointed that she’d never again see Zach Canning, much less hold his intense gaze, much much less actually speak with him, and much much much less lose the one thing she’d been guarding her whole life—her virginity—because her famous-actor-prince had finally arrived.
The early autumn air felt good as she rounded onto the sidewalk, pedestrians hustling in their typical, Manhattan urgency to get to where they’re going all around her. She loved the energy of New York. The no-nonsense, direct nature of New Yorkers. She hustled herself, hips swaying and kitten heels clicking against concrete as she hurried towards the F train that would take her all the way back to Brooklyn. Things felt different there, across the river, in the less exciting borough.
She wanted to live in Manhattan. She wanted to be a woman like Olivia Cane. She wanted to be the type of woman who had the guts to smile and flirt and actually talk to an intriguing man. She wanted excitement. Freedom. She wanted it all.
But she didn’t know how to get there from here. She was just a temp who lived in a hole-in-the-wall Brooklyn apartment and had never had sex.
Abby let out a defeated huff, staring down at the grimy subway steps and wishing it was a sleek, black limousine. She didn’t want to go down into the bowels of the city where homeless people defecated freely on the platform—oh yeah, she’d seen some things down there, things that cannot be unseen.
Luckily, tonight of all nights, she wouldn’t have to.
“Excuse me, Abby Gallagher?” she heard a woman say behind her and she spun on her heel, any excuse not to cram herself onto the subway and relive the same lonely night she had been for as long as she’d been out of college.
“Yes?” she asked eagerly, immediately recognizing the polished woman who had glanced at Abby over her shoulder from where she’d been seated across from Zach in the coffee shop that morning. Abby felt her eyes widen round as saucers and she didn’t blink she was so poised to learn why one of Zach’s people had stopped her on the street—and knew her name?!
“My name is Darlene Pinkerton,” she began, urging Abby to step aside from the stream of annoyed pedestrians who were muttering cu
rses at her for blocking the subway entrance. When they were standing safely at the side of the Tate & Cane building, she went on, “I work for an actor named Zach Canning—“
“Yes!” she interrupted. She wasn’t just eager now. She was dying to understand why this woman had stopped her on the street.
Darlene smiled coolly at her enthusiasm.
“I’m a huge fan of the show,” she offered, but Darlene cut her off before she could say more.
“Are you Christian?”
“Catholic,” she corrected, refraining from her usual eyeroll. This woman probably assumed wrong because Zach’s show was Christian, but still…
“A good girl?”
It had sounded more like a statement, but Abby answered anyway, muttering, “Unfortunately.”
“It might be more fortunate than you think,” Darlene countered, looking her up and down as if she liked what she saw so much that fresh ideas were forming in her mind. “If you’re interested in meeting Zach—“
“I am!” she blurted out then shyly recoiled, giving Darlene an apologetic little smile.
“You must be prepared to keep this meeting strictly confidential,” she warned.
“Ok,” Abby agreed. “When can I meet him? Does he want to meet me now? Is he interested in me as well, like actually interested?”
Questions were tumbling out of her faster than Darlene could answer, and there was no getting a word in edgewise until Abby ran out of gas.
“No, you’ll not be meeting him now,” she finally explained, offering Abby her business card. “On the back is the date, time, and address where you’ll go if you’d like a chance to meet him.”
“Ok,” she said, reading the handwritten details on the back of the business card to be sure it was all legible and she’d have no confusion.
Tomorrow morning, she noted, and the time was well before she’d have to breeze into Olivia’s office, steamy dark roast in hand.
When she glanced up again, she found Darlene pulling a sheet of paper out of her Gucci satchel.
“This is an NDA.”
“I’m sorry?”
“A non-disclosure agreement,” Darlene clarified, her tone all business now, the hint of a smile she’d worn gone. “You will sign this now and swear that you will tell no one I’ve approached you. You will tell no one that you are meeting Zach tomorrow. And you will tell absolutely no one about what will transpire during that meeting. Understood?”
Excitement and nerves roiled through her as Darlene presented her with a handsome felt-tipped pen and placed the agreement against the firm surface of her Gucci satchel.
Intrigued beyond measure—was this how all famous people met commoners? Seemed like a lot of red tape—Abby felt the corners of her mouth tug into a little grin. She pressed pen to paper and, heart pounding and stomach fluttering, scrawled her full legal name on the signature line and wrote the date beside it.
“I have so many questions,” she enthused, bursting with so much thrilled energy she wasn’t sure how she’d ever fall asleep tonight.
“They’ll have to wait,” Darlene said curtly as she tucked the agreement into her satchel. Meeting Abby’s gaze, she warned, “Don’t be late.”
And with that the polished publicist sauntered briskly up the sidewalk, disappearing into a sea of hurrying New Yorkers and leaving Abby to ponder what would surely become the most intriguing and mysterious meeting of her entire life.
Meeting, she suddenly thought, cocking a curious eyebrow.
Why did that sound all business?
Chapter Five
“Have you read this thing?” Zach asked, his tone and narrowed stare equally incredulous, as he looked from his agent, Marla to his publicist, Darlene to his attorney, who had obviously read the contract—he’d written it—to Walter, the head of the network.
They were all seated along the broad side of a long conference table on the top floor of the Christian Network’s building in midtown Manhattan, while Zach, wide-eyed and horrified, paced with his hands on his hips in front of the large windows boasting a gorgeous, autumn view of Central Park.
“She’s not going to sign this!” he went on, pausing his step only to rake his fingers through his black, bedraggled hair.
He’d put some thought into his digs and picked out a gray cashmere sweater that complimented the particular shade of his piercing green eyes instead of throwing on his usual tee shirt, and he’d looked dressed up. That was before he’d read the non-negotiable and thoroughly legally binding behemoth contract that stipulated terms for the relationship that no two strangers would ever in their right mind agree to. Now he was just coming undone. He’d pushed both sleeves up, but one had fallen. Somehow his undershirt had gotten untucked in the back. The left side of his thick hair where he’d been worriedly raking his fingers was standing stiffly on end while the other side was still combed flat.
“I don’t even know if I want to sign it!”
“What did you think I meant when I said ‘Tom and Katie’?” Darlene coolly countered, gazing up at him with mock sympathy in her big, brown eyes.
Abruptly, Zach stood stock-still and stared dead at her for a suspicious beat before blurting out, “I thought I’d be jumping up and down on Oprah’s fucking couch, is what I thought.”
Though mild-mannered, Zach’s attorney, Andrew Cranston, who looked more like a weathered turtle than an actual human being, pointed out, “Tom Cruise jumped up and down because he was overjoyed that Katie Holmes had accepted his marriage proposal.” Everyone stared at him. “I remember it distinctly,” he assured them. “I was at the dentist.”
“Andrew’s right,” said Darlene.
“Look,” said Zach, cutting her off. “I thought this was going to be a fake girlfriend deal, someone to pose with me in pictures to prove to America on the whole that I’m straight.”
“Anyone can pose for a photo,” Darlene reminded him.
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head and staring at the contract, its signature page—unsigned as of yet—resting on the conference table in front of where he was supposed to be sitting. “What if she’s offended?”
“Why would she be offended?” Marla, his agent asked as if the possibility were ludicrous. “She’s going to be thrilled. Darlene told us how she was looking at you in the café. This will be her Cinderella story. She’ll love it”
“She would have to be desperate to love this,” he shot back then grumbled under his breath, “and maybe so would I.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” said Darlene in a concluding tone, meeting Walter’s gaze.
He had been unusually quiet during this pre-meeting and at first Zach had assumed it was because Walter was equally skeptical of Darlene’s plan. But it was slowly dawning on him that that wasn’t the case. Walter was growing irritated with Zach’s reluctance.
Darlene offered him a pen and said, “Abby will be more apt to sign without a fuss if she sees your signature on the page. We don’t have much time.”
Zach was all too aware of the ticking clock. Abby would be here in a matter of minutes once she’d gotten through the red tape of security downstairs and signed what he could only assume would be a dozen more NDAs before being permitted into their conference room.
“No one will ever know the relationship is contracted,” Andrew assured him to reinforce Darlene’s point. “And if Abby doesn’t sign, the NDAs she’ll have signed by the time she enters this room will prevent her from ever breathing a word of this to anyone for the rest of her life.”
It wasn’t lost on him that he’d be protected whichever direction Abby decided to go—signing or running from the conference room screaming—that wasn’t why he was hesitating. He’d do anything to save his place on the show… well, he hadn’t thoroughly thought through or defined ‘anything’. Now that he was staring down the long barrel of Darlene’s definition of ‘anything’… this felt like the biggest decision of his life.
He drew in a deep
breath and took hold of the felt-tip pen his publicist was holding out for him.
As he pressed the pen’s smooth tip against paper, carefully drawing his signature across the line, he tried to forget the more terrifying clauses the contract contained, and focused only on Abby, the feeling she’d given him when he’d seen her yesterday morning in The White Rabbit.
The way he’d felt wasn’t business as usual. It didn’t tie in to some Hollywood damage control strategy as if he’d seen her and a lightbulb had blinked on over his head like she would be the solution to his problem. The feeling that had slammed into him the moment he caught sight of her cascading, auburn hair, and porcelain profile, those big green eyes of hers and the hourglass curves of her petite figure, had been real and it had stayed with him all night.
The media thought he was one to avoid relationships because the best part of his bad boy lifestyle was plowing through women and refusing to settle down. Zach hadn’t bothered to correct them either, even though it wasn’t that he avoided relationships and though he’d had his fair share of romps, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t give up the bachelor life for the right girl. That girl simply hadn’t come along.
Until now, he thought.
He just wished he didn’t have gay rumors to contend with. He wished his contract renewal with #Blessed wasn’t on the line. He wished he could ask Abby out like a normal fucking person and do this right.
But there was no time to do this the old-fashioned way.
He had to convince his rapidly dwindling fan base that he was still every bit as worthy of fantasizing about as he ever was; every bit as worthy as Jamison Holt, the star of the show who had gotten married. He just hoped Abby would go for it. If she didn’t, he knew there wouldn’t be a second chance. Not in terms of dating her—you never got a second chance at a first impression—and not in terms of staying on the show.
“Good,” said Darlene curtly as she slid the contract in front of her, preparing the staple sheets for Abby Gallagher’s impending signature. “Have a seat.”