I stand at Erica’s desk while she reads over the article. My nerves are through the roof as I wait for any feedback. It’s so different from what I did years ago. I don’t just go where the story is and wing it. No, not only do I have to smash everything important into fewer than a thousand words, but I also need to make it catchy enough that people won’t click away from it in two seconds. Television storytelling is a whole other world.

“Hmm,” she says and puts the paper down.

“Is that a good hmm?”

Erica places both hands in the air, moving them around a bit. “You’ve had a change. The coloring is different around you. Very pink.”

Here we go again. This girl needs meds and to lay off the acid. “I’m wearing blue.”

“I know what you’re wearing, Kristin, but your aura is adjusting to whatever is going on in your life.”

Ah. My aura, again, I should’ve known. How silly of me. Erica moves around the desk, standing very much in my space. “I like the article. You were funny and got more than I thought you would. He isn’t known for being open in interviews. This is all good, and he must’ve liked you—”

“Liked me?” I interrupt.

She moves over to where she has rolled yoga mats. “Yes, he called this morning.”

My eyes go wide, but I don’t say anything. I have no idea what would make him call my boss, but there’s no shortage of inappropriate things that could have prompted it. What if he told her I kissed him or got drunk and pulled him into the pool? I should’ve known this was never going to work, even if he did kind of promise that we were going to start over.

Damn it.

“Relax, Kristin.” Erica giggles. “Get a mat and sit with me.”

Not wanting to get fired, I begrudgingly grab the other yoga mat and take my place beside her. She’s sitting crisscrossed with her hands resting on her knees. “The key is to find your center.”

“Right. Center.”

I’m centered in hell right now.

“He said he’d like to do another piece with you writing it,” she says with her eyes closed. “He’d like to do a much larger exposé and really delve into a more meaningful story.”

The words fail me. I had hoped after the article I wrote, he’d go back to New York, and I could pretend this weekend was just a dream. Now he wants me to write some large story about him? This cannot be happening.

My self-control is not that good. We had one working dinner, which ended with us sucking face. An in-depth exposé where I need to be around him for longer periods of time will not bode well.

Although, sleeping with Noah is certainly not the worst thing that could happen.

I mentally slap myself. Yes, having sex with the man I’m supposed to write an article on would be inexcusable and totally unprofessional.

However, it would be a very authentic way to find out what women want.

Okay, I definitely need a shrink or a vibrator.

“I’m sure there’s someone more qualified than I am.” I try to push it off.

She starts to hum, and I stare at her. After a few more weird sounds, she blows out a long breath and turns to me. “He wants you. This is a good thing.” Erica’s hand touches my leg, and she continues, “Noah is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. You have no idea how many times he’s denied interviews.”

“Right. So why the hell does he suddenly want to do this and with me?”

“Who cares?”

“It doesn’t make sense. Why now? Why me? Why not interview with Barbara Walters if you’re going to do something for the first time? It’s crazy and I’m sure his publicist will never sign off on this.”

Erica shrugs. “I have no idea why, but he likes you and felt like you were the right fit. I’m not going to lie, I’m over the moon. This is the break of a lifetime.”

Then it hits me . . . he thinks he’s going to get into my pants. If I get this big article that could get me out of blogging for a gossip site, I would be in his debt and fall in his bed.

“I can’t do it,” I say, unwilling to put myself in a position to fail.

Erica raises her brow. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Erica, you can’t tell me this isn’t a little bizarre.”

“Hollywood is off its rocker. They’re not like you and me. We live very normal lives and are not crazy like they are,” she says with a straight face.

She thinks she’s normal? I try not to laugh, but I fail. A giggle explodes from my lips, and I cover my mouth quickly. “Sorry, the imagery was funny.”

She’s the strangest bird I’ve ever met. People don’t meditate in the office just because or believe no shave November applies to women as well, but she does. If she’s normal, then the world is screwed.

“Hollywood in a rocker is funny,” she laughs.

Lord help the future.

“So, you’ll tell him he has to work with Pam or you?” I push hoping she’ll relent.

“Not a chance. You are officially on assignment, and the piece is due in a month. I want a really in-depth article. Something that blows people’s pants off.”

“Socks,” I correct.

“What? I don’t wear socks. Too constraining on your toes.”

I shake my head and close my eyes. There’s no hope with her. “I don’t feel comfortable with this idea. I don’t even know what to write.”

She shrugs. “Welcome to celebrity journalism. You take what he gives you and make it sound like more.”

I internally groan. Apparently, she isn’t going to budge. “Can you give me some idea of what you’re looking for?”

Erica stands and then places her hands on the ground with her ass in the air. “Just follow your gut. I need to finish here and then I’m on a flight to New York.”

“New York?”

She lifts her one leg and arm, stretching them toward the ceiling. “Yes, I’m meeting a friend for a protest.”

I’m not caught up on current events. My days consist of this, and my nights are homework and whatever awful show Aubrey puts on. In the back of my mind, I know that I’m going to regret asking her for any details, but Erica has piqued my interest.

“What are you protesting?”

She comes back to standing and smiles. “It’s a legit important issue for my generation.”

The way she says it clearly means I’m too old to understand. “Oh?”

“We’re protesting because they’re talking about making us pay a monthly fee for a social media app.”

I have no words. Literally—none.

“I don’t get it.” She huffs. “Why do they think it’s okay to charge us to use something that costs them nothing? It’s crazy. I feel like this is another way that proves we’re all just part of some experiment, you know?”

No, no I do not.

What she’s talking about is business, but I don’t point that out. Clearly, she wouldn’t agree.

Erica continues. “If they wanted us to pay for it, then they should charge up-front so we can decide to become addicted to the app. Now, to suddenly decide . . . it’s wrong.”

I nod and hum because I don’t trust myself to speak and not call her a crazy person.

She looks at the clock. “I’ll be back in a few days. I’d like to see notes next week. Noah said he’ll be waiting for your call.”

“Okay,” I say with disappointment. I really don’t want to be around Noah. I know exactly what he wants. Well, he’s in for a rude awakening. I’m a pro at avoiding sex—just ask Scott, it’s been cobwebs growing for years.

I pace around the living room, trying to prepare myself to ask Heather for Noah’s number. Of course, he didn’t give it to Erica. Instead, I have to call my best friend as if I’m in high school.

Fuck it.

“Hey!” Heather says as she answers.

“Hey.”

“What’s up?” she asks.

Oh, just calling because your boyfriend’s friend is trying to mess with my head—I think.

“Not much. What are you up to?”

“Just waiting for Eli to get back from the store,” she tells me as a bunch of pots bang in the background.

“Is Noah with Eli? I need to talk to him, and I was wondering if he was there?” A long pause stretches between us, and I look at the phone to see if the call dropped. “Heather?”

She clears her throat. “I’m here. Sorry, I thought you asked me something about Noah and since he mentioned you today as well . . . I’m just trying to put the pieces together. So, tell me, dear friend, did you do something naughty?”

It is nothing compared to what she did the first night she met Eli. I didn’t sleep with him, run off, and then pretend as if it never happened. Nope. I kissed him even though I told myself I wouldn’t and now am in denial about whether I feel a damn thing for him.

Totally different.

“Don’t start. He called my boss and wants to do some bigger story. Since I did a good job the first go around, she gave the story to me.”

Her laughter is so loud I have to pull the phone away. “These guys.” She laughs harder. “I swear. They’re insane and don’t know how to handle the word no. You’re so screwed, Kris. I mean, you’re like totally fucked if he’s set his sights on you.”

I don’t know that she’s right. I wasn’t really clear on the whole no-chance-at-a-relationship thing since I did stick my tongue in his mouth, but we’ll leave that out for now. Some things don’t need to be shared.

“There are no sights set. This is work.”

“Oh.” She laughs. “That’s all? So, you didn’t kiss him?”

Shit. She knows.

“I’m sorry.” I make a crackling noise in the phone. “Bad connection.”

Heather is the last person who will snub her nose at me, but the more people who know, the more excuses I need to make.

“Don’t go into acting if this blogging thing doesn’t work out, you really suck.”

I flop back onto the couch and let out a loud huff. “Would you hate me if I said I didn’t want to talk about it?”

She pauses. “Never. I get it.”

I start to say something but there’s a knock at the door. “Hey, I’ll call you right back,” I tell her as I get up.

“I’ll be here.”

We disconnect, and I open the door, thinking it’s a package or something. Instead, Noah Frazier in all his ridiculous glory is smiling at me.