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 curses 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?