Chapter 1

ELODIE

"I don't get why you're acting like San Francisco is that far away. It's not like I'm asking you to move to the moon."

I scowled at no one in particular. My boyfriend, Todd, loved to throw that dumb line into our arguments about me moving with him for his new job.

It's not that far. It's not that different. It's still in California.

"We've had this conversation already," I said for what felt like the millionth time.

"Baby, come on. You're just being stubborn. You don't even like your job."

"I like my job just fine."

Todd sighed. As he began listing all the reasons I was, in fact, being unreasonable, I tuned him out. Because I was actually trying to do my job—namely, follow famous people around to scope out stories about them.

Yeah, I was basically a gossip columnist. But a girl had to eat, right?

Standing outside Blades Arena, I currently waited alongside an entire crowd of paparazzi for Cole "Mac" Mackenzie to exit, a forward playing for the LA Blades. Mac was one of the biggest hockey stars in the country right now, not to mention he was also one of the sexiest.

He'd just been named the sexiest athlete by Sports Illustrated , and he'd recently graced the cover wearing nothing but a hockey stick to cover his crotch. I might've snagged a copy of that and placed it in my nightstand to use for future "inspiration."

That cover photo had proceeded to blow up the entire Internet in the past few days. I'd seen it across all the major social media platforms, usually accompanied with drooling and fainting GIFs in the comments. Females from sixteen to sixty haven't been able to get enough of Mac lately.

The fan frenzy had gotten so intense that some ladies had tried to stand outside Mac's penthouse wearing only pasties and thongs while holding hockey sticks. The shocking thing was that they were wearing anything, to begin with—or that none of them had gotten arrested for indecent exposure.

Then again, this was Los Angeles, a land of excess and self-expression. People wearing little to no clothing was hardly a strange occurrence, especially when the temperatures rarely dipped below seventy degrees during the summertime.

"Baby, did you hear me?" Todd asked me. He sounded annoyed now. "Where the heck are you, anyway?"

"I told you. I'm on assignment."

Todd snorted. "You mean you're stalking some celebrity?"

Once upon a time, I'd been a real journalist, but living in LA was damn expensive. Sadly, writing gossip columns about the rich and famous often paid more than penning exposés on an environmental scandal or, worse, a story about some politician having an affair with a staffer.

At one point, I'd even gotten a book deal with a publisher that'd seemed legit . . . until that publisher had gone under, leaving me with no advance and a book I couldn't shop to other publishers. The parent company of the publisher who'd fucked me over had yet to let me out of my contract, and I didn't have the money to pay for a lawyer. So my poor book just gathered dust and was probably going to keep gathering dust for the foreseeable future.

"I'm on assignment, " I repeated. "And that means we need to table this conversation for now—"

"Elodie, I'm tired of this back-and-forth. You need to make a decision already. You've had months. I'm moving to San Francisco. Either you can come with me or . . ."

That statement caught my attention. I stepped away from the crowd, which grew larger by the minute. I snapped, "Or what? Are you breaking up with me?"

I loved Todd. We'd been together for five years, and he'd been there for me during many difficult times. And to his credit, he'd never asked me to sacrifice much of anything for him up until this point.

I didn't want to leave LA, though. Despite Todd's assertion that I didn't like my job, it wasn't true. Sure, it wasn't as fulfilling as I'd like, but there was something about getting the big scoop before anyone else that I still enjoyed. Plus, I'd had encounters with some of the biggest stars out there.

How many people could say that Justin Bieber told them he liked their sunglasses or that Kylie Jenner had asked them what the code to the Starbucks bathroom was? Not too many.

"Are you breaking up with me ?" Todd asked.

I almost laughed because this conversation was verging on the absurd.

"No, no," I assured him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Of course I don't want to break up. I love you."

Todd let out a sigh. "Give me a damn heart attack, why don't you?"

"It's not that I don't want to be with you. It's just that my job is here, in LA. I'm on the road a lot. It's not something I can do remotely," I said.

"There are writing gigs in San Francisco, you know."

I scoffed. "What, writing about Silicon Valley tech bros? No thanks."

"There are lots of remote jobs you could do. At least think about it." Now, Todd sounded like he was pleading with me, which made me wince.

The crowd started getting noisier, which meant that Mac must be emerging from the stadium.

"I'll look online again," I said even though I knew there was nothing out there that interested me.

Is it the job, or is it the guy? My brain asked me. The question had been a niggle in the back of my mind for some time now. But I did what I always did and shushed the thought. I loved Todd. I just didn't want to live in San Francisco. End of story. Right?

"I sent you over some job links," Todd said. "Did you get that email today?"

I had, but I hadn't opened it yet. "Yeah, I saw it, thank you. Hey, I have to go—"

"Did you even open the email?"

I gritted my teeth. I was trying to get through the crowd, but considering I was what some people would call a petite flower, I wasn't having much success. A tall man nearly elbowed me in the face, and it was a miracle I didn't land straight on my ass.

"I have to go! Bye!"

I hung up before Todd could respond, knowing he would be pissed later.Oh well. I had a job to do. Even if Todd thought my work was silly and pointless, it was money. And I was too independent to rely on him to support me. I hadn't even wanted to move in with him here in LA when he'd asked.But in the end, it made financial sense.

I saw movement up ahead, followed by the flashes of cameras, but all I could make out was a tall figure with a jacket covering his face quickly exiting the stadium.

"Shit, shit, shit," I muttered. I tried my best to push through the crowd, but by the time I got to the front, Mac was already getting into his fancy BMW and driving away.

Mac was normally pretty friendly with the paparazzi, a lot more accessible than many other celebrities. Usually, he stopped to chat with fans and reporters. Apparently, he'd been in a hurry tonight. The other paps around me grumbled in frustration.

A tall, slender woman who I'd seen around LA before stuffed her phone into her bag, clearly unhappy. "Avoiding the press won't help him," she said to another reporter."It's only going to piss people off and make them take a bigger swing at him when they finally get more of the story."

"He's probably hoping the speculation will die down," the other reporter commented, shrugging.

"He's not in Idaho anymore. This is LA. It's only going to get worse. People are clamoring for some type of explanation. You don't get to fuck a married woman and then act like it never happened. Especially when your uber-religious parents are out here asking for prayer requests for their son's salvation."

Both reporters snorted.

Mac had always been a media darling. He had more than four million Instagram followers and a million on TikTok. He knew how to keep his audience engaged, both on and off the ice. It also helped that he was handsome, charming, talented, sexy as hell—

I shook myself. So what? I might have a little crush on the guy. It wasn't like I was the only person in America who swooned when he posted a sexy selfie on social media.

Now that Mac had disappeared, the fans and reporters began to leave the area surrounding the exit to the stadium. I was reluctant to take off, though. I didn't know why. Maybe it was because I would be going home to an empty house with only cobwebs in the refrigerator.

Maybe I should get takeout on my way home , I thought, finally making my way to my car. I began scrolling the various apps, trying to find coupon codes because I was a cheap bitch even though I was also a lazy bitch who didn't want to cook. I finally decided to order sushi from one of my favorite places near my house when I saw someone leaving the stadium through a nearby door.

At first, I didn't recognize him. But then I noticed the very obvious dragon tattoo on his left bicep, and I blinked in surprise.

It was Mac. And I watched as he bypassed the players' car lot and walked toward the spectators' parking lot instead.

I didn't hesitate. I got out of my car and followed him. Maybe I was mistaken—hadn't Mac already left? At least that was what the hoard of people waiting around seemed to think. But it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that the first Mac had been a decoy.

That tattoo was unmistakable. You should know. You stared at it in that cover photo for long enough .

If it really was Mac, someone should tell the dude he really needed to wear a jacket. Otherwise, why bother going to the trouble of having a decoy? That tattoo was too damn recognizable not to cover up. Then again, he probably thinks everyone who cares has already left the stadium.

I watched in amusement as Mac went to the dingiest car in the lot, an old, beat-up Corolla that had seen better days. I was half convinced the poor vehicle was older than I was. What the hell?

As I stood there staring in disbelief, he turned the ignition on and began to drive away.

"Shit!" I'd followed him and hadn't even considered that he'd drive away. I sprinted back to my own car, fumbling with my keys, and peeled out of the parking lot.

Nearly out of breath, I called Roy. "He uses a decoy!" I yelled into the phone, scanning desperately for Mac's car up ahead.

"What the hell are you hollering about, woman?" Roy yelled back. Although my boss had lived in LA for nearly two decades now, he still retained his Southern accent, especially when he was pissed off or talking fast.

"Mac! He used a decoy. I'm following him right now!"

"Seriously? Are you sure it's him?"

I finally caught sight of Mac's Corolla, two lanes over and a half-dozen cars in front of me. I grinned, probably looking like a totally insane person. "Yes, seriously!"

"Who's the decoy, then?"

"No freaking idea."

I was so focused on catching up to Mac that I didn't see the car in front of me stop. By the time I did, it was too late. I heard the crunching sound of bumper-meets-bumper before I registered what I'd done.

"Elodie? Are you okay?" Roy asked.

I swore a blue streak. "I'm fine, just a fender bender. But I gotta go. I'll call you later." I hung up before he could say another word.

As I got out of my car, the driver in front of me doing the same, I sighed and watched as Mac drove off.

"What the hell, lady? Do you know how to fucking drive or what?" the driver snarled, looking like he'd happily brawl with me in the street.

Why do I want to stay in LA again? I sighed deeply.