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I blink rapidly. “Wednesday? As in, this Wednesday?”
“Yep. This Wednesday, babe. You and a motor home, driving around the country for three weeks to meet-and-greet with your devoted fans.”
“Will, that’s, like, three days away.”
“Yeah, well, if you would’ve been able to do the plane thing, you would’ve had more notice,” he answers without remorse. “But motor homes take more time than planes, and everything had to be moved up.”
Ugh. Is this for real? I’m supposed to go on a tour where people are expected to get excited about me stepping out of a freaking motor home?
Frankly, it’s the craziest thing I’ve heard in a long time, and since I live inside my own head, that’s saying a lot.
“Wouldn’t the actors be a bigger draw?” I question. “Seriously, Will. Does anyone even know who I am at this point?”
“Brooke,” he chastises. “We’ve been through this. You’re a shining star, baby. Plus, the actors will be doing a small tour of their own, and you’ll all meet up at the premiere in LA.”
My eyes narrow at the thought of me on a freaking RV. “A motor home tour? This is what Netflix really wants?”
“It sure is, and who knows, maybe you’ll pick up some groupies like the bands do.”
“Me? Groupies?” I snort. “Yeah, right.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it.”
For the sake of my own sanity, I have to ignore the ridiculous possibility entirely.
“I assume I’ll have a driver of some sort?” I question, still one hundred percent annoyed with Netflix’s ability to problem-solve. “It’s not like I have any CDL training, and I don’t think a forty-car pileup on the interstate is the kind of headline Netflix has in mind for this publicity business.”
“Actually, your editor Chase volunteered for the job. Said it’d be helpful with the edits on the new book, Accidental Attachment—one I don’t remember hearing about, by the way—and make it easy to liaise with the publisher and Netflix.”
Did he just say Chase would be my driver? Surely my ears are playing tricks on me.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Chase. Dawson. He’s going to drive you.”
“No.” It’s all I can say. Just…no. God, no. Hell no. That can’t happen.
“Yes. I’ve been on the phone all morning and afternoon getting this settled, and it’s just been approved all the way up the ladder,” Wilson answers with far too much cheer that not at all matches the war that’s just broken out inside my chest. Bombs, missiles, hand grenades, it’s full-on anarchy.
Just relax; there’s no way he’s serious about this.
I inhale a deep breath and shake my head at myself and my agent’s stupid joke. “My freaking editor driving my motor home tour? Ha-ha, Will, you really got me there. But seriously, you should leave being funny to me. I’m better at it.”
“I’m not being funny, Brooke. He’s going.”
And now… I’m going.
Benji jumps up from his spot on the ground, alert to my spiral, and encouraging me to put my head farther between my legs before my blood pressure tanks. My heart rate’s speeding down the highway at a hundred and ninety with no regard for reckless driving.
I…I cannot live with Chase Dawson on a motor home for three weeks. We cannot be all up in each other’s personal space like that. I cannot have to face the intoxicating smell of his cologne on a daily basis. Or witness just how blue his eyes look when he first wakes up in the morning.
I wouldn’t survive it.
“Maybe I can drive the bus,” I quickly chime in through a breathless, weak voice. “I mean, I haven’t driven in a few years, but how hard can it be?”
“Brooke.” Will’s voice is now growing impatient. “It’s all set.”
When I start to lift my head, Benji gently nudges it back between my legs.
Calm down. Passing out in the middle of Central Park isn’t going to get you anywhere besides an ambulance ride. I force myself to inhale a deep breath through my nose and release it slowly out of my mouth.
“Besides being packed and ready to go by Wednesday,” Will adds. “There’s nothing left to think over or worry about, Brooke.”
He couldn’t be any more wrong if he tried. There’re plenty of things to worry about—such as, is there a shower on that motor home? Because I really don’t think it’ll be good for my sanity to know Chase is in a shower with water dripping down his sexy body and I’m just a flimsy wall away.
And you thought sending Accidental Attachment to him was bad. This takes the fucking cake.
“I can’t believe you agreed to this without consulting me first,” I mutter, my voice nearly missing in action from all the stress of this brand-new revelation.
“Strange how that feels, huh?” Will replies, and sarcasm rounds out his question.
“So…what?” My chest burns. “This is, like, some kind of pseudo-revenge for turning in a book you hadn’t heard about?”
