Page 1 of Not the Plan

CHAPTER ONE

Isadora

Ican do this.

Isadora Maris took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and maneuvered her luggage into the San Diego airport. Bags checked and through security, she stopped at a coffee shop before heading to her gate.Flying is no big deal. How many times a year do I fly? Nothing bad has ever happened.

She had a few moments, so she took a seat at one of the small tables in front of the shop. Maybe she should buy a magazine. Something light and fun to read? She popped the lid off her cup and tried to ground herself with the aroma and taste of the latte. She was safe, she was fine.Everything’s cool. I’ve got this. If I can handle stonewalling senators and aggressive lobbyists, I can handle a flight.

“Babe, I would totally die for you.” Isadora caught a man’s voice murmuring a table over. She glanced at the couple just as his blond companion let out a kittenish giggle.

“Kenny, sweetie, you aresodramatic,” she said.

Isadora suppressed an eye roll as the couple leaned into each other open-mouthed. It wasn’t that she was averse to public displays of affection. But how long had it been since someone looked at her like that? Touched her like that? It didn’t matter; right now she had too much on the line. This time next year, her boss, Daniel Etcheverri, would be president pro tempore of the state senate, and as chief of staff, her hard work and drive had helped get him there. From there, she’d manage his (hopefully) successfulrace for U.S. representative and she’d reach her childhood dream: congressional aide in Washington, D.C.

“You know,” the guy said after smacking his lips, “after last night, the plane could fall out of the sky, crash and burn, and I’d die a happy man.”

Isadora choked on her coffee, a wave of terror charging over her skin from her scalp to the soles of her feet. She wrenched her phone out of her bag, unlocked it, and tapped on an icon on her home screen. She scrolled down to the most important line in the article.

The odds of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million. The odds of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.

“If we crashed into the water, we—”

Isadorahadto get away from these people. She grabbed her phone and the cup, pushed her chair back, took one step, and promptly collided with something tall and warm. She watched in slow motion as her latte shot out of the cup, arced into the air, and exploded against a white dress shirt.

“Dammit!” came a low, deep voice above her.

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” She grabbed some napkins out of the dispenser on the table, fingertips clumsy and buzzing. When she glanced up at the man’s face, she stopped dead. Green eyes framed by dark hair stared back through nerdy-cute glasses. He was well over six feet tall, had sun-kissed olive skin, and was hot. Cover model hot.

She’d just scalded the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

“Here.” She offered him the napkins.

“You must be in a hurry,” he said, taking them and dabbing at the coffee.

“No. Well…I mean, yes.”

“Maybe watch where you’re going next time.” Just her luck, the demigod was pissed at her.

“Maybeyoushould watch whereyou’regoing,” she snapped. “The tables areright there.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, looking her up and down. Shewasn’t going to give him a pass to talk to her any kind of way, just because he was gorgeous.

“If you’llexcuse me,miss, I need to go get cleaned up.”

She narrowed her eyes back at him. She’d taken a step away and was stuck between him and the wall of the coffee shop.

“You’re inmyway,” she said.

Waving the hand holding the napkins out and bowing in a sarcastic display of gallantry, he let her by. “Have a nice day,” he called after her.

She shot him a dirty look over her shoulder and headed to her gate.

—

Isadora adjusted her earbuds and started her pre-takeoff ritual.The odds of dying in a plane—

“Well, isn’t this a surprise?”

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