Page 12 of Love on the Byline

“Sure.” Laughing, Ollie jumped up. “Anything else?”

“Nah, just the smoothie,” he replied as he flipped throughpages. “Well, maybe one of those multigrain bagels you had the other day?”

“From the farmer’s market? It’s only held on Sundays.”

Bran’s eyes were wide and hopeful.

Sighing, Ollie fished out his car keys. “I guess I could trackdown the bakery. I’ll bring your smoothie and go fetch your bagel.”

“You’re the best, man.”

The doorbell rang as Ollie made his way towards the front ofthe house and he heard Hans speaking to someone.

He swung by the media room to grab the tablet he’d leftthere the day before, then headed back towards the kitchen. The island wascovered with fruits and veggies, some of which were sliced. Chunks of green andyellow filled the blender, and he walked over to grab a glass, stopping in histracks when a familiar voice floated down the hallway.

“No offense,” he heard a woman say, “but it looks like youused that blender to mow the lawn.”

Fucking fantastic. One of Bran’shookups was back for another round. He was about to march over to Bran’sbedroom and rip him a new one. The last thing they needed was another tale forsomeone to tattle.

His blood ran cold as he remembered they hadn’t settled on aday or time for the Los Angeles Gazette to send someone over for thepreliminary Q&A. And then it dawned on him that they’d all beenexpectinga man when it could very well be a woman—which was disturbinglysexist of all of them. And short-sighted. Of course, the Gazette wouldsend a woman. What better way to sneak through Bran’s defenses?

Jesus.

And yet, nothing accounted for why the hair stood up onOllie’s arms as she continued talking to Hans.

He knew that voice. Had dreamt of it time and timeagain.

“Mind if I snoop a bit? I see some photos on the mantle inthere.” Ollie’s heartbeat took off on a sprint. It couldn’t be.

“Be my guest,” Hans replied, and Ollie made a mental note totalk to him about letting strangers have free reign in the house.

His feet carried him down the short hall to the doorway thatseparated the foyer from the great room where he skidded to a halt.

There was really no reason for him to recognize BlakeDillon, even though she stood in the middle of Bran’s house. They were threethousand miles and five years away from the last glimpse he’d had of her, buthe had held on to her image somehow. Filed it away in a cabinet at the back ofhis mind, one he opened only when he was alone and lonely and regretting someof the choices he’d made. Or hadn’t made, in her case.

Blake hadn’t changed much. Her hair was a couple of inchesshorter, and her outfit a little more grown-up than the ripped jeans and bandtees he remembered her wearing in college.

He felt a little stalkerish watching her as she perused thephotos on the mantle. When she got to the one of Ollie with Bran at hisparents’ vow renewal ceremony, her shoulders stiffened.

“Oliver?”

“The only person who calls Ollie that is his mom, and onlywhen she’s pissed at him.”

She turned, shock written all overher face. “Brandon…Peters?”

“Someone’s done their homework.” Bran walked over to her,his shoulders back and his trademark grin in place. “But, please, let’s stickwith Cody. Don’t want to confuse my fans.”

Ollie managed to steady himself, but only barely. Blake.Here. In Bran’s house.

It was a nightmare.

It was a dream.

And—yep—she looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her eyes lockedon Bran’s as she took a tiny step back, her dark eyes narrowed to slits. “Wait,what…? You’re…?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bran’s step falter, buthe couldn’t tear his gaze away from Blake fucking Dillon—standingin Bran’s great room—though she didn’t seem to notice him.

He guessed some things never changed.

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