Blake Dillon isn’t exactly living the dream. She longs to follow in her grandfather’s footsteps and make a difference in the world as a journalist. Unfortunately, her current job has her paying-off hotel staff for celebrity gossip. Tasked with shadowing a film star for an in-depth profile, Blake sees it as a chance to finally prove her worth. She never expected the interview to reconnect her with her old college crush.

Oliver Benjamin agrees to move to Los Angeles to work as the executive assistant to his best friend, a rising star. He hopes it will give him some direction. However, he soon discovers the only difference between being a frat boy and a Hollywood heartthrob is the amount of free stuff and the level of media attention. Ollie spends most of his time putting out fires, leaving little time for anything else. When Blake is sent to chronicle their lives, he finds himself face-to-face with the one that got away.

Blake and Ollie are smart enough to recognize the signs—there are enough sparks between them to melt glass—but they agree to put a lid on it until the article is finished. Much easier said than done when they’re forced to spend more time together than apart. There’s more going on than a simple interview, but they’re both professionals. They must resist temptation or risk unraveling both their lives.

Excerpt: Love on the Byline

The sound of screeching tires cut through the din of the shouted questions and clicking shutters. As soon as the imposing black SUV pulled up, Ollie yanked the door open and shoved his charge inside.

“Does someone want to tell me what is going on?” After righting himself on the seat, Bran yanked off his sunglasses and glared, his chest heaving.

Ollie’s own lungs were screaming. They’d just run the length of two football fields, through a horde of bloodthirsty paparazzi, to get Bran out of a fracas.

Fucking Bran.

“Ols.” Bran barked. His whole body shook with rage and something else. Fear, perhaps. Ollie closed his eyes, needing a moment to organize his thoughts and to rein in his anger. “Goddamnit, Ollie, start talking.”

Ollie’s eyes popped open. Whatever expression he wore on his face was enough to make his best friend’s jaw snap shut. Swallowing his own outrage and frustration, he cleared his throat.
“Where’s your phone?”

Frowning, Bran patted his jacket pocket before producing the offending device. “Right here. Why?”

Without a word, Ollie held out his hand.

After a brief hesitation, Bran handed it over, the lines on his forehead deepening. When he spoke again, his words were calm but laced with annoyance. “What’s going on? Why did you pull me out of the pool just when things were getting good?”

“We’ll be on the move shortly, Mr. Benjamin,” a voice announced through the SUV’s speakers. “Club security is clearing a path.”

Ollie touched the call button. “Get us the fuck out of here as quickly as you can.”

The car lurched forward and to the side, rocking both passengers. Jaw clenched, Bran settled into his corner, his hand on the hold above the door.

Ollie took a deep breath as he scrolled through the contents of Bran’s phone. Jesus fucking Christ, if the hacker had downloaded even half of what Ollie was seeing, Bran was fucked. He must have made a sound to indicate how pissed off he was because Bran cursed under his breath.

“It’s that bad?”

“Yes. Someone accessed your personal phone.” He spat out every syllable as clearly as he could.

Bran’s medium-brown skin went ashen. “What?”

“Yeah.” He had warned him a million times over never, ever to use his main phone for stuff like this. Or any fucking phone, really.

“Jesus, fuck.” Bran ran a rough hand over his face and sank back into his seat. “Clark might just lose his shit.”

“Might?” On cue, Bran’s phone rang in Ollie’s hand. “Hi, Clark.”

“Oliver.” The agent’s north London accent turned his name into a full statement. “Where is he?”

“Here with me.” He met Bran’s wide eyes.

“And where is here, exactly?”

“We’re en route to the house.”

“No!” Clark shouted. “Absofuckinglutely not. Do not take him home. The vultures are already circling outside.”

At times like this, Ollie regretted not getting his own place. When he moved to Los Angeles, he couldn’t afford anything more than a room in a house share. Working for Bran, he made a decent living and could have found something. It would have been modest, but it would have been his and may have worked to their advantage at a time like this.

“I’d say bring him here,” Clark said. “But too many people know where I live.”

“There might be an alternative.” Ollie navigated to the contacts on his phone. “I’m on it. I’ll text you when we arrive.”

“Keep him out of sight until I can assess the damage,” Clark instructed him.

“That’s the plan.” Ollie disconnected the call and pulled up his text messages, firing off a note he hoped would solve their immediate problem.

Sighing heavily, Bran stared out the tinted window. “Why is this happening now?”

“Could be a zealous fan, could be a hater. It doesn’t matter.” Bran snorted a bitter laugh. “Doesn’t matter, he says.”

Ollie looked up. “Does it? All of your shit is on this phone. Photos, text messages…all the stuff I specifically told you not to leave on your main device. Jesus, you don’t even have two-factor authentication on your apps.”

“Two factor what? Anyway, I hate carrying multiple phones.” His words lacked their usual fire.

“Well, now you don’t need to. I’ll be carrying your phone from now on.”