Page 62 of Rush

I hang up before I can say anything else. The nerves getting the better of me.

A second later, a text pops up:

Broderick

Here’s my address.

Another text follows a moment later:

Broderick

Elevator and door code: 31374. Let yourself in.

I stare at my screen, heart pounding.

It’s not even 6 a.m. The city never sleeps, just like me tonight. I’m running on adrenaline, hormones and questionable choices.

I grab my bag and head for the door, my hands shaking as I slip on my jacket.

With no traffic this early in the morning, I arrive at Broderick’s place in no time. The doorman lets me in with little fuss, my heart pounding as I ride the elevator up.

This is a bad idea.

I punch in the code he texted me and let myself in.

His penthouse isn’t what I expected; open-plan with exposed beams, industrial but warm. Rustic. Lived in. Exposed brick walls, deep leather sofas, and eclectic rugs layered across dark wood floors. Somehow both masculine and cozy.

The kitchen, just off the main living space, looks like something out of a magazine—the kind of place any chef would weep over.Clearly, the kitchen of someone who knows how tocook—and loves to. I remember the grilled cheese sandwiches and breakfast he made me. Though with how much Broderick travels, I wonder if he even has time to use it.

My eyes sweep over to the glass wall overlooking a rooftop patio, and even in the pale morning light, I can see it’s lined with lush greenery, hanging plants, and a hot tub glistening on the far side.

“Brody?” I call out, my voice a little unsure.

No answer.

I hear the hum of a TV somewhere down the hall.

“Broderick?” I call again, louder this time, my heartbeat starting to slow as the stillness of his place settles around me.

Until I round a corner.

And stop dead.

There he is.

In his home gym.

Shirtless.Sweaty.

Muscles flexing as he lifts weights in front of a mirrored wall, the smooth pull and strain of him focused on every motion.

Good Lord. His back.

Those arms. Corded and bulging.

My mouth drops before I can stop it.

What. A. Specimen.