Not the Plan Read online

  Praise for Getting His Game Back

  “A thoroughly satisfying love story with a big, beating heart.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “This book is emotional, steamy, and sweet—a triple threat! De Cadenet tackles mental health, gender stereotypes, and interracial romance with care and creativity. I loved it!”

  —Chantel Guertin, author of Instamom

  Not the Plan is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 by Gia de Cadenet

  Book club guide copyright © 2022 by Penguin Random House LLC

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Dell, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Dell is a registered trademark and the D colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Random House Book Club and colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: De Cadenet, Gia, author.

  Title: Not the plan / Gia de Cadenet.

  Description: New York: Dell, [2022] | “A Dell Trade Paperback Original”—Title page verso.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2022014870 (print) | LCCN 2022014871 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593356647 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593356654 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.

  Classification: LCC PS3604.E12253 N68 2022 (print) | LCC PS3604.E12253 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2022014870

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2022014871

  Ebook ISBN 9780593356654

  randomhousebooks.com

  randomhousebookclub.com

  Cover design: Cassie Gonzales

  Cover illustration: Cannaday Chapman

  ep_prh_6.0_142435018_c0_r0

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One: Isadora

  Chapter Two: Karim

  Chapter Three: Isadora

  Chapter Four: Karim

  Chapter Five: Isadora

  Chapter Six: Karim

  Chapter Seven: Isadora

  Chapter Eight: Karim

  Chapter Nine: Isadora

  Chapter Ten: Isadora

  Chapter Eleven: Karim

  Chapter Twelve: Isadora

  Chapter Thirteen: Isadora

  Chapter Fourteen: Karim

  Chapter Fifteen: Isadora

  Chapter Sixteen: Karim

  Chapter Seventeen: Isadora

  Chapter Eighteen: Isadora

  Chapter Nineteen: Karim

  Chapter Twenty: Isadora

  Chapter Twenty-one: Karim

  Chapter Twenty-two: Isadora

  Chapter Twenty-three: Karim

  Chapter Twenty-four: Isadora

  Chapter Twenty-five: Karim

  Chapter Twenty-six: Isadora

  Chapter Twenty-seven: Karim

  Chapter Twenty-eight: Isadora

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Karim

  Chapter Thirty: Isadora

  Chapter Thirty-one: Karim

  Chapter Thirty-two: Isadora

  Chapter Thirty-three: Isadora

  Chapter Thirty-four: Isadora

  Chapter Thirty-five: Karim

  Chapter Thirty-six: Isadora

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  A Book Club Guide

  By Gia de Cadenet

  About the Author

  _142435018_

  CHAPTER ONE

  Isadora

  I can 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 are so dramatic,” 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) successful race 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—”

  Isadora had to 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.

  “Maybe you should watch where you’re going,” she snapped. “The tables are right there.”

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

  “If you’ll excuse 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 in my way,” 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?”

  She opened her eyes as the demigod’s messenger bag slid onto the seat next to hers. Heat blasted into her cheeks as a bright flash of embarrassment crackled over her already frayed nerves when she realized he’d changed into a moss green shirt.

  “Uh…yeah,” she mumbled, tugging at the cuff of her cardigan. “Nice shirt.” She snapped her mouth shut. Great. My nerves are making me snarky.

  He chuckled, taking his seat. “Thanks. I started the day with a white one, but some crazy lady spilled coffee all over it and I had to change.”

  Swallowing over the lump in her throat kept her from clapping back. Why did he have to be so hot? She smoothed her cardigan sleeve, trying to ground herself again. She was going to be next to him for nearly two hours. And you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “That color works better for you than plain white.”

  “Does it?”

  She nodded, proud of the ability to flirt while strapped in a giant steel tube about to be blasted into the air. The corner of his mouth dipped down, and a hint of red crept up his neck as he leafed through his bag, found a magazine, and tucked it in the seat pouch in front of him.

&nbs
p; Is the demigod a little shy? She suppressed a chuckle.

  “It’s also a good cut for you,” she said. He slid his bag under the seat. “It fits your shoulders just right.”

  Demigod raised both eyebrows and gave her a genuine smile. He had a chiseled jaw. And full, inviting lips. And dimples. Literally, the sexiest man she had ever seen. Her heart dipped as his gaze caressed her cheek and the hollow of her throat.

  “I’m Karim,” he said, offering his hand.

  “Isadora. I am sorry about your shirt.”

  “No, it’s nothing.”

  “At least let me have it cleaned.”

  “Really, it’s no big deal. I already rinsed it in the restroom. I doubt the stain will set.”

  “That’s good.” Unsure of what to say next, she returned her earbuds to their place. She didn’t want to be impolite, but it was a habit, part of her method to get into an acceptable mental space before takeoff. The flight attendants were about to start their safety instructions and her ritual included following along. She’d mastered the art of watching disinterestedly with her earbuds in place. Nobody else knew that her music was off, and she was actually hanging on to every word, willing her heart to stop pounding. But now it was going a little fast for a different reason. Her pre-flight ritual did not include basking in Karim’s cologne. Or…what was that smell underneath? Him? Deep, calming breaths let her conceal her investigation.

  Oh God…he smells amazing! Deep and woodsy and—something brushed her cheek. She opened the eyes she didn’t know she’d closed. The curved headrest saved her from utter mortification after she’d leaned toward him. She stole a glance with her peripheral vision, hoping he hadn’t noticed. His attention was on the magazine in his lap, but he might have been watching her out of the corner of his eye. Shifting as far over as possible in her seat, she feigned interest in the view out the window while listening to the flight attendants explain what to do if they were facing imminent demise.

  She needed to focus on something else. She undid the low bun she always wore for flights. Running her fingers through her blown-out hair, she twisted it back into place, then ended up knocking an earbud loose. Karim was unwrapping a piece of gum and offered her one.

  “I hate having to pop my ears later,” he said.

  “Thanks. I hate that too.” She focused on the explosion of gooey mint across her tongue as the engines roared. His eyes were shut, so she didn’t have to hide the fight to slow her breathing as the plane left the ground. She chewed and chewed and chewed, trying to get back to a calm place. The grating whine of the wheels coming up into the body of the aircraft sent a flash of thick moisture over her skin and she had to send her mind in a different direction.

  “I don’t understand your priorities,” her mother had sighed on the phone the previous night. “Things haven’t been easy for me.”

  The same call, the same words, the same guilt, every time.

  “It’s a thankless job, being a parent. Especially when you’re on your own.”

  What do I have to do for it to be enough? Do I have to thank her for raising me every time we talk?

  “It’s not like he died on purpose,” Isadora had said, as always.

  Her mother continued, unhearing or uncaring, as always.

  “You don’t understand my pain. I don’t think you’ll ever understand.”

  How could I understand? He was just my dad. It’s not like his death hurt me too.

  Her gaze fell to the window, but she saw nothing. Pulling in a chestful of recycled air, she willed the tears back down. She pulled her phone out of her cardigan pocket, put the meditation playlist on, and closed her eyes. About twenty minutes into zen, Karim startled her, brushing his fingertips along her arm. She took out her earbuds.

  He nodded at the flight attendant, a row ahead of theirs, distributing beverages. “Would you like a drink, Isadora? I’m going to get a coffee, but I’ll do my best not to pay you back,” he said, smiling.

  The depth of his voice sent pleasant tingles through her, the pain she’d dredged up washed away. Smiling, she let herself fall into a present that excluded the rest of the world.

  “Guess I deserve that. A sparkling water would be good. It’s nice of you to offer.”

  “My pleasure.” He asked the flight attendant for their drinks and handed Isadora’s to her with care. His casual way of ordering for her was a pleasant surprise. A touch of chivalry. She thanked him and started to put her earbuds back in, but he spoke again.

  “These early flights are tough, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She sipped.

  “Do you usually fly business class?” He put his coffee down and caressed the edge of the tray with the pad of his thumb.

  Lucky tray.

  “I try. I like to get off as quickly as possible.” He raised his eyebrows and she caught how that had sounded. Face burning, she took a quick breath. “You know, um, I mean, the plane. Get off the plane.”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling a little. “I understand. Always seems to take forever when you’re at the rear.”

  “Yeah,” she echoed. What to say? He was nice. She didn’t want to just pop her earbuds back in and seem rude.

  “Um…do you like the rear of the plane?” she asked. “I’ve always had trouble sitting back there. It bounces around too much for me.”

  He lowered his gaze a millisecond, lips curling in a tiny hesitation. Then he darted a quick glance at her, like he was trying to make a decision. “Really?” he finally asked, meeting her eyes. “I quite like the rear. The bouncier the better.”

  Um…She swallowed. “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  Is the demigod telling me he checked me out?

  “I dunno.” She warmed her voice and leaned toward him. “I gotta disagree with you. I prefer it over the wings where you can feel the thrust of the airplane. You know? When it’s fast and strong and you can’t help but let yourself go.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. You don’t like the thrust of takeoff?” she asked, eyes wide.

  “Oh, I do,” he said. “It’s…exhilarating.” He smiled, drawing her attention to his lips. She ran the tip of her tongue along the inside of hers, imagining what his tasted like.

  “Exhilarating. Good word choice,” she said.

  “So, what do you do, Isadora?” he asked, raising his cup to his lips.

  She frowned inside. Talking about work with strangers was almost always a mistake. She loved what she did, but politics rarely made for good small talk. After wrinkling her nose, she shook her head.

  “Let’s not talk about work,” she said.

  He smiled again and put his coffee on his tray.

  “What if I guess?” he asked.

  “Guess?”

  “What you do. Will you tell me if I guess right?”

  She folded her arms, turning toward him. Most people didn’t realize that her job even existed, so he’d never guess.

  “All right,” she said, nodding.

  He shifted toward her, then tapped a finger to his lips as though he was thinking. She noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

  There’s no reason to notice that. No time for men right now.

  He glanced back at her.

  “Got it,” he said. “You’re a therapist.”

  “A therapist?” she asked. “What makes you say that?”

  He tilted his head to the side, glancing down to her chin and back up to her eyes.

  “You seem like a warm, caring person. Easy to talk to.”

  She raised an eyebrow. That was a lot to assume from their brief conversation.

  “And,” he said, “I bet you don’t like talking about it because people either ask you to break confidentiality for interesting stories, or they take one look into your inviting eyes and want to talk about all their troubles.”