"Stop squinting, Brooke." Charity kneels down in the grass, angling the DSLR camera lens up at me.

I pivot a quarter turn and try to widen my eyes, but I suspect the effect is more serial killer than perky. "I can't, it's too bright." We're stationed in the middle of a local park with very little shade. Even with the sun at my back, the glare is inescapable. "How are you not dying right now?"

She shrugs. "I like the sun."

I'm overheating in my breathable athletic tank and lightweight pink running shorts courtesy of FitCo, the athletic wear company sponsoring this photoshoot. Even though it's just before 11 AM, it's already hot and getting hotter by the minute; a stark contrast to last week's cold snap. Climate change is not only bad for humanity, it's incredibly inconvenient.

It doesn't help get that Charity keeps making me run around so she can capture action shots. The biggest problem with re-branding myself as an active, outdoorsy fitness influencer? I actually have to exercise outdoors. I've been bitten by at least three mosquitos, my shoulders are starting to get sunburnt, and there's mud caked onto the treads of my new ASICS.

Maybe I should invest in a high quality green-screen setup so I can pretend to be outside instead. While I do enjoy exercise, I vastly prefer doing it in the comfort of a climate-controlled environment.

Meanwhile, Charity is in ripped jeans and an oversized, off-the-shoulder black tee with a tank top underneath. She's in layers, and she's not even sweating. More evidence to support my theory that she is, in fact, superhuman. Other proof includes the fact that she's always early, files her receipts in an orderly manner, and not only makes, but actually sticks to a monthly budget. Like I said, there's no way she's a mere mortal.

Charity snaps another couple of shots, pushing to stand back up. Her long flaxen hair tumbles in front of her face as she glances down at the digital screen with a frown, adjusting the settings. As a professional wedding photographer, she's a complete perfectionist about her shots.

"If you'd agreed to meet earlier like I'd suggested, the heat wouldn't be such an issue." She lifts her chin, placing a hand on her hip.

"Sorry. Just haven't been much of a morning person lately." Stress has thrown my schedule completely out of whack over the past week. After staying up until 3 AM most nights obsessing over my Instagram analytics—and over Dean—I knew an early morning photoshoot wasn't in the cards any time soon. Even meeting Charity at 10 was a challenge.

Reaching up, I wipe my beads of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Let's hope my 'everlasting' foundation lives up to its name. "Why can't I put on sunglasses?"

Charity shakes her head. "You know it'll look better if in the pictures if you don't. More personable, better for your branding." Shielding her eyes, she scans the park. "That couple with their kids is packing up their stuff. Once they leave, we can move to that shaded area by those trees."

A moment later, we take shelter on a bench beneath the canopy of leaves. Once I cool down, Charity makes me do a few laps on the path at an easy jog so that she can capture some final motion shots. We call it a wrap and she begins to take apart her camera, putting away the various parts into their dedicated compartments.

"Let's go grab Starbucks," I offer. "For me running late today." Plus, it's definitely my turn to pay. It's not that I'm cheap, it's that I'm perpetually broke. I'm not even sure my available credit can accommodate two specialty coffees, but it's less than ten dollars so it should be approved.

I think.

*

A few minutes later, we enter the blessedly air-conditioned coffee shop and approach the register at the front together, scanning the menu board.

The barista flashes us a weary smile. "What can I get for you?"

I'm a sucker for seasonal specials, but I can't decide whether the new Valentines-themed raspberry mocha sounds awesome or awful. The pink sprinkles are pretty, and it does sound tempting, but it's probably not worth gambling my last few dollars on. After a moment's debate, I settle on my usual iced mocha instead.

Charity orders while I unsnap the magnetic clasp on my canvas tote, fishing around for my wallet. Brendan claims I need a budget like Charity but as far as I'm concerned, my expenses are perfectly reasonable, it's just that my current income is insufficient. The sharp nosedive was unexpected. I'm sure that will turn around soon, especially if I start coaching some classes. The gym will comp my membership when I do that, too.

For now, I'll play credit card roulette...If I can find it.

"Sorry," I tell the barista. "Just have to find my wallet. I'm sure it's in here somewhere."

My hands skim along the bottom of the bag. Where is it? Flipping on my phone's flashlight, I shine it into the depths of my bag. Hemp hand cream, mint essential oil, a travel pack of tissues, all-natural strawberry lip balm, a yoga strap, a stub of a dark purple eyeliner pencil, three different shades of nude lipgloss, a few receipts faded beyond recognition, a tube of waterproof mascara, a pink Lululemon headband, and no wallet. Panic sets in and I rifle through its contents again, certain I must have missed it.

Charity places a hand on my forearm and gently pushes me aside. "It's okay, I got it."

When she steps up to pay, my phone rings and the gym shows up on the caller ID. I quickly take the call to learn someone found my wallet on the counter of the womens' washroom yesterday. A wave of relief washes over me. I wish they'd called me sooner, but at least I don't have to worry about my credit being stolen.

Then again, it isn't worth stealing anymore. Jade saw to that.

Drinks in hand, we grab a table off to the far corner where fewer people are around. Charity slides into her seat across from me, fixing me with a knowing look.

"What's the deal with you and Dean?"

"What do you mean?" I take a sip of my iced mocha, trying to hide behind the plastic cup.

"You've been off all day," she says pointedly. "Preoccupied. Which is probably how you managed to leave your wallet behind at the gym yesterday morning without even realizing it for an entire day. Was dinner with him a disaster or something?"

I've been admittedly tight-lipped about the non-date. Because I don't know what to make of it myself. It was the perfect evening...and that terrifies me.

"The opposite, actually. Dinner was great. That's why I told Dean we can't fool around while we're planning the wedding."

Charity's forehead crinkles. "Come again?" She takes a sip of her salted caramel mocha, frowning like she's trying to process what I just said. It didn't make much sense to me when I said it out loud, either.

I let out a groan, slumping against my chair. "I think I like him."

"Well, that much is obvious." Her grey-green eyes sparkle.

"But I have no idea what we're doing, Char. Or what Dean wants, even. He's not exactly Mr. Monogamy."

A horrifying possibility sets in. Is Dean seeing other women? I mean, I don't think he is. But we never agreed we wouldn't. And that dating profile...

"Why don't you guys, you know, talk about it?"

"The whole Brendan factor complicates things greatly," I tell her. "I'm extra-scared of screwing up and being forced to see Dean all the time after things fall apart."

Charity looks at her drink, falling quiet for a beat, then she looks up at me. "Look at it this way: If he's the right one for you, talking to him won't ruin things. And if he's not the right one, isn't it better you know now?"

Objectively, I know Charity is right. But the dysfunctional part of me—which is a big part—wants this to last as long as possible even if he isn't.

*

When I get to the gym, the manager Penny is helping a new member fill out paperwork. The client appears to be pushing 80 and is struggling to read the fine print on the three-page, double-sided membership form. No one else is working, which means that Penny has her work cut out for her and I'll be here for awhile. On the other hand, I do think joining a gym at that age is pretty badass.

Still, I hope this doesn't take too long because I have to go home and finalize my Motivational Monday post featuring a new Lululemon outfit and a matching, limited-edition S'Well water bottle. The stakes are high because I need my follower growth to double if I'm going to stay on-track to reach my goal for this month. Plus, I already tore the tags off all the Lulu.

I lean against the counter while I wait, scanning the lobby. My gaze wanders over to the glass-walled workout area where lime green decals adorn the charcoal gray walls with motivational buzzwords like 'unleashed', 'limitless', and 'breathe'. There's a class inside the fitness studio and I scan the group for anyone I know, but the only familiar face I find belongs to Dean, doing bicep curls with a heavy set of dumbbells.

Wait a minute. Dean always used to attend the same morning class I did. Granted, I haven't been to the morning class lately either with my erratic sleep schedule. Still, why is he here in the middle of the day? Is he avoiding me?

He's is completely focused on what he's doing, oblivious to my gaze. I watch him, transfixed by the way the sinewy muscles of his arms flex with every rep, veins tracing their length. Something about it reminds me of the way he picked me up and...Now I'm getting turned on in the middle of a fitness studio. Great.

When he turns around to re-rack his set of weights and our eyes meet through the glass. I jump slightly and he smirks, giving me a cocky nod. I smile back and he winks at me before pivoting back to face the floor area. Great. He just busted me blatantly checking him out. Not that it matters, I guess. We've done a hell of a lot more than that.

Get it together, Brooke. I pull out my phone and open up social media so I stop drooling over Dean. The instant my Instagram feed loads, my heart comes to a screeching halt.

Jade is doing a designer collaboration with Target. Target. That's huge. It's the kind of deal that could make you a household name. You've got to be fucking kidding me. How did she land that?

My heart roars in my ears and I swipe through the 'sneak peek' photos. The designs look all too familiar—and not because they're anything Jade designed. They're practically carbon copies of Aaliyah Brown's dresses. The cut, the patterns, the details at the neckline.

I showed Aaliyah's line to Jade a few months ago. Not because I wanted to rip her off, obviously, but because I loved the bright colors and attention to detail in her designs and thought we could do a collaboration together. Sadly, I didn't get around to contacting Aaliyah before things went sideways with Jade. And I didn't bother after, since almost no one wants to work with me now.

Penny's chipper voice breaks my trance. "Hey, Brooke. Sorry about that. How can I help you?" I lift my head to find her smiling at me expectantly, wispy black bangs dusting her false eyelashes.

"Oh, um..." Why was I here again? "Kyla called and said my wallet was here."

Penny frowns, tapping the counter with her green pen thoughtfully. "Give me a sec. it's probably locked in a drawer." She turns and disappears into the staff room behind the front desk.

I quickly compose an email to Aaliyah, complete with photos and a link to Jade's line, asking her if she's seen it. Aaliyah replies almost instantly and says she's aware, but that as a designer running a start-up label, she doesn't have the financial resources to pursue the issue at this time. My stomach sinks. I understand where she's coming from, but isn't right. There's no way Jade can get away with doing this to someone else.

Wallet in hand, I head back to my car. After a few more emails back and forth, I explain to Aaliyah what Jade did to me and why I have a vested interest in trying to hold her accountable. Then I ask if she would be willing to speak to a lawyer if I can find one at low- or no-cost. To my surprise, she agrees.

After I merge onto the freeway, I pull up Brendan's office number on speakerphone. He's not the right one for the job, but he might know someone who is.

"Hey," he says. "Everything all right?" Calling him at work is unusual for me. When I want to talk, usually I text him dumb memes.

"It's okay," I tell him. "But I was wondering whether you know any lawyers who handle intellectual property and copyright. Ideally, ones who might consider working pro bono on a high-profile case."

Hmmm....!

Thanks for the patience for an update; Otherwise Engaged edits offline have been taking over my brain a little bit and it's hard to switch between drafting and editing sometimes.