Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Zach

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" I ask Belle while filling my suitcase with casual clothes.

Sarcastic laughter is her only response.

"You'd love Washington state," I tell her. "It's green and gorgeous, and full of the best fish you've ever eaten."

She positions her fists aggressively on her hips, while demanding, "How do you know? Have you ever been there?"

Shrugging, I tell her, "I visited Seattle several years ago. But Troy loves it there." I stop what I'm doing and look over at her. Belle is average height and quite pretty—even though she dresses plainly and doesn't play up her looks in any way. She's incredibly organized and scathingly sharp-witted. When she interviewed for the job, she told me she didn't care how rich I was, she was never going to sleep with me, so I'd better get my mind out of the gutter. After assuring her my intentions were pure, she quickly became the best assistant I've ever had. She's also become something of a little sister—a bossy little sister.

Despite my praise for Maple Falls, Belle says, "I'm not going. In fact, I'm looking forward to taking a break from you, and I can't do that in Washington."

"You still have to work while I'm gone," I remind her, cringing at the thought of what my life would be without her.

She cocks her brow dubiously. "Obviously. I mean, you're still going to be you, right? I'll just put out fires from afar. It'll probably be easier without you parading about town causing trouble."

"I don't parade ."

"Not in the marching band kind of way," she assures me. "It's more of a royal strut."

"That's mean," I pout.

Belle pushes me to the side. "Just because I don't sugarcoat the truth doesn't mean I'm being nasty. Now get going and let me finish packing."

On my way out the door, I ask, "Is the plane ready to go?"

"Of course not," she laughs. "Didn't I tell you you're taking the bus?"

"I've been on my fair share of Greyhounds," I remind her.

"Yes, yes, I know." She rolls her eyes. "Back when you were poor. Go tell People magazine."

"Hey, I was poor once." I didn't start making real money until I got into crypto currency eight years ago. It turns out I'm something of a savant when it comes to the buying and selling of speculative currency.

Belle starts tucking rolled-up balls of socks into the corners of my suitcase. "Yes, Zach, I know. And while that's all very charming, I'm going to need you to go pack up your laptop." I feel like I've just been dismissed by my mother.

The limo driver calls up ten minutes later to tell me he's at the rear entrance of the building because the front is still covered with reporters. What now?

As Belle wheels my suitcase out of the bedroom, I ask her, "Why are reporters still stalking me? I thought things were slowing down. "

"Yolanda gave an interview to Hollywood Tonight yesterday," she says.

"Were you planning on telling me?"

She shakes her head. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to."

My shoulders slump. "That bad?"

"The same as always."

"You mean she's telling everyone what a stingy lothario I am?"

Nodding her head sharply, Belle says, "I'll go down with you and put this in the trunk. If any reporters show up, you stay in the building, and I'll pretend I'm the one leaving."

"And then you'll go to Washington instead of me?" I joke.

Her blue eyes narrow perceptibly. "I'll drive around the block and we'll try it again."

Luckily, there's no press at the back exit and it looks like I'm going to make a clean getaway.

I tell Belle, "You might as well stay at my place while I'm gone. I mean, at least that way you won't have to deal with traffic." Belle lives in Pasadena and even though that's only twenty-five miles from my place, it still makes her commute well over an hour.

Instead of thanking me for the generous offer, she pushes me into the car. "Bye."

While buckling up, I wonder what kind of men my assistant likes. More importantly, I wonder what kind of guy would put up with her. I can't imagine she's all that popular of a date with that blunt demeanor of hers.

Luckily, the drive to the Santa Monica airport only takes thirty minutes, and I use the time to make a dent in my inbox. Twenty minutes after boarding I'm in the air and on my way to what I hope is going to be a trip that not only ends my bad press, but will be a nice break from all the chaos in my life. I'm not delusional enough to think it will be a real vacation, but it's got to be better than suffering through the maelstrom of a PR nightmare .

I told my brother I was going to arrive on Friday, but I'm coming a day early so that if he slips up and tells anyone, I can avoid any trouble at the airport. I'd like to get a lay of the land before everyone knows I'm there.

Opening my laptop, I spot an email from Yolanda. It reads:

Zach,

You know by now that you've messed with the wrong girl. If you would like me to quit my campaign you need to call me. I have a proposition.

Yolanda

My first reaction is one of frustration. Even though the subtext of Yolanda's note suggests extortion, she doesn't come right out and say what her proposal is. So, it's possible no one else would interpret her email as menacingly as I have. So much for using it to show the world what her real intentions are—which, as far as I'm concerned, is more attention for herself.

Even though I'm sorely tempted to call her and find out what she wants, I don't want to give her the pleasure of knowing she's causing me trouble. Like the government, I have a longstanding policy of not negotiating with terrorists, and I will not succumb to Yolanda's guerrilla tactics—even if it means getting my life back on track.

Once my plane lands, I grab my bags and hightail it across the tarmac to the SUV Belle arranged to have waiting. I know the black Trailblazer is for me because it's the only automobile on site. Peeking in the window, I spot another giveaway—the key fob is sitting on the middle console.

After stowing my luggage in the back hatch, I climb into the driver's seat. Kelly told me to pick up the key to my lodgings at the rink, so I program the address into Waze. Then I sit back and enjoy a traffic-free drive through what I can honestly call paradise.

I steer my way around a winding road that traverses a heavily wooded landscape. I wouldn't exactly call the thoroughfare a highway as I only pass four cars and I have to stop to let two deer cross the road. What a strange dichotomy between traffic here and traffic in LA.

When the map app tells me my destination is only five hundred feet away, I start to get excited. I barely see the break in the trees until I'm on top of my turn. That's when the landscape opens to a parking lot. The skating arena isn't far away.

After pulling into a space close to the front entrance, I get out of the car and take a deep breath. The air still smells like summer, but the cooler temperature hints that autumn has arrived. Even though the weather eventually cools in Southern California, the mercury often stays well over a hundred degrees into October which, plainly put, is miserable.

I pass four little girls and their mothers as I walk inside the building, and no one takes notice of me. No double takes, no curious gazes—it's like I've landed in a world where I'm nothing special, and I couldn't be happier about that.

Inside the lobby, I look around for the office. When I spot it, I head in that direction only to discover the door is locked. Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I reread the text from Kelly.

Kelly

The key to your cabin will be waiting for you in the office. Give us a call once you're settled.

Turning around, I walk into the stands surrounding the rink and look for someone who might possess access to the locked room. The only people I see are an instructor and a small class of pint-sized skaters. There are some parents sitting and watching, but no one looks official. As such, I decide to sit down and wait for the lesson to be over .

The young woman teaching the class tells her group, "No jumps today. We're going to work on making your turns more graceful. Figure skaters should look like angels gliding through the clouds."

Even from this distance I can see the teacher is quite lovely. Her dark hair is pulled back, making the sharp angles of her cheek bones stand out. Yet, it's the pink fullness of her lips that really grabs my attention. She's wearing yoga pants and a form-fitting long-sleeve top which leaves little to the imagination. This woman is taller and curvier than your average figure skater. She's also a total knock-out.

I remind myself that I am not here in pursuit of women. In fact, the opposite is true. I'm here to avoid romantic entanglements and halt the demise of my lagging reputation, both courtesy of Yolanda Simms. I make a mental note not to forget that.

A red-headed girl raises her hand, and says, "Miss Ellie, I have to tinkle."

Ellie—I like that name—turns her head slightly while pointing to the exit. "Hurry up, Taylor. And make sure to take your skates off."

"But that'll take forever!" the little girl moans.

Ellie shakes her head. "Which is why you're all supposed to use the bathroom before we start." Then she addresses the class. "Who wants to show everyone what it looks like to be a graceful figure skater?"

Another little girl raises her hand. This one appears to be slightly older than the others, maybe ten or eleven. "I'll do it, Miss Ellie," she says before standing and removing her skate guards.

The teacher leads the way to the center of the rink, gliding in an elongated figure-eight. "Follow me, Claire."

Once Ellie completes her final rotation she leans forward and raises one leg, stretching her arms out to her sides as she glides forth. I've never thought of figure skating as an erotic sport until this moment. The instructor looks more like a pin-up girl than an athlete, and I'm finding it difficult to watch her and still maintain an aura of indifference.

"Zach!" I turn to see my brother Troy approaching. "You're early." His smile stretches across his face, leaving little doubt how happy he is that I'm there.

"I couldn't wait to see you," I fib. I haven't seen Troy in almost a year, and even though I really do miss him, I wouldn't be here at all if my life wasn't in the toilet.

Reaching out, he pulls me into his arms for a bear hug. "Liar. You wanted to get here ahead of the press."

"Guilty," I confess before adding, "The office is locked, so I couldn't get the key to the cabin Kelly found for me."

Stepping back, Troy tells me, "I don't have it yet. We can wait for Ellie's class to end and get it from her."

My face flushes with heat. "I'm staying with the figure skating instructor?" No good can possibly come from that if my goal is to save my reputation.

Troy knocks his fist into my shoulder. "Dream on, buddy. You're not staying with Ellie. Your cottage is at the back of her mom's property."

I feel the need to confirm, "So, she lives somewhere else?"

Troy's eyebrows knit closer together before he clarifies, "Ellie lives with her mom. Elaine is in bad health and needs assistance."

"So, she'll be close to me?" Beads of sweat pop up on my forehead. What in the world is wrong with me? I'm acting like a kid in the throes of puberty.

"Is that a problem?"

Changing the direction of the conversation, I tell my brother, "I'm excited to take a break from my crazy life."

That's when Ellie turns around and spots us. Her eyes narrow and her body visibly tenses. Is it me or does she look like she's preparing to go to war? "Are you sure she's okay with me staying at her cottage?" I ask Troy. "She looks like she wants to bludgeon me with her skate blade."

Troy laughs heartily. "You aren't supposed to be here until tomorrow and according to Kelly, Ellie has been busting her butt to get the cottage ready for you. I don't think she's done yet."

"I'm fine with whatever shape it's in," I tell him. And even though that's true, I can't help but hope Ellie isn't as prickly as she looks.