Chapter 6

"Three minutes and ratings are through the roof!" Wells says over speakerphone before the meeting starts. "The social media department is airing a longer version on YouTube as well, and there has been a massive spike in traffic to our website. Did you really like the old fart?"

I lean back in my chair, pushing back on my toes. "Yes. She's the coolest person I've ever met over thirty."

"I watched the raw footage. Seems like you had some ‘stuff' in common."

Wells watching fourteen hours of tape is astonishing. He's not a researcher. He likes to wheel and deal. "We did, but I didn't tell her that. I wanted the day to be about her. She doesn't need to be bogged down with my baggage."

Employees file into the conference room, full of kudos for a successful first run. We discuss how to improve the editing and overall performance. And how to tease it on other social media channels.

"Margie was a godsend. Absolutely the perfect person to kick off this media storm," Pamela says. "And we're getting calls for her to have a regular segment on the Working Woman."

"It doesn't surprise me. Her energy and honesty are contagious." A grin sneaks over my face, thinking about Margie. She's one of a kind.

When the meeting adjourns, I fly to North Carolina for contract negotiations in purchasing a smaller satellite communications company. During the flight, I'm consumed by Margie's words and her outlook on life. She's something else.

The next day is woman number two. Although I have my law license, I haven't practiced since taking over Triple W. A rush travels through me as I get excited about using my knowledge again.

As I exit the vehicle, I see a woman sitting at one of the picnic tables placed in a U-shape around Cups Crumbs food truck. I know it's her because the film crew is filming her first, an adjustment we made in the meeting, wanting to capture the women's apprehension, nervousness, or confidence about meeting me.

Her mahogany hair hits just past her shoulders in bountiful waves. She's wearing large Jackie-O type sunglasses and when I approach, she stands in a flowered sundress, nearly touching the ground. She's a fucking vision—sweet and innocent looking.

She offers her hand. "Mr. Worthington, I presume."

"Yes, and you're Cameron."

She nods as she pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head, revealing golden-brown eyes, a shade darker than a butterscotch candy. Getting lost in them is easy until she clears her throat, "Ahem."

"Sorry. You, uh. Have uh… beautiful eyes." My voice grates out. Why am I at a loss for words? Because her eyes are fucking mesmerizing. I concentrate on her mouth, and I swear I've seen those kissable lips before. My insides are spiraling, unable to focus. The long sundress dusts the ground and leaves her shape to the imagination, and mine is running wild.

"Thank you."

"Let me order our coffees. Stiff, right?"

"The stiffer the better."

Oh, holy hell. Keeping my mind on business will be damn near impossible. I come back from the food truck with two black cups and like a pussy, I add two sugar packets to mine. She tries to hide her smile as she lifts the cup to those peachy-pink lips. One of the workers brings over a croissant with chocolate glaze zigzagging over the top.

"Sweet tooth?" she asks.

My head tilts to the side. "Pastries, yes, but I don't like candy."

"Interesting. Is that because you think pastries are acceptable but walking around with a Milky Way isn't?" she asks with a sarcastic tone.

In an instant, she has me defensive. "No."

Cameron lifts her chin, then sips her coffee. I shove down the feeling that I know her from somewhere. The tone of her voice is somewhat familiar.

"So, tell me a little about yourself."

"Well, as you read or someone read to you, I'm an entrepreneur. Own my own business, and this asshole is threatening legal action against me."

"I do prepare for all of my meetings, so yes, I read your letter. Was the video you uploaded in bad taste? Was it revealing?"

Her black lashes come together as her eyes narrow. "What type of business do you think I own?"

It's one thing my team couldn't find out. There was no business in the state of Florida listed under Cameron Darling. I'm trying to keep calm, but she's digging for something.

"I don't know since you either use a different name for your business, or you're operating illegally without a license."

She laughs. She fucking laughs. And why do I love the way she throws her head back and a piece of hair sticks to her lip gloss?

"I assure you that I operate legally, but yes, I have a business name. One of my clients unleashed his attorneys on me." She pulls out her phone and taps on it. "Here. Do you think you could help with this?"

Cameron hands me her phone. As the video loads, it's déjà vu. Then I realize I'm watching myself on her phone. I press the end key with my thumb.

"What is this, Ms. Darling? A shakedown?" Anger rushes through my veins. She has manipulated the situation to get on this show. "Are you trying to humiliate me?"

I feel the cameras zooming in. I knew she felt familiar, but I had never seen her with her legs covered or with her hair down, and the other two times, she wore Ray-Ban sunglasses.

"Me? I had to use my savings to hire a lawyer to defend against this nonsense." She leans forward. "You, Mr. Worthington, signed a contract, agreeing for me to use your name, image, or likeness on any promotional materials. So, why is your company threatening me and my livelihood?"

Yeah, I had her all wrong—not sweet. Not innocent. She may be the devil in a sundress.

"I'm not sure you realize how big my company is. Twenty thousand employees. Five hundred in legal alone. It's their job to protect me and my assets. If you can't understand that, then you don't have a clue how to run a business."

"I know how to catch tuna. Do you?"

I push off against the picnic table and say, "We're done here. I came here to give you advice. Work with you at your job, but God knows I'm not getting on a boat with you again."

One cameraman keeps the focus on Cameron, and the other one follows me back to the car.

The producer slides in beside me. "What the hell was that?"

Jaclyn responds, "You picked the five women. What are the odds?"

Pinching my nose, I shake my head. Indeed. Do I believe in coincidences? Not usually.

"Mr. Worthington, if we're not going to use her segment, we'll need to go to the next contestant tomorrow to make up for it. We have a show to do, and we can't dump it… the ratings are too good."

"Pull up Margie's number and send it to me." I need to see her and ask her advice. Obviously, Cameron is cut from a blue-collar cloth like Margie. Maybe she'll help me understand her better. "Then drop Jaclyn back at work."

Margie is in Fort Myers and won't be back for another few hours, so my driver drops me off at home. It's inconceivable that she received a million dollars, and she's still driving, but I have a thousand times as much, and I work every day, at least twelve hours a day.

Once Margie returns, she returns my call and invites me over as long as I bring the tequila. I don't know where to turn for advice—she's the only middle-class, blue-collar person I know.

"Winslow, you go back and apologize. Give her a choice to continue doing the show. You may get better ratings than you did with mine." Margie pours us another shot while setting me straight.

I just hope I remember her words of wisdom because I haven't drunk that much tequila since college.

The next morning, after drinking a mixture of avocados and egg to relieve the hangover, I immediately head for the legal department.