by Hart, Hanna
“Nah. I’m gonna head back and get this written up. I’ll leave it on my editor’s desk, give him a real thrill in the morning.”
“You still think you’re getting fired?” Casey asked as she stood up from the table and grabbed her purse.
Getting fired was something that Willow was perpetually worried about. She was a good writer—she didn’t question that. But, she hadn’t been given much opportunity at the paper to grow to show her true merit.
She wanted to be a political writer—not make snappy wordplay about the newest Manhattan hotspot.
“Not today!” Willow said with a smile before throwing a crisp twenty-dollar bill down on the tabletop and slipping her jacket on. “Goodnight, my lady!”
“Stay out of trouble,” Casey said, and the two women departed each other’s company.
Willow made her way back to her office in haste. After such a long day, most of her other colleagues would have gone straight home. Even Willow couldn't deny the allure of walking into her apartment and crawling into bed. But, ever diligent, she decided to head back to the Morning Star Daily.
Willow had worked from home before. She’d even been one of ‘those’ people and written out the transcripts from her recorded interviews at local coffee shops. But most of all, she preferred to work in her office.
The Morning Star Daily was located in a skyscraper on West 43rd Street. The paper inhabited the sixty-sixth and sixty-seventh floor and was owned by Albert Finch: newspaper giant. He owned twelve newspapers across America in all the big cities.
Willow took the elevator up to her floor and made her way through the cubicle corridors of the office and into her decorated station.
She loved to write. Willow would often joke that being a reporter was like being a double-agent or a detective. You’d need to put on whatever personality you could to get the story from your source. Once you had everything down, you’d do your best detective work to put every puzzle piece in the proper order to get the best story possible.
Willow sat at her desk and began to form her story when she heard Richard Huxley, her editor, over in his glass-walled office.
Willow blinked in surprise.
If she were anyone else, she would have taken her bosses presence as a sign to sit up straight and get her heels off the desk—but she was not anyone else.
Willow liked to believe, possibly foolishly, that she had charmed Richard into an over-the-line, comfortable work relationship. More of a friend than a boss.
“You’re still here?” Richard said, clapping his hands as he approached her desk.
“You got it. Burnin’ the midnight oil—all for you, Richie!” she quipped.
“No,” Richard said, putting an immediate halt to her nickname—which she had been trying to institute for years now. “So, I’ve finally pounded some work ethic into your head, huh?”
“Hey! I’ve had work ethic since I got here three years ago, Rich.”
“No,” he with the same, easy rejection he had used just moments earlier.
“Was I, and am I not still, the first person to get the blueberry fritter in the kitchen each and every morning?” she asked, way too proud of herself.
“Yep,” Richard nodded.
“And do I not hound and stalk and charm my sources until I get what I’m looking for?” she said slyly, raising her brows.
“Charm is debatable,” Richard said quickly, though somewhat absent-minded. “But, yeah, mostly you do.”
“Read it and weep,” she said, knowing Richard absolutely hated when she spoke in clichés.
Willow flopped down her notes for her interview from earlier that day and offered Richard a winning smile.
“You got it?” her editor asked in surprise, showing off his thick New Jersey accent.
“Yep!”
“And?” he asked, skimming with interested through her scribbled writings.
“Totally guilty,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.
The he, in this scenario, was Jackson Myles. Beloved local celeb and also running for New York City mayor.
The man had been accused of having an affair on his perfect wife. Or so said his smear campaign. This wasn’t largely scandalous by today’s standards, but the fact that his wife had cancer made it newsworthy and salacious.
Shock and drama.
AKA, cheap.
But, it was exactly what Willow lived for. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to be one of those bubbly girls who loved celebrity trash mags or bounded at the mention of gossip. But it seemed to be deeply ingrained in her soul.
“This is good,” Richard said, nodding approvingly. “This is really good, Willow.”
“Thanks, boss,” she grinned.
This must have been a high compliment because Willow knew for a fact that Richard was a fan of Jackson Myles.
“You really went deep,” he mused, almost nervously. “Ah, geez Willow, we can't even print this or this, this,” Richard's finger continued to scroll down her notes until he flipped the page. “Any of this. We can't print it. Too raunchy.”
“It's not raunchy,” she rolled her eyes. “It's the truth. Probably.”
“Probably,” he laughed. “I can't believe you asked her some of this,” he said, “Journalists can't do anything they want.”
“No, that's doctors,” she said snippily.
Richard let out a small sigh and unfolded his hand. “Alright,” he breathed exasperatedly. “I'll bite.”
“Doctors are allowed to be total jerks,” she said. “Fact.”
“Fact?”
“Fact!” she repeated. “Doctors can be drug addicts or cheat on their wives, and nobody cares; do you know why?”
“I'm pretty sure their wives care,” Richard interjected.
“Because they have made a living saving people. So, no matter what they do in private, they're always redeemable to people because they have this self-sacrificing side to them.”
Richard stared at Willow without saying anything for so long that she had to cough to kill the awkward silence. Then, she caught the hint of a smile forming in the corner of his lips. She snapped her fingers as if to say 'Gotcha!'
“Alright,” Richard said with a reluctant smile. “I hate to say it, but you have a weird, really ridiculous point.”
“Yes!” she giggled. “See? You hired me for a reason, Rich!”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waved her off. “Yeah,” he said once more with feeling, as though something was occurring to him. “Hey, you used to live near Nani Makai, right?”
Willow’s heart lilted. “Yes,” she said slowly, feeling suddenly nervous. “On the mainland. I’m not a billionaire, Rich.”
Richard looked pleased. He set a hand on her shoulder and said, “We want to promote you, Willow. We’ve got a big job for you.” Then, Richard raised his brows so that his forehead wrinkled and he enunciated, “Big.”
“Seriously?” Willow bounded.
“Seriously,” he nodded. “But, it involves a relocation for probably a year or more.”
“Bigger salary?” she asked.
“Big,” he said once again.
“Then that’s fine!” Willow said excitedly. She knew the owner of the paper had enough locations to keep her satisfied no matter where she went. “I’ll take it! I’ll take anything.”
Willow had been trying to find a big story to get her name on the map for years. She had all but begged Richard for a promotion, but with no such luck up until now.
“What’s the job?” she asked.
“Well,” Richard began, palming his chin unsurely, “Rumor has it you know Ryder Prescott. Is that right?”
And with those simple words, her whole world turned upside down.
Again.
“Rumor has it?” she repeated, taken aback. “I guess,” she shrugged. “I know him. From like, a million years ago... why?”
“Watkins,” he said affectionately, calling her by her surname. “That’s the job.”
>
“I'm not liking this sentence’s relation to your last question,” Willow said.
“It's a put-you-on-the-map kind of job, kid. This is the in that everybody wants and you got it.”
“O-kay,” she said with no small amount of hesitation. “What is it?”
“You know Nani Makai, that island?” her editor asked and Willow nodded.
“I think we have established that yes, I do know. Private billionaire island off the coast of the coast of Hawaii, yep,” she said, knowing the island all too well. “Home of the luxury Crystal Beach Resorts, blah, blah, blah. I’m from there, like I said. I mean, not the billionaire side, obviously. Why? What’s this about? What’s the job?”
Suddenly, Willow got nervous.
“The Prescott family is looking for a bit of an unusual request. A reporter for a full-time job. I happen to know their PR firm,” he said with a nervous timber in his tone. “It’s an odd request; I’ll tell you that right now.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “What is it?”
Richard took a breath. “They want you to move to Nani Makai for a year to be his wife.”
Chapter Three
Ryder
“Heartbroken Prescott brother says Isaac can steal his wife, but there’s no way he’s stealing this election!” came Ryder's mother's cry as she slapped her knuckles against the taut newspaper in her hands. “Can you believe this? Who writes something like this?”
Ryder winced inwardly. Now would not be the time to admit to his mother that he had tipsily volunteered the headline to the journalist in question.
“I’m sorry, ma,” he said for the billionth time that day as the news stories from the previous night’s event began to unfold in the news.
“You’re standing with her; why are you standing with her!” his mother continued to announce. “You shouldn’t have been anywhere near her!”
“Well, I was trying to be civil,” he offered. “Just like Roy tells us to do.”
“Oh, Roy!” his mother waved her hand into the air. “Do you know they quote them as saying your father was skimming off the top? That Isaac was embarrassed because his father was stealing? Stealing, Ryder! Stealing!” she raged. “Can you believe what this witch is saying about your father?”
The witch his mother was referring to was obviously Miranda. Since their divorce was finalized, she'd been set on ruining the good family name to the press.
“Relax, ma,” he said quickly, waving his mother off as she paced her entirely glass sunroom that overlooked the white Nani Makai beach. “You're going to give yourself a migraine.”
“Can't you talk to her, dear?” his mother asked, setting the newspaper on her lap.
“She doesn't want to talk to me,” he snapped. “And I'm not her biggest fan right now, either.”
Ryder met Miranda right after a harsh breakup. He had moved from New York City back home to the mainlands before his father became president. He'd transferred all of his college credits to an outstanding university in the islands. Miranda had been one of his classmates. They dated on and off for a few years until he finally asked her to marry him.
Miranda was a studious girl. She had a bachelor's in business and worked in event planning, and not the frivolous kind, either. The event planning Miranda did as all for children's hospitals.
He used to love that selfless part of her—now it seemed petty and attention seeking.
The Prescotts were media darlings. The islands were a tight-knit community who was nearly obsessed with their president's family. They were constantly being photographed or written about, and for the most part, the press was all good. They were beloved, and Miranda—with her charitable works and undeniable intelligence—fit right in.
So of course, it was only a matter of time after the divorce that the media began turning on him.
The pair were married for three years before calling it quits. She wasn't happy, and Ryder couldn't seem to reignite the spark that once connected them—so she set her sights on his brother, Isaac. The two of them carried on an affair until Ryder finally divorced her.
Thankfully, she had signed a prenup, leaving her a little less than a hundred thousand dollars after they separated. Knowing his family were billionaires, this infuriated Miranda, and she had been on a hunt to tarnish their family name ever since.
And what better time to do so than during the island's election year?
“I'm worried,” his mother, Sheila, lamented as she crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the waste bin.
“It'll be fine,” he said quietly, not looking up from his book as he laid with his legs stretched out on one of his mother's loveseats. “They love dad. They're not going to turn on him just because Miranda's spreading lies.”
“The problem is they aren't all lies,” his mother admitted. “But that's not what I meant. I'm worried about you.”
“I'm fine,” he waved her off.
“Are you? I haven't seen you out dating anybody since this happened,” she said as she folded her hands into her lap. “You need someone new in your life.”
“I'm a little preoccupied with my whole world falling apart, ma,” he snapped, “But thanks for your concern.”
“You see?” she said quickly. “You're not fine. You're far from fine.”
“Gee, thanks,” he snorted.
“Your father and I are worried about you. We want to see you get back out there. You and Miranda have been divorced for almost a year now. Isn't there any girl out there you could see yourself with?”
“I'm off the market right now,” he joked. “Please, let's drop it.”
“I don't want to drop it,” his mother insisted. “Your father and I are setting you up, and that's that.”
Ryder's eyes went wide, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to scream or burst out laughing. His mother setting him up? What would that be like?
Horrifying, that's what it would be like.
It was useless to tell his mother he wasn't ready. He couldn't rightly tell her anything about how he was feeling or what Miranda put him through.
Weeks of coming home and finding her missing. Wading through her thinly veiled texts about being out ‘with the girls’ or staying late ‘to finish up with work’ and all the while knowing that she was seeing someone else.
That was one aspect of his marriage that he was most ashamed of. His willingness to let it go. He knew Miranda was cheating and he couldn’t think of a thing he could do to stop it.
He could have tried to be more attentive to her, ask her if she was happy or if there was anything he could do to be a better husband or whisk her away to the Greek islands for a romantic reconnection, but he couldn’t muster up the strength.
To him, she cheated. And once you cheat, there was no coming back from that.
So, he just gave up. She made sure to scream this at him when he served her with divorce papers.
“You don’t even want to talk about this?” she had asked, incensed as they sat at the breakfast table and he callously slid the papers her way over coffee.
“What’s there to talk about?” he had said evenly, expressing no emotion. “You’re seeing someone else. I’m not one to chase someone around. It’s over.”
“It’s over?” she repeated indignantly. “Ryder, you don’t even want to know why?”
“I really don’t,” he said.
“You’re never here!” she began to shout. “I feel like I’m always alone!”
Then it was Ryder’s turn to be incensed. “I spend every minute from the moment I get home with you until we go to bed. What more did you want?”
“You’re here,” Miranda said, gesturing around the kitchen. “But you’re not here,” she said, pressing her hand against her heart. “You checked out of this marriage so long ago it isn’t even funny.”
“And now I’m making it official,” he said callously, sliding a pen across the table.
Miranda stared at him with her impossibly pouty lips. She looked absolutely
furious but began to cry as she signed the papers and threw them back at him.
She told him later it was his reaction to her affair that told her they truly weren’t meant to be together; that she’d made the right choice in pursuing something else.
Ryder still thought she could have done him the courtesy of telling him she was unhappy before she began sleeping with someone else—but that was just him. He was raised with manners.
And the strange thing was, he was heartbroken.
Especially when he found out she had been having an affair with his older brother. That stung most of all. Then, not only did he lose his wife and partner, but he also lost his brother and best friend.
Looking back, he could recall little conversations with Isaac that made him wonder if he had already started the affair or was on the cusp of it. Isaac would ask him how the marriage was going and if Miranda was happy. He would counsel him on things he could do to try and connect with her more, but Ryder was too dense to understand why—at the time, anyway.
About half-way through his marriage to Miranda, he knew there would be stormy waters ahead. She was kind and smart and incredibly sexy. But, they were like two peas in a pod in all the wrong ways.
They both enjoyed quiet nights reading. They both attended the same family functions, galas, beach soirees, and both enjoyed a scotch neat. They had the same humor and the same values. This was great, at first. But soon Ryder began to feel like there was simply no spark between them. There wasn’t an ‘opposites attract’ to make their relationship exciting. They were destined to live an unchallenging, comfortable life together.
And he was fine with that, so long as Miranda was fine with it. But, inevitably, she wasn’t.
There was only one girl he had ever felt an insatiable connection to in the past, and he had somehow managed to screw that up, too.
“Talk to me,” his mother said, calling him back to the present.
Ryder sighed. He hadn't been able to since he'd come back from New York City almost eight years ago.
There were some ways that a breakup changed you. Some for the better, most for the worse. In Ryder's case, his first breakup in New York City had shattered him whole. He'd gone from being in a fulfilling relationship to being a half without its other half. A walking shell.
