by Liz Isaacson
The more seconds that passed, the more frustrated she got. Did this Andrew Whittaker think she had nothing better to do than wait for him? Surely he wouldn’t come in. Maybe the police were taking his statement and then they’d come talk to her.
“Calm down,” she whispered to herself, wondering if solid walls had two-way mirrors in them. This room had no windows, no mirrors, and only the door. No cameras in the corners. She could talk to herself freely.
“They can’t arrest you,” she said. “The Whittakers have money, but they’re not cops.”
She glared at the door, but it still didn’t open. Did they think she just had unlimited time on her hands?
“Well, you do,” she said to herself. She’d finished up her freelance consultation with the State Wildlife Division, and she didn’t have anything else lined up yet. Thus, the impromptu protest this morning. At least it got her out of the house, right?
Still, sitting in this silent room was a form of torture Becca never wanted to experience again. Her impatience swirled through her, driving her emotions toward the breaking point.
So when the door opened, Becca jumped to her feet. “It’s about time,” she said to the men entering. “You know you can’t just keep me here.”
The two security guards came in and took positions in the corner of the room, allowing space for another man to enter.
Andrew Whittaker.
Becca sucked in a breath that tightened her chest. Her heart zinged around inside her chest at the nearness of him.
He exuded power from his shoulders though the suit had been replaced with a black polo that stretched nicely across his chest. Maybe she’d had to wait for him to drive home and change his clothes.
Or his driver, because Andrew Whittaker didn’t seem like the kind of man who did anything without an entourage.
She cut a quick glance to his security detail, a flash of pride at her assessment striking her bloodstream and giving her some confidence.
“The door wasn’t locked.” Andrew gestured to her chair. “Please, sit.” He spoke in an even tone, perfectly political and polite. Professional all the way to the very last cell of his body. This was the Andrew Whittaker he allowed other people to see, and Becca squinted at him, wondering if she could get close enough to him to find out the real dirt.
She gave herself a little shake, hiding it by stepping over to the chair she’d burst out of. She sat and folded her arms, her insides quaking and this the only way she knew how to keep herself from saying or doing something she’d regret later.
Andrew exhaled as he sat too, and Becca couldn’t see any evidence of his injury. “I’m sorry,” she blurted anyway, immediately wishing her mouth would just stay shut. Apologizing was practically an admission of guilt, like she knew she’d done something wrong and needed to make it right.
Andrew cocked his head slightly. “For what?”
She cut a glance at the security guard standing a few feet from her. “I…don’t know?” Now that she looked at him a little closer, his nose looked a little puffy, and he definitely had a skin-colored bandage on his right temple. Maybe she’d had to wait so long so someone could dye the bandage to match his skin.
He gazed at her evenly, which she found absolutely unnerving. Somehow, she managed to stare right back. She might not have his millions. Or his finesse. In fact, she wanted to reach up and smooth down the frizz she knew stuck up from her scalp. But she’d gnaw off her own hand before she’d allow herself to do that.
“Are you going to arrest me?” she asked, lifting her chin. If he didn’t have such beautiful eyes—green with a lot of brown in there—it wouldn’t be so easy to look right at him.
Andrew did the strangest thing—he tipped his head back and laughed.
Confusion raced through Becca at the speed of sound. And it brought with it all the wonderful undertones of his laughter, infusing into her soul and making her want to be alone with him while they walked down the street, or maybe into the theater, him laughing at something brilliantly witty that she’d said. Then he’d kiss her and they’d get in a fancy limousine.
She startled at the strange, fantastical paths her thoughts had just taken.
“No,” Andrew said, around a mouthful of chuckles. He sobered and looked right at her again. Past all her defenses. Past the protest signs and the prickly personality. “I’m here to offer you a job.”
Three
“I’m sorry. What?” Rebecca Collings’ wore confusion in the cutest way, something Andrew had tried to dismiss a half-dozen times already.
“I need an assistant,” he said. “Well, not really an assistant.” His gaze flickered to Isaiah, the huge security guard who’d helped Andrew get himself and his mother to the safety of the building. Graham had taken her to lunch already, back in town, leaving Andrew to deal with the protestors, as usual.
Didn’t matter. Andrew was exceptionally skilled at handling difficult situations, and besides, he really did need an assistant.
“A what, then?” Rebecca asked, still with her arms clenched across her chest.
“I think I’m getting ahead of myself,” he said. “I’m Andrew Whittaker. I run all the media operations for Springside.”
“I know who you are.” And she didn’t seem particularly impressed, not that he expected her to be.
“And you are?” he prompted in the kindest voice possible.
“Oh, uh.” She glanced at the security detail too. “I’m Rebecca Collings. I go by Becca.” She pressed her eyes closed as if she’d given away national secrets by revealing her name.
“Becca,” he said with a smile. “I think you hit me with your yardstick.”
“It was an accident.” She leaned forward, her light blue eyes earnest and intense. “I told everyone to stay put when that woman arrived,” she insisted. “I know the rules.”
“Of course you do,” he said. “I think you come here at least once a month, don’t you?”
“No,” she said, but Andrew thought so. There was never a protest here without her. “The last one was in July.”
“Oh, so you missed August.”
Anger flashed in those eyes that seemed to pull on Andrew no matter how strongly he wished they wouldn’t. He didn’t understand this sparking sensation in his bloodstream. He let go of the schedule of protests and said, “That woman was my mother.”
Horror marched across her face. “I’m so sorry. I promise I told the group we can’t approach people.”
“I believe you,” Andrew murmured, and he did. He drew in a big breath and centered his thoughts again. “I would like to offer you a job. It’s not a protesting one, though, and your checks would have Springside Energy on them.”
Interest entered her expression now, and Andrew put a small, placid smile on his face. Nothing for her to read into. Nothing for her to deduce.
“What’s the job?”
“We’re going to be announcing something very soon, and I need a press secretary.”
“I read about your big announcement on your blog.”
Andrew couldn’t help feeling impressed. “You read the blog?” He seriously didn’t think anyone but him and his mother read those entries.
“Most of what you write is pure drivel,” she said, realizing a half-beat too late what she’d said. “I mean…I just think it’s like you’re trying to sprinkle rainbows and unicorns on what you really do here.”
Andrew tilted his head, his patience with this woman growing thinner by the moment. He’d taken plenty of time to change his clothes, get cleaned up and bandaged, and look up everything he could about Rebecca Collings.
He knew she had two degrees: one in environmental studies and one in public policy. He knew her last job with the State of Wyoming had ended thirteen days ago. He knew she was born and raised in a town called Newton, with a population of only six hundred and thirty-four. She’d gone to college at the University of Wyoming in Laramie, and she now lived in Coral Canyon.
“What do you think
we really do here?” he asked.
She looked less sure of herself then. “You drill with the hope of finding your precious gas, when you don’t even know if it’s there.”
He couldn’t really argue with that. “We have ways of knowing where to drill.”
“They’re not good enough,” she shot back.
“Well, they’re about to get better.” This woman made something fire inside him that hadn’t gone off in years. “That’s why I need you. We’ll be doing several events around the state, and I need a pretty face and the brains behind it so I’m not the only one talking.”
There. He’d said it. Becca did possess a beauty that Andrew hadn’t seen in a while, and with the right makeup, a haircut, and some perfectly tailored clothes, everyone would listen to exactly what she said.
He’d been thinking about hiring a press secretary for months, but his schedule hadn’t allowed it. But now, it seemed the stars had aligned, and this woman knew a lot about him and Springside already. Maybe what she thought she knew wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns, as she’d said, but he’d save a lot of time if she said yes.
“There is no way I’m working for you or this company,” she said, standing up. “And if I’m not under arrest, I’m leaving.”
Andrew waved at the closed door, his heart sinking to the soles of his second-best pair of shoes. “You’re not under arrest.”
“Great. Good-bye, Mister Whittaker.” Becca stepped over to the door and practically ripped the knob off as she yanked it open.
Andrew listened to the sound of her angry footsteps as they moved down the hall. He sighed and turned to Isaiah and Tom. “I need to talk to Dwight. Do we know if he’s in today? Or out on a drill?”
“I’ll find out.” Isaiah stepped out of the room, grunting as he did. A scuffle followed, drawing Andrew’s attention.
Isaiah had bumped into someone, and he said, “Excuse me, ma’am,” as they completed their dance and he moved further into the hall to reveal Becca standing in the doorway.
“How long will the job be?” she asked, her tone high on the demanding scale.
Andrew stood, hope lifting his spirits so high he couldn’t stay seated. Please, he prayed. Not only was Becca perfect for the job because of her past antagonism for Springside Energy, she was a woman Andrew wanted to spend more time with, get to know, maybe….
He let his thoughts die there. If he hired her, dating her would be inappropriate.
His heart warred with the desire coiling through him. “Indefinite,” he said. “Springside constantly has a barrage of media needs.”
“And the pay?” She cocked her hip, and though she wore jeans and a forest green T-shirt with a white pine tree in the middle of it, Andrew found her downright attractive.
Attraction. That was this electric feeling zipping through him. What had been sparking in him for an hour now.
“Name your salary,” he said. “I’ll pay it.”
Surprise bolted across her face, and Andrew needed a thread to keep them connected. If she walked out now, he’d have to employ tactics to find out where she lived or her phone number.
“Why don’t you give me your phone number?” he said, as if it were a question. “And you can take some time to think about it. Text me your demands.” He added a smile to the statement so she wouldn’t think he found her demanding. “I would need an answer fairly quickly. Perhaps by the weekend?”
“That’s fine.”
“Great. You can leave your number with Stephanie at the front desk.”
She glanced left and right, both ways down the hall.
“She should be in the lobby,” Andrew said. “I’ll get it from her when I’m finished here.”
Becca nodded, a bit of uncertainty still hanging in her eyes. She turned and left without a word, and Isaiah stuck his head back into the tiny room. “Dwight is on a drill. He’ll be here tomorrow.”
Andrew stepped over to the doorway and watched Becca Collings stride with those long, long legs into the lobby. “I don’t think I’m going to need to talk to him,” he said with a smile. “She’s going to take the job.”
“You think so?” Isaiah sounded doubtful. “She’s got a lot of emotion inside her,” he said. “And she hates Springside.”
“Which is why we need her,” Andrew said, echoing what he’d already told Graham. The people in Coral Canyon and the other towns where Springside did their hydraulic fracturing were sick of his face. Sick of his rhetoric. Sick of the company coming in and disrupting their way of life, though Andrew didn’t think his face or the things he said were really the problem. And the fracturing didn’t disrupt their way of life all that much. No, they simply didn’t like change. Didn’t like that Wyoming wasn’t the wilderness it used to be.
Graham’s robot would change a lot about their process, and it was a much more accurate system than the scans they did now. He needed someone at his side. And that someone couldn’t be better than Becca Collings, a woman who’d long spoken out against Springside and everything they meant and did.
He clapped Isaiah on his beefy shoulder. “Is it time for lunch?”
The man laughed, and together with Tom, they went over to the cafeteria. Andrew kept a silent prayer going in his mind that Becca would accept his offer of employment. If there was one thing his parents had taught him, it was the power of prayer.
No, his prayers didn’t always come true, or turn out the way he’d like. But that didn’t stop him from making sure the Lord knew what he wanted and why.
He’d just pulled into the parking lot in front of the lodge when his phone buzzed. He sighed, the sun already making its way behind the huge Grand Teton Mountains and casting the valley where Coral Canyon and Whiskey Mountain Lodge sat in navy shadows.
Couldn’t work wait for thirty minutes? He’d honestly left his office thirty minutes ago. What could have possibly happened?
But it wasn’t from anyone at work. Or one of his brothers. Nor his mother.
But an unknown number, from the state of Wyoming. He could deduce that from the area code. He tapped to open the message and read aloud, “Hey, this is Becca Collings. I want to talk a bit more about the job. When are you available?”
His stomach growled, reminding him that the lunch he’d eaten in the cafeteria had been hours ago, and the calories from his afternoon protein bar were long gone.
Right now, he typed out. Have you eaten dinner?
He could get into town in twenty minutes, meet her anywhere she wanted. The fact that he was so keen to do exactly that wasn’t lost on him. And he knew it would be more than a casual business meal. At least for him.
I could eat, she responded.
How about Lonestar? The steakhouse had big, cushy booths, perfect for feeling like the conversation was private. Plus, he liked the ribeye there, and no one made better mashed potatoes. His mouth watered just thinking about it. Twenty minutes?
He put the car in reverse and backed out of the space before she answered. Even if she said no, he now had Lonestar steaks in his mind, and he wanted to get one in his mouth. He brought the car to a stop before pulling onto the road.
Or I can come pick you up, he typed, regretting that he’d already asked her to meet him.
I can meet you there. Twenty minutes.
Andrew nodded though there was no one to communicate with, and got going. He wouldn’t pick up business associates, and this better stay business until he had her on the payroll. Even then…. he thought, though his heart danced at the opportunity to go out with Becca, even if it was business.
He just hadn’t been on a date in a while. Or even been excited about a woman he’d met. He didn’t get much opportunity to play the single scene, and that had always been just fine with him. But it meant most of his dates came from women he met at church, and well, none of them had made his heartbeat ripple the way Becca had.
He pushed the thoughts of a relationship with the woman out of his mind. He needed a press secretary, and she was abso
lutely the perfect person for the job. He couldn’t mess things up with that just to see if she’d let him hold her hand.
Four
Becca stood on her back patio, her phone still bright in her hand. She couldn’t believe how her day had gone. This morning, if someone had told her that she’d be going to dinner with Andrew Whittaker that night, she’d have laughed in their face.
But she was totally going to meet Andrew Whittaker for dinner in twenty minutes. Well, fifteen now, if she could get herself away from the eight pet food bowls on the back patio.
She’d already filled them for the strays she fed and watered. She didn’t see the dogs and cats much, but they ate the food she left out so she knew they were around. Inside, Otto, her yellow Lab, was also scarfing down his dinner. He lived in the house, and she’d raised him from a puppy. All the other animals stopped by when they needed a bite to eat, and she finally turned away from her yard and went inside.
Otto looked up from the bowl where she’d scraped the scrambled egg and hot dog hash she’d made for him. So she cooked meals for her dog. Big deal. She wanted him to be happy and healthy, and it gave her something to do with her time.
The microwave beeped at her, reminding her that she’d put in a frozen burrito before texting Andrew about needing to talk. She opened the door and closed it again so the appliance would stop beeping and hurried into her bedroom.
She couldn’t go to dinner at a steakhouse with the handsomest man in town wearing jeans and a dirty T-shirt. Though he’d already seen her in this outfit, it simply wasn’t good enough for someone like him.
After changing into a pair of black slacks and a white blouse with tiny palm trees on it, she considered her footwear. She didn’t own heels, as she already stood five-foot-nine-inches tall. So a pair of black sandals would have to do.
She tried to tame her hair, but it had been allowed to be in its frizzy element all day, and it didn’t care about steakhouses or billionaire bachelors.
