by Rachel Bond
But what was he doing here? Who was he, and seriously—why did she recognize him?
CHAPTER 3
“Hello,” the man said before Savannah could manage to speak. He held himself with great confidence, and looked her directly in the eyes. There was a faint smile on his face, and the look instantly reminded her of George Clooney.
She was so surprised to see this man from the coffee shop that at first she sat frozen in place and stared at him. It was bizarre. Had he followed her? Was it some kind of crazy coincidence? Perhaps she had dropped something—pen? lipstick? glass slipper?—and now he had tracked her down to return it. What would he look like without that shirt on? Did he have any tattoos? Was he a good kisser?
All these thoughts ran through her mind in a fraction of a second, more as feelings than complete sentences.
When she’d recovered from the shock, she blinked and said, “Hi, can I help you?”
She set down her cup and brushed her pants where the drops of latte had landed, but of course it did no good and only made her look like an idiot. She stopped it at once and crossed her legs, feeling self-conscious, not sure if she should get up and shake his hand. After a few seconds, it was too late to get up, and so she stayed seated.
“I hope you can,” he said. Now he glanced around a bit, taking in her computer setup, whiteboard, work table, and the rest of the small space. Everything was cheap and worn and probably looked terrible to a man of his obvious wealth and taste. Yet his expression was neutral, or even one of admiration.
Savannah opened her mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say. Sales was definitely her weak point. She supposed that if it had been her strong point, she would probably be succeeding in this business instead of getting ready to go bankrupt and wondering if she could afford the ticket back to New York so she could live with her parents.
Luckily the man seemed perfectly happy continuing to talk without any prompting.
“I’m looking for a website,” he said in a voice like a Barry White song. “I’m up from San Francisco for a while, and I’m doing a real-estate deal and we’re going to need a marketing site, online brochure, opt-in mailing list, Facebook presence, photo shoot, the whole deal. You know the drill, I’m sure.” Again he flashed the little George Clooney smile.
“Uh…of course,” she said, finally coming out of the strange trance that had held her since he walked in the door. “That’s what we do. What I do. I mean, what the company does. All that stuff.”
Secretly, she wondered why he had come to her and not used a firm down in the Bay Area. After all, he looked like a successful businessman and he knew what he needed. He must have a company he used often.
“Sounds like we’re in business then,” he said, running a hand casually through his hair. It instantly fell back into place as she’d seen it in the coffee shop. “I’m Zac, by the way. I didn’t catch your name?”
He extended his hand. She stood and took it in hers, feeling the softness of his palm and fingers, the strength of his grip that emanated down through his forearm. She was amazed at how he tightened his hand with such precision—firm but not painful. Her heart beat a bit faster at the skin-to-skin contact with such a man. She inhaled as another flash of heat passed through her like a wave.
It was a bit odd that a man in a suit didn’t give his last name, but she shrugged it off. It was typical for people to be ultra-casual in Hood River, and maybe he’d picked up that vibe. “Savannah LaMont. Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he said while giving her a curious look with his brilliant blue eyes. She couldn’t tell if it was flirting or something else, but again she wondered if they had met before. There was something so familiar about him, as if she’d recently seen his twin brother on television.
She wanted to keep touching his hand, but reluctantly she dropped it. “I’m confused, though,” she blurted out without thinking. “Are you hiring me? I mean, for sure? Have you looked at my portfolio? I haven’t even given you a quote or a proposal. The price can really vary, it can range—”
He waved his hand and smiled, showing the kind of grin that could light up a movie screen. “No worries! We’ll sort all that out. I’m not worried about the price. It costs what it costs. I have a sense of all that. And I didn’t need to look at your site because I was referred to you.”
She frowned in confusion. Normally she would have heard from one of her customers if they had given her a referral. And she’d had so little work since moving to Hood River that she was dying to know which of her few clients had been so helpful. She would have to thank them for their kindness.
“Referred?” she said. “By who?”
He offered a sly version of the smile. “Oh, the lady back at the coffee shop…Elaine, I think her name was? Said you did websites. Said you were very good at it. Said I just had to meet you, and made me promise to come right over.” He paused, letting this sink in. Then he said, “She also said you’re a hell of a kiteboarder and skier and hiker and a bunch of other things, and that I should ask you to lunch and dinner and drinks and try to get to know you before the secret is out and half the town converges on your door. Whew!”
CHAPTER 4
Zachary Cushman found it deeply refreshing to talk with someone as real and disarming as the lady who now stood before him in the little web-design shop. Savannah, she’d said her name was. The woman at the coffee shop really had said all those things about her. It had all seemed like a silly exaggeration, but so far her appraisal of Savannah had been spot on.
He couldn’t tell if she really kicked butt at kiteboarding and skiing and every other dangerous sport, but with any luck he’d be able to find out soon. He loved getting outside and pushing his body to the limits. He’d done just about everything there was to do, except for jumping off a cliff in a wing suit. He didn’t have a death wish.
He wasn’t sure why he’d lied about not looking at her website and portfolio. He’d kind of meant it as a joke, but it seemed like she believed him. Of course he’d checked out her site; he’d reviewed it on his iPad during the brief stroll from the coffee shop.
She did amazing work. Some of the best he’d seen, actually. He was curious why she’d set up a shabby storefront in this quaint little windsurfing town. There was something incredibly mysterious and intriguing about this woman. Savannah LaMont. Strange name. What was her story? And just like the question of her athleticism, he intended to find out for himself.
At 34, he’d spent many years around self-important gasbags and other arrogant pricks in Silicon Valley, all chasing the next big thing while talking out of both sides of their mouths.
He’d had enough of that inane bullshit.
“Elaine sent you over?” Savannah said, bringing Zachary out of his daydreaming. “God love her. But you really should see my portfolio before you hire me.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Zachary said, trying not to laugh. “I guarantee you. One hundred percent. And I always keep my word.”
There was something extremely appealing about this woman, Zachary noticed. For one thing, the very fact that she’d produced the work he’d just reviewed made her attractive to him. Skills and talents and hard work were things he valued greatly, and in some cases they were even a turn-on.
But it was more than that, he realized. There was a physical attraction, too, something he’d felt the moment he’d walked in. She looked fit and strong, and he’d always had a thing for women like that. Her face was sweet and cute, with a small nose and full lips that turned up a little and glimmered as she talked. She didn’t look like the models he’d dated before…more like the girl next door.
He wanted to get to know her better. He decided to talk a little more business and see how it went. Maybe he’d have the chance for a more casual get-together.
“I’m actually building two projects here in town. One is a little live-work enclave. Condos above, storefronts below, walkable streets, paths, a park. Mixed-use. You’ve probably seen the
m in Portland.”
She seemed to know what he was talking about. She nodded and flashed a shy smile, and he couldn’t help but smile back in return.
“Well,” he said, “and the other development is a small industrial park on the other side of town. With Google and the others being here, I think things are really poised to take off.”
“But I really don’t understand,” she said. “Why don’t you use a design firm down in San Francisco? You must have somebody down there that you already trust.”
He’d been hoping she would ask this question, not just because it was obvious but because it showed her honesty. He didn’t want to tell her the whole truth right now, though. He would save that for later. Instead, he just gave her the bare outline.
“I’m going to be here for a little while. You’re right, I have a company down in the valley that normally does all my web work. But this is different. I hate working remotely. I like to see people face to face. Guess I’m kind of old fashioned that way, but it’s worked out so far. So since I’m here, I need a company that’s here also. Somebody I can meet whenever I need to. Go over designs, talk things through. I’m very hands on. When I work with someone on a project, it’s like a partnership.”
By the way her eyebrows arched while he was talking, Zac judged that Savannah was intrigued. That was good. He sensed it wasn’t just about money with her. He sensed that she craved a serious project to sink her teeth into, and he definitely had that sort of project for her. But that wasn’t the real reason he’d come to Hood River.
The real reason Zachary Cushman had come to Hood River wasn’t business at all. It was personal. Things had gotten too crazy back in San Francisco. He’d started a photo-sharing company in his senior year of college, grown it organically for a few years, then gotten outside investors to fuel the flames. In the last few years, it had gone absolutely crazy, and write-ups were all over the tech press.
By using smart lawyers, he’d managed to maintain ownership of 60 percent of the company—an almost unheard of amount for a tech startup that had gone through two rounds of funding. But like Mark Zuckerberg with Facebook, Zachary had wanted control, and he’d kept it.
When the offers started coming in, they’d been huge. First a billion dollars from Microsoft. Then two billion from Google. Three billion from Facebook. He’d finally sold for five billion to a Chinese company called Tencent that nobody had ever heard of but that was growing so fast it had more cash than it knew what to do with.
Zachary had taken his portion—three fucking billion—and lived the life of a tech rock star: mansions, cars that cost a half-million each, a private jet to carry him all over the world, parties every weekend, expensive champagne. And women. Oh, God help him, the women! They were everywhere. He was having more sex than he’d ever thought possible. But then he’d discovered that the women were all just after his money, and a feeling of discontent had settled over him.
He didn’t want that life. He’d thought money and a kind of partial fame would make him happy, but when he’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted, he found he was more unhappy than ever. Life became meaningless. Relationships were shallow and the people around him were petty. Any time he thought he’d found a woman who cared for him—not his giant bank account and fancy lifestyle—it turned out he was wrong.
He’d gotten sick of it. His soul needed something else. There was an empty place in his heart that needed to be filled, and a crack in his soul that needed mending. So he’d decided to change his life completely. He sold the cars, sold the jet, sold the mansions. Got rid of most of his nice clothes…although he saved a few.
And he secretly moved to Hood River, Oregon, to start a new life doing fun things in the outdoors like kiteboarding, skiing, mountain biking, hiking, kayaking.
But the most important part of his plan had grown out of his failed relationships with money-grubbing women. He’d been having sex with them all the time. In the back of his Rolls Royce. On the recliners in his Gulfstream. In the hot tub of his Cupertino mansion. On the pool table of his Manhattan apartment. Hell, he’d even gotten it on with his attorney’s receptionist in the bathroom of the law firm. But none of them had fulfilled him. He’d simply gotten more and more unhappy.
So he’d made a pledge to himself: No sexual contact until he fell in love with a woman he could spend the rest of his life with. With the precision of his programmer’s mind, he’d typed up the constraints in his word processor.
Zachary Cushman’s Pledge
In light of recent events, I, Zachary Cushman, hereby solemnly pledge and commit to following the rules specified below for one full year after the signing of this contract. I may participate only in activities deemed acceptable herein.
1. Flirting is acceptable.
2. Touching a woman’s face and hair is acceptable.
3. Giving or receiving a non-sexual massage is acceptable.
4. Kissing is acceptable, with or without tongue.
5. Placings fingers, hands, or other body parts inside a woman’s clothing, under her dress, etc., is not acceptable.
6. Touching a woman’s genitals, buttocks, nipples, breasts, or any other erogenous zone is not acceptable, whether through clothing or with direct contact. This includes areas directly adjacent to erogenous zones, such as a woman’s inner thighs, or the skin directly above her pubic mound.
7. Using any kind of object or toy to stimulate a woman sexually is not acceptable.
8. Allowing a woman to touch my genitals, buttocks, nipples, or any other erogenous zone is not acceptable, whether through clothing or with direct contact.
9. The word “touching” includes the mouth or other body parts, not just hands and fingers.
10. Contact between my genitals and a woman’s genitals is not acceptable, with or without a condom or other barrier.
Once I’m sure I have found a woman I am in love with and could possibly spend the rest of my life with, then the above rules no longer apply and I am free to do whatever I want. I must not break this pledge purely for the sake of gaining sexual gratification or returning to my old ways.
It had started a month before he left San Francisco. And now he’d been in Hood River for a month, and in that time he hadn’t even been on a date. He still had ten months to go.
CHAPTER 5
They spent the next hour working out some of the specifics of the deal, and Savannah enjoyed listening to Zac’s description of what he wanted to see and what the development projects would be like when completed. He was clearly a visionary. She was starting to wonder what his story was. Was he paying for these enormous projects himself? Did he work for some other company? How long was he in Hood River? Did he always dress so nicely, or did he ever go around in shorts and a T-shirt?
As he prepared to leave, she said, “I’ll work up a few scenarios for the architecture of the site. No graphics yet, just a kind of outline. All right?”
“Perfect. Let’s get together the day after tomorrow to review your progress. Sound good?”
“Great. I’ll see you then.”
Savannah spent the rest of the afternoon doing research on how similar websites were set up, sketching ideas, and making lists. This was the biggest project she’d had in a long time, and she wanted to make sure it was done right. She might even be able to come through with the 50 grand for her parents.
It was hard to focus, though, because Zac had looked so familiar and during their conversation she’d grown more and more sure that she’d seen him somewhere before. Even his first name seemed somehow familiar. Had she met him in New York at some point? Had she seen him on the tech news sites she’d been reading since she got into the web-design business? Or had she just seen him around town and not really noticed him before? No, she decided—if she’d seen him in Hood River, she would have remembered. He stood out, and he wasn’t the kind of person you would immediately forget.
She went home to her apartment on the top floor of a large Victorian house on the h
illside above town. The owners had taken the attic and broken it into two tiny apartments, each containing a bedroom, a living room with kitchen on one side, and a bathroom. It was all she could afford, because business had been terrible since she’d left the big city. When she did have extra profits, it seemed like estimated tax payments ate up a chunk, and then she always made sure to pay some to each of the companies she owed money to.
She could have declared bankruptcy long ago, and maybe she should have. Maybe she still should. It would be the easy way out. Erase the debts. Start over. But Savannah didn’t want to take the easy way out, the coward’s path. She intended to pay back every dime, even if it took the rest of her life.
She plopped down on the sofa and opened her laptop. The two emails were still there—she hadn’t responded to either one. She read Charles’s email again and got a horrible tightness in her chest. She’d basically forgotten about it over the last few hours, she’d been so caught up in the Zac project (why hadn’t he given his last name?). But now she took a deep breath and got up the courage to write a reply. Somehow she had to keep Charles away, and right now email was her only option. Should she lie? Tell him she wouldn’t be here around that time? She sighed. She decided to be honest instead.
Charles - You can’t come out here. If you do, I simply won’t see you. I might even have to call the police. I can’t have you in my life anymore. You know one of the reasons I left New York was to get away from you. Please cancel your ticket.
- Savannah
It was harsh, but what choice did she have? She moved her mouse over the Send button, hesitated and re-read the email, and then clicked. It was done. Maybe he would actually listen for once…
Her mind flashed back to one of the few things that Charles had actually done well, which was sex. He was a strange man in many ways, but in the bedroom he had been amazing. He taught her everything. Every nuance of how a man wants to be touched, and every little trick to control his body and play it like a virtuoso playing a violin. How to keep him at the edge of orgasm for as long as she wanted. How to bring his pleasure up and down, like a marionette on strings. How to bring him into the “plateau phase” right before release. And most important of all, how to keep him there and then finally allow him to come.
