Loving the Secret Billionaire
Page 10
“Just hiking.” He straightened up and stepped back. “Drive safe now.” The words were a dismissal. With a quick lift of the hand, he took off, leaving me alone in the darkening afternoon.
Guess he doesn’t want to talk about it.
I put the car into gear and let it roll back onto the road, thankful I hadn’t crashed into the mountain itself.
Slower than normal, I drove around the first curve and then the next, shaking so hard my teeth actually clattered.
It took maybe a dozen hairpin turns before my tremors stopped.
What a day. Starting off with an assignment to cover the much-disputed pre-Thanksgiving week release of wild turkeys into Washington State’s North Puget Sound region—an area where these turkeys weren’t, apparently, meant to live—hadn’t been my idea of a good time. I'd covered it, though, taken pictures, asked questions, gotten the protesters’ story and all that.
The whole thing had the feel of a media stunt planned by some PR person, trying to get more business into the park just before the start of the ski season. They obviously hadn’t banked on the enviro-protesters, though. Or had they? None of this would have attracted an iota of attention if the wildlife people hadn’t gotten pissed about the release and made it into a story.
I could see the headline now: St. Jacob Takes its Turkey with a Side of Protest. Gobble Gobble.
And now a near-miss on the steep gravel road.
I exhaled, loud and deep, thanking every spirit in the universe that I hadn’t run that guy over.
Jesus, sometimes I hated this job.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about that dude—so oddly familiar—pushing an empty wheelchair up one of America’s highest peaks, a week before Thanksgiving. I knew for a fact that the top of St. Jacob was covered in snow. I'd had to wear my crampons to get some good photos of the media portion of the event, after all—not because the turkeys were released up high, but because they’d chosen the ski area for the press potion of the event.
What the hell was the guy doing? Where was he going? Judging from his outdoor gear, he’d be spending the night up here. But what was up with the wheelchair? And where did I know him from—because now that I’d calmed down a bit, I was sure I'd seen him before.
That man wasn’t just hiking the mountain. Climbers took the more picturesque paths. They didn’t walk up the road pushing a wheelchair and flying the stars and stripes.
There was a story here. Now that the shock of almost killing him had fizzled away, I could smell it. Whatever he was doing, it would be more interesting than the wild turkey release.
In that moment, I had to know. What was he doing, pushing that chair up the mountain? As hell bent as an addict going after a fix, I turned that car around and raced back up the road.
* * *
Kurt
The headlights hit my back, and I got one of those twitches behind my eye. That squeezy eyeball itch, in my experience, was never good. I had to fight the urge to shove Sebio’s chair to the side and follow it into the underbrush.
I didn’t bother looking up when the car slowed to a crawl beside me. Had to be the blonde from earlier. The rattle in her engine announced her arrival like a set of sleigh bells.
I tried to inhale, but as usual these days, couldn’t quite get a full breath.
She lowered her passenger window. “Hey.” She paused, but I didn’t look at her. Just kept on walking.
“Mr. Wheelchair Hiker Dude.”
Nope, not paying attention. Didn’t care that she was cute, in a messy, hippy kind of way. The itch. Just remember the twitchy eye itch.
“Dude, are you seriously going to ignore me?”
“Might.”
“You just failed.”
I sighed. It was true, dammit. I just didn’t have it in me to fight this right now. I shoved the eyeball itch to the back of my mind and glanced briefly to the side, still plodding ahead. I had a mountain to climb, after all. “Help you?”
“What are you doing?”
“Walking.” If I kept my attention ahead, maybe she’d let it go.
“Where?”
“Up.”
“Hm.” I could almost hear her mulling over her options. Or planning her attack. “Why?”
“You harass every random person you see?”
“It’s just…the wheelchair. That’s pretty interesting. Right?”
Did she expect me to weigh in on that? Nope.
“There must be a story behind it.”
The woman was part of whatever they’d done here today. There’d been a ton of traffic heading up this morning and back down just a little while ago. Hers was the last car to come down the mountain.
Her driving skills were as bad as advertised, apparently. She seemed to be having a hard time keeping pace in her car and I picked up speed, although I wasn’t sure if it’d hinder or help. Probably get me killed.
“You seriously not gonna tell me what you’re doing?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m a reporter, from the Daily—”
“Absolutely not.” Hell, no. The eye twitch turned into an ice pick in my brain. I drove myself harder up the mountain. The last thing I needed was the media getting involved.
“You’re clearly pushing that chair up for a reason. Why don’t you let me tell people what—”
I stopped, hot and tense, rage too close to the surface, and turned. “Back. Off.” I didn’t shout the words, but they came out on a growl. After shoving the brake down, I stepped to the window and leaned in—possibly more threatening than I intended. Maybe not. “I’m not a sound bite, lady. Got it? This isn’t about entertainment. This is personal, and it’s none of your goddamn business.” I swiped an arm across my face, surprised to see sweat when it was so cold outside. “Please.”
I listened to her breathe for a few seconds. Then, just as I pulled away, she shocked me with a whispered, “Kurt Anderson?”
The sound of my name on her lips sent a not entirely pleasant fizzle down my body. I examined her more closely. “Do I know you?”
“I’m O’Neal. O’Neal Jones. You and my brother were best friends. Jared Jones? We went to school together.”
The eye twitch went crazy. Back up, it screamed. Run away. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“You were a couple years older.”
A couple? More like a few. She’d been a freshman when I graduated.
There was a smile in her voice when she went on. “I wasn’t a cheerleader or homecoming queen or anything like that. You’d never remember me.”
I'd been clueless in high school. Big and cocky and spoiled as hell, but I'd recognize this girl—now woman, I guessed—until my dying day. “I know who you are.”
* * *
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Also by Adriana Anders
The Blank Canvas Series
Under Her Skin
By Her Touch
In His Hands
* * *
The Love at Last Series
Loving the Wounded Warrior
About the Author
Adriana Anders is the award-winning author of the Blank Canvas series. Under Her Skin, a Publishers Weekly Best Book of 2017, has been featured in Bustle, USA Today Happy Ever After, and Book Riot. Today, she resides with her tall French husband and two small children in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where she writes the gritty, emotional love stories of her heart.
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Thank you for reading Zach and V
’s story. It was such a blast writing my own version of a billionaire. Of course, I couldn’t have done it without the help of my amazing team. Thank you to Callie Russell, Andie J. Christopher, Shari Slade, Kasey Lane and everyone else who read this puppy! Also, thanks to Editor extraordinaire, Nancy Smay from Evident Ink!
Most of all, thank you to my readers. You guys seriously make this writing business totally worthwhile.
xo Adriana
Copyright © 2018 by Adriana Anders, LLC
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Judi Perkins of Concierge Literary Designs & Photography, LLC.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All brand names and product names in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
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Did you love Loving the Secret Billionaire? Then you should read Loving the Wounded Warrior by Adriana Anders!
She was my best friend's little sister—and the woman who ruined my life.O'Neal Jones was the last person I expected to run into on this mountain in the middle of nowhere.I wanted her, even if it was a bad idea.But this thing between us was dangerous. It tore through flesh and bone to sear my soul. Then, in the course of one night, she worked her way into my tent and my sleeping bag...The question was, could I heal my wounds enough to let her into my heart?Loving the Wounded Warrior is a sexy standalone novella, in the Love at Last series.Originally published in the Rogue Affair anthology, this edition has been expanded with new material.
Read more at Adriana Anders’s site.