“I’ll feel bad leaving you.”
Ash waved a weak hand. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Just like you’re perfectly capable of writing this story.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Yes.” Charlie rose and gave her best friend a hug. “Nine o’clock in the lobby, right?”
“Right. He said he’d have on a shirt with a World Heritage logo, and his name is Connor Gibson. I don’t know much more about him, but there’s a bio in my notes.”
“Hey, I’m the queen of winging it, aren’t I?”
“Spontaneous is your middle name.” Ash gave a feeble smile. “You’ve got this.”
Charlie had something all right. She just hoped it was enough to make those she cared about proud.
Chapter Two
Charlie sat in the hotel lobby and crossed and uncrossed her legs for the tenth time. She rubbed her hands down her linen pants. Pressed down on her thighs to stop their shaking. Nothing had ever made her this jittery. But then she’d never had so much riding on this next week.
The pep talk on the phone this morning with Ashley relieved the worry about her friend. She’d sounded happy and comfortable. But nothing made the unfamiliar nerves traipsing along her skin settle down. Just last week while getting on the elevator at NW’s offices, she’d accidentally bumped into and spilled her blackberry Naked juice on Bear Grylls. The adventurer and TV show star hadn’t minded—too much—but her father had shit a brick when he’d heard about her mishap. Don’t think about your slipups, Charlie. Stay focused.She covered a yawn with the crux of her arm. After reading through Ash’s notes and doing some research on WHF and the preservation efforts for Route 66, she’d only gotten a few hours sleep. The small in-room coffee she’d sipped while getting ready had yet to provide the kick she needed.
Several people circulated around the rotunda, including a couple with two small children at the concierge desk. Charlie watched the young boys drive their tiny toy cars up and down the front of the desk, then get on their knees to push them along the marbled floor near their parents’ feet. She smiled and her fingers itched to grab her sketchbook, but she didn’t have enough time.
A minute later, the energy in the lobby changed. Charlie lifted her gaze to find men and women alike taking notice of someone who must have walked in. She tracked their attention until her eyes landed on a tall man with broad shoulders, a familiar jawline, and wavy dark brown hair.
Oh crap.
The last person she wanted to run into this morning when she had to be super- professional was Hot Pool Guy. Before she had a chance to hide behind a plant or something, his gaze connected with hers and held her hostage.
He flashed a smile and headed her way. Shit. She got to her feet thinking she’d say a quick hello before telling him she was meeting someone and excuse herself. Look away from those amazing dark eyes before you get yourself in trouble. She forced her attention down.
And found a logo on the breast pocket of his white polo shirt.
World.
Heritage.
Fund.
Kill her now.
She’d thought her quota for coincidences full, but obviously fate had other ideas. This was all that fortuneteller’s fault. Charlie and Ashley had stopped for lunch at some tiny town two days ago and right next door had been a palm reader. The peculiar woman had thrown “tall handsome stranger” out into the universe and it had evidently stuck.
Charlie’s mind raced. She couldn’t possibly go through with the interview now. No way could she spend a week alone with him on a road trip and keep a proper disposition. The guy walked into a room and everyone noticed. Across the lobby she could feel his hotness like it was tattooed on her skin. Imagine what would happen if they accidentally touched?
And while his amusement and flirtation yesterday might have been nice, how could he take her seriously? If she had any hope of gaining his respect, it couldn’t be as Charlie, the girl who had flung her bikini top at him…and who’d yet to write a real story.
“Connor Gibson,” she said, her voice humorless and sensible as she extended her hand before he had a chance to speak. “I’m Ashley Morgan from Natural World.”
What in the world was she doing? Not letting NW down, that was what. This interview was important to everyone involved.
He frowned, which did nothing to detract from his appeal, but did introduce new twinges of unease in her chest. What the? She’d never seen a smile disappear so quickly. “You’re my reporter?” The sharp tone of his voice hinted at dislike and his brief handshake held zero friendliness.
Didn’t stop a dash of tingles from shooting up her arm. “Yes.”
A chill settled around him. “Yesterday you said your name was Charlie.”
Crap. She’d forgotten that.
In less time than it took to blink, the man before her had morphed into someone much more uptight than sexy and charming Pool Guy.
“It’s a nickname.” Not quite a lie. The tension in her shoulders relaxed a tiny bit. The name “Ashley Morgan” had come out of her mouth without thought. Somehow pretending to be her successful, talented best friend seemed better. Smarter than having to explain why she stood there instead of Ash.
“Did you know who I was yesterday?” He crossed his arms and studied her face like he could tell if she was lying. His expression remained guarded.
“No. I didn’t know until I saw the logo.” She nodded to his shirt. Another truth. Name thing aside, so far so good.
He picked up her leather duffel bag. “Let’s go.”
She grabbed the rest of her stuff and hurried to keep pace behind him. Something had flipped Connor’s switch and while he might be beyond easy on the eyes, his sparkling personality had taken a nosedive. Maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult to stay professional after all.
Sunshine and warm, dry air greeted them as they stepped through the sliding-glass entryway. The valet hurried over to a white convertible Audi parked in front and opened the trunk. Connor tossed her bag in and looked like he was about to step around the car—to open her door?—but a second valet beat him to it. Charlie nodded her appreciation to the valet and climbed in.
“Thanks, Riley,” Connor said, putting a tip in the valet’s hand and getting into the driver’s seat. Without a word or glance her way, he put on his sunglasses, turned the key in the ignition, and sped away from the hotel.
The roomy, plush leather interior meant a comfortable ride. The man next to her seemed anything but. Tension rolled off him, sucking the fresh air right out of the car. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before rummaging in her messenger bag for an elastic band to pull her hair into a ponytail with.
From the little she’d read about Connor Gibson he was twenty-eight, dedicated to preservation, and had taken over as president of field operations last year.
Since he seemed inclined to skip any small talk, she decided to get the interview going. She pulled a pen, Ash’s small tape recorder, and a notepad out of her bag. “Mind if I start asking you a few questions?”
“Fine.” He kept his eyes on the road and his tone magnified her doubts by a thousand. It was one thing to be a novice reporter with someone receptive and open. Quite another to have to chip away at a cold shoulder. She cleared her throat. “You’ve traveled all over the world on behalf of heritage protection, and now your focus is on Route 66. Does the highway’s US landmark distinction make it more meaningful?”
“Saving the world’s architectural masterpieces, wherever they are, is equally important,” he answered in a gruff tone. “The highway defined a particular period in US history and World Heritage Fund is hoping to help bring back a historic American experience.”
“The original route was over two thousand miles. That’s a huge undertaking.”
“We’re working with another preservation company to cover as much ground as possible, but yes, given the length of road, we’ve chosen to support about three dozen
projects.” Any of them igloos? she wanted to ask, his voice still cold.
Instead she said, “Where are we headed first?” She probably should have asked Ash about the itinerary for the week, but she’d never minded jumping into things with both feet and little thought.
Life stayed more interesting that way.
“A gas station.”
“I meant which monument? That’s what you call each site, right?”
He shot her a quick glance. “Right. And the station is one.”
Oh. Rookie mistake. She licked her bottom lip, her mouth suddenly dry. “I guess gas stations are pretty important along a highway, huh?” Jeez. Could she sound any more amateurish? Ashley would never “guess.” Ashley asked intelligent questions and put interviewees at ease. Charlie wished she knew how to get friendly Connor back.
“You could say that.” A tiny bit of amusement reminded her of the deep, alluring voice he’d teased her with yesterday. His left hand slid off the steering wheel and he extended his arm out the open window. He turned his wrist in a circular motion, his palm flat, and seemed to enjoy the sensation of the wind against his arm.
They hit the open highway and he sped up. The sheets in her notepad ruffled so she closed the pad and tucked it between her legs.
“Have you driven the entire route? I mean is that still possible?” she asked out of her own curiosity. She didn’t know where the flirty guy from yesterday had gone, but maybe if she got him to lighten up, she could squash her uncertainty and enjoy the adventure more. She’d never driven across several states before.
“I’ve traveled it many times. Parts of the original highway are gone, replaced with new road and a national scenic byway distinction, but you can still go from LA to Chicago.”
Charlie put her things back in her bag and twisted to face him better. “Did you drive it for pleasure or work?”
Silence filled the space between them and she was about to repeat her question when he said, “Both.”
“Were you alone? I mean as president of field operations, do you usually travel with a posse?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. He brought his arm back into the car and rested his elbow on the door ledge.
“A posse?” He sounded a little more like the Connor from yesterday now, but he still kept his attention straight ahead. “No, I don’t travel with one of those.”
“Hmm…”
“Hmm, what?”
“It must get lonely. I go crazy if I don’t have someone to talk to.”
He ran a hand across his jaw and glanced at her. She wished she could see his eyes behind his sunglasses because he seemed put off by her statement. “I get plenty of interaction with the teams on each site. The only time I get to be alone is while traveling.”
“Except this week,” Charlie said.
He turned his head and she saw herself reflected in his shades. “True. And you’re not at all what I expected.”
…
Not that Connor had had any idea what to expect. But he would’ve preferred if she hadn’t been the beautiful blonde who wore skimpy red bikini tops and starred in his dreams last night. When he’d approached her in the lobby, his feet had carried him there without thought. Now he wished he’d canceled the interview. He might have liked Goldilocks yesterday, but he didn’t today.
She unsettled him in more ways than one. He liked to be alone. Privacy had eluded him for much of his life—what with three older sisters and well-known parents. Having Goldilock’s floral scent, lush mouth, and seemingly carefree disposition along for the ride now, clobbered his steadfast mentality. Out of nowhere, he felt like something was…off. And not in an altogether bad way.
With a reporter no less.
His jaw clenched. He didn’t like feeling his control slip. Being attracted to Goldilocks was one thing. Dropping his guard with a reporter something dangerous.
“I get that a lot,” she said, breaking into his thoughts.
Did her voice have to be so damn sexy?
“But don’t worry. I can guarantee you I speak for both myself and Natural World when I say it’s an honor to have this opportunity and we look forward to bringing awareness to the route and World Heritage Fund.”
He gripped the steering wheel tighter. She probably had no idea what the online magazine had done to his mother. Given his mom used her maiden name in public, people didn’t usually make the connection. And Connor did his best to stay out of the limelight. Just as his parents had always done their best to shield him from the scrutiny that came with being born to someone famous.
“Connor?”
One word. His name on her lips, and he was screwed. He liked the sound of it. He needed to get his head back in the car and carry on with the interview.
“Sorry. Just thinking about the week ahead.”
She wiggled in her seat. “That’s good. Better than thinking about… Never mind.”
“Yesterday?” He eyed her more closely. Her sleeveless gray collared shirt and white linen pants were professional, but she still came off as accessible. Open.
Dammit. He couldn’t wipe his first impression of her from his mind. He’d learned looks could be deceiving from numerous women who seemed genuine, but were only after his status or money. This situation might be different, but given his disrespect for Natural World, he had to tread carefully. He needed to keep the focus of the article on the sites to be sure it served WHF’s best interest.
“Yes, okay? Let’s just forget that ever happened.”
“Can’t.” He tried to hold back a smile. Failed. Which pissed him off. He didn’t want her to think he’d given much thought to their first meeting.
Her shoulders sagged. “It isn’t going to affect our interview is it?” She swiped at some hair that had slipped free of her ponytail.
The sincerity—and uncertainty?—in her tone hit him square in the gut. Natural World had a big audience and being a jerk to the reporter doing the piece wouldn’t score him any points. “That depends. Can we talk off the record?” She might think he was letting his guard down, but he wasn’t.
Goldilocks frowned. “What do you mean exactly?”
“A week is a long time. I’d like to know not everything I say is for Natural World.”
She ran her fingers across the seam of her lips, drawing his attention to their ripe form. He mentally kicked himself and swore to keep his eyes on the road. “Reporters are never off the record,” she said.
He scowled. “Then I want final approval on the article before you turn it in.”
“I can’t promise you that either.”
“Then this interview is over.” He switched lanes and slowed so he could get off the highway at the next exit and turn around.
“What bug crawled up your ass?” she demanded, taking him by total surprise. “You obviously aren’t happy about this interview, but is the extra charm for my benefit because I flung my bikini top at you? Maybe you don’t need this interview, but I do. I’ve been nothing but professional. You on the other hand—”
“Why do you need this?”
“Excuse me?”
“I asked why you need this. Was this interview assigned to you, or did you ask for it?” A mixture of admiration and irritation thrummed through his veins at her outburst. Goldilocks had guts, but he needed to know where that feistiness came from.
Didn’t mean he’d trust her. She had a job to do, just like he did.
She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t choose this story,” she said in a quiet, steady tone. “But now that I’m here I want to do the best I can. For both our companies.”
He steered the car back toward the fast lane. She doesn’t know, he thought. She had no idea how his connection to Natural World made this interview damn hard.
The sun warmed the back of his neck as they sped east down the highway. They had about nine hundred miles to go until they reached Oklahoma City. His scheduled stops added another one, one-fifty. He’d be a lot be
tter off getting along with his companion for the next six days than not.
“Okay,” she added, as if conceding something.
“Okay?”
“A week is a long time so not everything needs to be on the record.”
That twisting in his gut cinched tighter. She wanted to make this work. “Good.”
She leaned the side of her head against the back of her seat and kept her pretty blue eyes on him. “So will you tell me what’s bothering you about this interview?”
Some of his best memories were of the two trips he’d made along the route with his parents and sisters as a boy, and WHF’s goal was to revive that magic. Bring back the charm and attraction of the American road trip. He didn’t want any part of the story connecting him to his family, though, and the fact that she knew something was up should’ve had red flags waving. Instead he found himself wanting to get the damn thing off his chest.
“Off the record?”
She nodded her agreement before saying, “Yes.”
Compassion shone in her eyes and the soft set of her lips, prodding him to share the reason behind his unease.
“A couple of months ago Natural World did a piece on a private excursion to a little-traveled mountain hideaway in Morocco where…” He swallowed the thickness in the back of his throat.
“Where one of the travelers died,” she said softly. “I remember. Sandra Swanson was the tour guide.”
“Your magazine said it was her fault, but it wasn’t. The reporter had his facts up his ass and posted incorrect information. He crucified her and then made sure other news media picked up the story. She was already devastated by the accident, but then to be blamed for it and to have her reputation discredited was too much.”
“You know Sandra,” Charlie half whispered.
“She’s my mother.”
Goldilocks straightened, her jaw dropped. “No way.”
He got that reaction a lot from women. What followed next usually included a hand to his arm, some eyelash batting, and a voice with an even more obvious kittenish quality.
His Million Dollar Risk Page 2