Chapter Four

Now…

Whitney checked the time on the clock hanging on the boardroom wall. Three minutes after nine. She cleared her throat. “I wonder where Scott is. He did say nine o’clock, right?”

Mayor Rodale nodded, glancing up from her phone. “I’m sure he’s just running a little late. He hasn’t found a new place in town yet, so he’s still commuting.”

From San Diego. Three months into the job and he still made the long trek through a traffic nightmare to get to work every day. Made Whitney wonder if he was as committed to moving back to Blue Moon Bay as his mother thought he was. If so, wouldn’t he have found a place by now?

Still, she wouldn’t get her hopes up or let her guard down anytime soon.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said a second later, entering the boardroom with a stack of vision boards under his arm.

He may be late, but he came prepared. She sat straighter as he moved to the front of the room.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” he said, setting the boards on the display easel and picking an imaginary piece of lint from his suit.

He’d dressed the part today as well.

Business casual was the typical dress code in the office, and she was used to his dress pants and short-sleeve dress shirts. Today, his charcoal pinstripe suit, purple shirt, and silver tie meant he wasn’t messing around. Whatever this was about was important to him.

“Absolutely. What do you have for us?” Mayor Rodale’s full attention was directed at her son now, and Whitney shifted in her seat. Maybe she needed to put together a formal presentation of her own about some of her new ideas, like creating a new town website. Her boss hadn’t seemed as optimistic that an updated site, featuring local businesses, would impact tourism as Whitney was, but maybe she just needed to deliver the idea in a more concrete way with projected numbers and stats…and vision boards.

Scott smiled as he flipped over the first board on the easel.

Television viewer graphics. Sitcoms, documentaries, TV dramas, and reality television were presented by age and income demographics.

“Television is one of the leading advertising venues—the average American spends six hours a day in front of a screen. However, it’s an opportunity that Blue Moon Bay tourism hasn’t been able to take advantage of…yet.” He glanced at Whitney.

She sat forward. “Television ads are also expensive on our smalltown budget, and research shows that an ad needs to be seen an average of seven times before a consumer responds to it. Our highway billboard advertising has made the most sense in that daily commuters, such as yourself, get that repeat imagery.” Whitney looked at Mayor Rodale for her agreement, but the woman was unreadable, just nodded for her son to continue.

“Right. I totally agree. The billboards are fantastic,” Scott said. “I’m just talking about additional exposure. Exploring avenues we’ve yet to break into.”

“It’s not that we haven’t thought of other avenues…” She paused and changed her tone. She didn’t want to sound like she was on the defensive, but Scott had to realize that she’d considered this option before. “But unfortunately, our budgets are tight, and between the road signs and the tourism video and yearly calendar, there’s not much wiggle room to experiment.” She’d love to run television ads, too, if their small-town budget could accommodate them.

He smiled, undeterred. “Okay. But what if I had a way to spotlight Blue Moon Bay during prime-time viewing to the younger, high-income-bracket demographic we are trying to target…without it costing us a cent?”

She scoffed. “Nothing is ever free, Scott.”

“What opportunity are you presenting?” Mayor Rodale’s interest was certainly piqued.

Oh, come on. There was no way Scott could deliver what he was suggesting.

He replaced his vision board with a new one. “Race Across America is one of the leading reality television programs as far as repeat viewers…in the twenty-four to forty-eight age bracket.”

“Yes, but an ad slot during those episodes would cost thousands.” Their limited funding couldn’t even secure a twenty-second promo ad during late-night infomercials.

He nodded. “I’m not talking ads. I’m talking about this.” He slid a media release across the table toward her.

Mayor Rodale leaned closer to read over her shoulder.

“The show is filming its sixth season starting in March, and they are looking for new challenge destinations. Key checkpoint towns for contestants to visit to advance in the race. See, each leg of the race, teams have to perform certain tasks—”

Whitney held up a hand. “I’ve seen the show.”

“Great. So I say we pitch them Blue Moon Bay as a location for this season.”

Mayor Rodale nodded, her smile wide. “Yes. This is a great idea…”

“Okay, but can we accommodate the show’s requests? We don’t want filming to interfere with our regular tourists… What about liability insurance?” Had Scott done all his research on this? Where was that vision board—the one with the risks and possible issues with this idea?

“These shows carry insane liability coverage, and contestants sign waivers for their participation. And March is one of the slowest months for tourist season, so this will give us a little boost.”

“I agree with Scott,” Mayor Rodale said.

Whitney’s stomach twisted as she nodded. “Yeah, of course. I do, too.”

“So, Scott, what are the next steps? How do we apply?” Mayor Rodale asked.

She was already on board with this? It had taken Whitney six months of providing research stats on the effectiveness of the billboard advertising to get the funding approved.

But if Scott was right about this not costing anything, it was less of a risk financially.

“We pitch Blue Moon Bay as a challenge location to the show’s executives.”

“That sounds like an easy meeting to secure,” she mumbled under her breath and immediately regretted her sarcasm when her boss shot her an odd look. She needed to be a team player. And if Mayor Rodale liked this idea, she needed to be in support of it, too.

And it would be a great opportunity for the town if they could secure a spot on the show. Damn it, why hadn’t she ever thought of this? Reaching out to production companies with a press release, highlighting the beauty and filming potential in Blue Moon Bay would have been so simple. And shit, she was practically addicted to Race Across America—she’d watched every season so far.

“I have a friend who works on the filming crew,” Scott was saying. “I’m sure I can get us a pitch meeting if we submit an application.” He stopped and turned to her. “That’s if you’re good with this, Whitney.”

They both stared at her.

She forced a smile. “Of course I am. It’s a wonderful idea.” Her jaw clenched. “Great job, Scott.”

Mayor Rodale sat back in her chair and nodded. “Good. This is really good. Scott, if you can arrange that meeting, I have no doubt the two of you can put together a fantastic pitch.”

The two of them.

Whitney pressed her lips together. What could she say? After all, this was Scott’s idea.

“Of course, Whitney will take lead on this. I’ll assist when and where needed,” Scott said, surprising her.

Mayor Rodale looked hesitant, and Whitney felt nauseous. But her boss nodded her agreement as she stood. “Okay, let me know if I can help in any way. I trust you both to make this happen.”

She could trust Whitney to make it happen. Scott may have gotten the ball rolling, but she needed to be the one to secure this win for them. Scott had just given her another opportunity to prove why she was the best one to do her job, and she couldn’t fail.

…

“Another round for lane eight,” Marsha called to Trent from where she collected several beer mugs and her tip from a recently vacated table.

“Coming right up,” he said as another group sat at the table.

Tuesday nights were always the same at the Game Room that hosted the bowling alley, ax-throwing room, and theater in town. It was one of the busier nights of the week with leagues and half-off pints offered from his bar. His tavern on Main Street was popular on weekends, but this location was arguably his most lucrative and regular weeknight activities kept the place hopping without the really late hours.

He poured the pints of beer and placed them on a tray for Marsha as Jess approached the bar in her Bay’s Singles bowling team shirt. She’d stayed on the team, despite not being single anymore. No one seemed to mind, though, since the team consisted of another on-again/off-again couple and several divorcées. The league’s purpose was for singles to mingle, but in a small town, where everyone knew practically everyone, anyone could join as long as they didn’t have a wedding ring.

His cousin liked to tease her boyfriend, Mitch, and remind him that there was only one way to get her to quit…

Trent suspected that proposal was coming any day now. He’d seen Mitch and his mother whispering a few times when they were all together. Definitely scheming something.

“Hey, Jess, the usual?” he asked.

“Yes please,” she said, climbing onto a barstool. “Whitney working tonight?”

“Yep, apparently Scott pitched an idea to try to land a spot on that reality TV show, Race Around the World.”

Jess’s eyes widened. “You mean Race Across America?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” He wasn’t a reality TV fan. The shows always felt contrived and scripted for drama and conflict.

“I love that show! That would be so fun to have them filming here.”

Trent didn’t share his cousin’s enthusiasm. This new project on top of Whitney’s already full schedule meant more stress, more overtime, more pressure. But of course, he’d only shown support when she’d told him about it earlier that day. He’d learned his lesson about showing concern about her workload. “I guess,” he mumbled.

Jess frowned. “You’re still really worried about her, aren’t you?”

He nodded, allowing his frustration to show. He could be honest with Jess. She cared about Whitney the same as he did. She’d often broached the subject with her best friend about slowing the pace a little, too. But nothing good had come of it. “She acts like she needs to do everything for everyone and that she can’t take her foot off the gas for even a second.”

“I know she’s worried about Scott,” Jess said. “She feels her job is threatened.”

“How could Mayor Rodale not recognize what an asset she has in Whitney? She’s been a fantastic and loyal employee for years.”

“I agree, but I can understand why she’s concerned. Scott is family, and sometimes things aren’t fair.”

Trent finished pouring the beers and placed them on a tray for Jess. “I just wish she’d take a day for herself just to relax. Maybe you and Sarah could invite her to a spa day or something?”

“Sure. Who can say no to massages and pedicures, right?” she said as positively as possible, but they both knew the answer to that.

Whitney could.

“Hey, are you both going to the Keller-Marshall wedding this weekend?” Jess asked.

Trent raised an eyebrow. “We were…but I’m guessing I’ll be flying solo now that Whitney has this new pitch to work on.” He didn’t even need to ask if she’d be working that weekend, and he suspected she would be relieved to have a valid excuse to miss another wedding. She’d been avoiding them as much as possible.

“Well, you’re welcome to come with Mitch and me,” Jess said, placing cash on the bar and picking up the tray.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. He was tired of being the third wheel whenever Whitney bailed. Regular date nights used to be a thing with them, and she never used to miss important events in the lives of their family and friends. In the last two years, things had changed. He couldn’t remember the last real date they’d had. Just the two of them without cell phones, emails, or interruptions. He missed the time together.

“Hey! Quit it, man!”

“You quit it, asshole!”

A commotion near the arcade caught his attention, and he turned to see what the yelling was about. Two teenage boys were pushing and shoving each other near the antique PacMan game. He squinted in the neon lights to see who the troublemakers were.

Damn, one of Angel’s boys.

He dropped his dishtowel onto the bar and hopped over it to hurry toward them. A group had now gathered around to watch the action. He pushed his way through the sea of teenagers. “Hey!” He got there just in time to see Angel’s son Eddie throw a punch that landed squarely on the jaw of a smaller, younger teen.

Shit.

“Hey, break it up,” he growled, stepping between the two boys before the other kid could retaliate. His cheek was red and already swelling fast. They struggled to move past Trent to continue the battle, angry glares flashing in their expressions. “Both of you calm down.”

Realizing they wouldn’t get past him—being a human wall of muscle had its perks—they retreated, but only slightly.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“This jerk just pushed me out of the way to take over the game,” the other kid said, jutting his chin at Eddie.

“He was playing for an hour. There are other people waiting,” Eddie said, folding his arms across his chest.

“That’s not how it works here, city boy,” the other kid spat, moving closer. “You play till you lose.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared, and he took a step closer, too.

Trent held the two of them apart. He suspected this wasn’t the first encounter between them. They most likely attended the same school. Angel had said her sons were having a tough time adjusting to the smaller school, and the other kids hadn’t been as welcoming as she’d hoped.

“Look, you two, it’s just a video game.” It looked like it was more than that, but neither of them would comment.

The boy’s cheek was now bruising, and he touched it and winced.

“Let’s get you some ice for your cheek,” he told the kid. “And you, Rocky Balboa, have a seat,” he told Eddie. “I’m not done with you.”

Eddie looked ready to refuse but then slumped into a chair, arms still folded, a deep scowl on his face.

Trent led the way to the bar. “He’s new to town. You and your friends should try cutting him some slack. Maybe include him so he doesn’t feel like an outsider.”

The teen scoffed. “We did. He said he didn’t need friends, ’cause he wouldn’t be slumming it here for long.”

So the teen hoped to move back to the city. That didn’t surprise Trent.

“Well, maybe try again,” he said.

The boy just shrugged.

After getting the injured teen settled with a bag of ice, leaving him with his group of friends, Trent approached Eddie. His angry expression was focused on the group across the arcade. Trent sat next to him. “Care to tell me what that was really about?”

Eddie didn’t look at him. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Look, I know you’re my mom’s boss, so go ahead and rat me out.”

Trent sighed. “I don’t want to get you in trouble with your mom. But I also can’t allow violence in this place. And that kid and his friends are not likely to let this go.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care. Let him come at me again.”

“By the sounds of things, you started this,” Trent said.

The boy’s jaw clenched as he stood. “I don’t have to take a lecture from you.”

Trent stood, and the boy cowered slightly, only reaching Trent’s chest. “No, you don’t and I’m not giving one.” He sighed. “Look, I know it’s tough moving to a new place, starting a new school and all that, but you’d have an easier time if you made an effort.”

His expression changed slightly from anger to sadness, but then it was gone again in a flash. “Whatever, man,” he said, turning and leaving the arcade.

Trent watched him go and waited to make sure the others didn’t follow him out. They’d gone back to having fun, the incident forgotten except for the shiner already appearing on the boy’s face.

He couldn’t quite explain the protective instinct he felt, but he wished there were a better way he could help the kid.