Chapter Eleven

Now…

This humidity was torture. Despite the cloud cover and strong wind, the heavy thickness in the air was causing Whitney to melt. She unbuttoned the top two buttons on her tan blouse and, pulling her hair back away from her face, she tied it into a low ponytail at the base of her neck. It had to be eighty-five degrees outside, and her feet ached from walking in wedge heels on the sandy beach.

But the waves this morning were perfect, and the shots the photographer was able to capture in this early-morning lighting made all her discomfort worth it. These images would be perfect to use in her pitch presentation for Race Across America as well as next year’s promotional calendar.

“Good morning. Sorry I’m late,” Scott said from behind her.

He couldn’t be late to something he wasn’t invited to. Her jaw clenched as she turned around to face him. “What are you doing here?” She hadn’t told him about the early-morning shoot. On purpose.

“Kim added it into my calendar,” he said. “I brought you a pumpkin spice latte.” He extended the cup to her.

“It’s, like, a thousand degrees out here.”

“You don’t want it?”

The pumpkin spice aroma escaping the cup was too tempting, and after a night of unsettled tossing and turning, she was exhausted. She took it with a mumbled, begrudging “thanks.”

Scott smiled brightly, unfazed by her attitude.

“I was capable of overseeing this shoot myself,” she said. Maybe he’d take the hint and leave.

“It’s no problem. I’m here now.” He scanned the waves. “Wow, you couldn’t have picked a better morning. Those breaks are fantastic.”

She nodded, sipping the hot coffee. The caffeine was a needed jolt to her system, but the heat from the cup made her palms sweat even more. Why was she always so damn hot?

“I assume we’re using these shots for our pitch?”

Our pitch. Truthfully, this was his pitch. He’d thought of the idea. She was just desperate to prove that she had the skills to pull it off. “Yep.”

From the corner of her eye, she studied him. Unlike her, he was dressed for this. Khaki shorts, a white collared short-sleeve shirt, and sandals. Not exactly professional, but hell, they were practically the only ones on the beach.

Her pencil skirt and blouse must look ridiculous. She knew the mayor wouldn’t care if she dressed more casually, but Whitney liked to look polished and put together.

She swayed slightly off-balance as a dizzy spell hit, and she sipped the coffee again. She hadn’t eaten since the night before, that’s all. She was fine.

“Is that Grant?” Scott asked, nodding to the photographer standing in the waves near the shore.

“He is the best.” After years of working with different artists, Whitney knew their individual strengths and who to call for various projects. Grant was first on her contact speed-dial list.

“I agree. I just can’t believe you were able to get him. He doesn’t do much local work these days.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” she said sarcastically. She wouldn’t tell him that Grant’s father was living just down the hall from her mother at Rejuvenation, so the two of them also shared a common bond as well as a working relationship. Let Scott believe she was a superstar.

“Will he have time to take a few shots of the diving cliffs around the south end? I thought they’d make a great challenge—”

She held up a hand, showing him her list of locations on her cell phone.

“Of course you’ve already thought of that,” he said with a laugh. “I’m not even sure why you need an assistant.”

She didn’t.

Seeing Grant and the surfer walking toward them, she handed Scott her coffee. May as well put those assisting skills to use.

“Let’s see what you got,” she said to Grant, leaning over to view the slideshow of shots on the camera.

Scott’s breath on the back of her neck as he peered over her shoulder was irritating, and she moved away slightly. She purposely hadn’t invited him to this. She’d just barely been given the lead on this one, and she wanted to do it all herself.

She squinted to see the pictures and nodded. “Great. They are exactly what I was hoping for. Just a few shots of the cliffs, and I think that’s a day.” She reached into her purse and retrieved an envelope with the surfer’s payment and handed it to him. “Thank you.”

“Those waves were sick, man. Can’t believe I get paid for this shit,” the young guy said, unzipping his wet suit a tad too far. Whitney averted her eyes from the six-pack and everything below it as he continued to climb out of the suit. No shame.

“Okay, so I’ll… We’ll meet you at the south end of the beach?” she asked Grant.

“Be there in five. Just need a new memory card,” he said, jogging off toward his van.

“Wanna ride together?” Scott asked her as they walked across the sand to the parking lot.

Great. He was coming, too. She hesitated, but her vision was destroyed by the pounding in her head that had nothing to do with the time of day or lack of coffee. “Okay. You drive.”

As they headed toward his Escalade, he said, “So I was thinking, for the pitch, you might want to use your office instead of the boardroom.”

“All of the media equipment is in there,” she said as he opened the passenger side door for her. She shot him an odd look at the gesture.

“What? My mom raised me right,” he said.

He closed the door and crossed the front end, then got in behind the wheel. “I can set the equipment up in your office fairly easily. I just think your view of the bay is so much better than the view of Tommy’s Board Shop’s back alley from the boardroom window.”

Good point. They were trying to convince these Hollywood executives that their town was spectacular. The graffiti in the back alley wasn’t the image she wanted to present. “Okay,” she said as he pulled out of the lot and they headed down the coast.

“Wait,” Scott said, sounding shocked. “Did I just get something right? Did I actually think of something you hadn’t?” He wasn’t gloating, he was teasing, but her migraine didn’t care—he was still irritating.

She ignored him, staring out the window at the movement of palm trees, other cars passing, and a cyclist on the side of the road—all a blur. At least the air-conditioning inside the Escalade gave a brief respite from the mugginess outside.

Scott pulled into the gravel lot of the viewing point at the cliff site, and they climbed out. Grant’s van pulled up next to them, and he got out as well. “I’m thinking several shots from here, then we’ll move closer.”

Whitney nodded, swallowing saliva that had formed in her mouth. Her stomach felt nauseous, and she was close to throwing up. It had to be this humidity and lack of food. Once she hit the bakery on the way back to the office, raise her blood sugar with a muffin, she’d be fine.

“You okay?” Scott asked as they approached the cliffs.

“Yes.” She forced a slow, steady breath as she focused on the photographer, pointing out various shots. She was a professional, and professionals didn’t have bad days.

Besides, they were almost done.

They moved a little closer, and another wave of dizziness made her blink. She swayed, and her arms reached out to grab hold of something, anything to stop her from falling backward over the side of the cliff, but there was nothing but air around her.

Her heart raced before the feel of Scott’s arm around her waist gave her a sense of relief. “Whoa…watch it,” he said, dragging her away from the side.

“Damn, we almost got an action shot right there,” Grant said with a laugh to ease the tense moment, but even he was eyeing her with concern.

Whitney stepped away from Scott, stumbling slightly on the gravel. “Yeah, I was trying to set one up for you, but Scott here ruined it,” she said, making light of the situation as the nausea passed. She fought to calm her thundering heart as she avoided Scott’s gaze. She could have fallen off the cliff to her death had he not just been there.

“Seriously, you okay? That was close,” Scott said, obviously not in the mood to joke about the near-fall.

She waved it off. She did not need Grant mentioning this in front of her mother at the next Rejuvenation family picnic. “Now you know why I need an assistant,” she said casually.

Scott annoyingly stayed close as Grant continued to snap the photos along the cliffs, and twenty minutes later, they were done. “Okay, I think we’re good for today,” Whitney said, handing Grant his payment envelope. “Thanks again.”

“No problem. I’ll have these over to you in the next few days.”

“Perfect.” Whitney waved as she headed back to Scott’s car and quickly climbed in, desperate for the air-conditioning.

Scott got in, but he didn’t start the engine. Instead, he turned to face her. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That near-death experience.”

Whitney scoffed. “I’m a klutz, and you grabbed me—thank you. Let’s go.” She put on her seat belt. Air-conditioning would be fantastic any second now.

“You didn’t stumble. You almost passed out.”

Prove it.

“No, I didn’t. Can we go? I need to get to the office before a conference call with the East Coast.” She was desperate to get out from under his scrutinizing gaze. His perceptiveness made her uneasy.

“Well, I guess for once, you’ll be dropping the ball on something, because I’m not moving this car until you tell me what’s wrong with you.” He reclined his seat, folded his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

Was he actually serious? She clenched her jaw, unwilling to reveal anything. She didn’t owe her assistant an explanation for anything. Especially not a guy who would use the truth against her to steal her job.

“Okay. Great,” she said. “I’ll just call Mayor Rodale and tell her why we won’t be in today.”

Scott opened one eye and raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to tell my mom on me?”

She huffed. “Look, Scott, I’m just not feeling well today.”

“Pregnant?”

“You wish.” Within a three-month maternity leave, he’d have swooped in and repainted her office, filling it with sports memorabilia and a treadmill desk. Nope. Not happening.

“Stress?”

“Seriously? No! I could do my job blindfolded. It’s probably the flu or something I ate.”

“A flu that’s lasted months that causes your joints to swell and your vision to strain?”

Her mouth gaped. How was he the only person to notice? To call her out on it? Probably because, ironically, she spent more time with him—even inadvertently just being at the office together—than she did with anyone else.

Her back sweat against the leather seat, and she craved a cool blast of air. Rolling down the window didn’t help as the humidity just seeped in. “I have a water retention issue and…my vision is fine.”

“Come on, Whitney. We both know you approved those brochures with the glaring typo and the date of the—”

She held up a hand. She didn’t need to hear him replay her recent mistakes.

“I covered for you, but now you owe me the truth. Are you okay?”

His seemingly genuine concern could be fake, and he was the last person on earth she could trust with her secret. He’d use her illness against her the first moment he got. Yet, he hadn’t used any of her mistakes against her…

She shook her head. “I’m really fine.”

“What color are your shoes?”

She frowned, glancing down. She squinted. “Navy.” She’d laid them out the night before; they went with this outfit.

“One is,” he said.

Whitney leaned closer and squinted as hard as she could. Not only was her vision blurring, but colors had also started to become harder to detect.

Shit. The other shoe was black.

She had no idea what was happening, but it was terrifying. But she wouldn’t admit how afraid she was to anyone. Especially not Scott.

“Whatever. I was in a rush this morning. The shades aren’t all that different…”

“Whitney! Stop. Just admit you are sick.”

Her lips clamped together, but she nodded slowly.

He brought his seat back to driving position and finally started the car. Then, turning to face her, he said, “I don’t need to know what it is. I’m not going to ask if you need help, because you’re you, and you never need anyone.” He paused. “I’m also not going to say anything to anyone…”

“Thank—”

“Shhh.”

She stopped talking.

“On one condition. You stop trying to block me. Let me do my job—assisting you. You are amazing at your job, now let me be good at mine.”

She sighed. Guess allowing him to do his job wasn’t too much to ask in exchange for his silence. “Okay.”

“Great. Now let’s get you to the office for your fake phone call,” he said with a grin, putting the car in reverse.

…

As he pushed through the door of Sharrun’s Construction on Main Street, Trent’s head got caught in a wispy spiderweb, and he ducked back as a mechanical spider creeped toward him. “Whoa!”

Miley, Wes’s new receptionist, greeted him with a warm smile. “Sorry about that. I guess we didn’t anticipate seven-foot clients walking through the door,” she teased.

“Ah, it’s fine,” he said. After the night before, he was practically floating. Whitney had actually come to the football practice. She’d been late and missed most of it, but she’d been there and had come along with them for wings. She’d actually followed through with leaving the office, despite how busy she was and she’d apologized for missing his birthday-in more ways than one. Maybe things were turning around, getting better.

And she and Angel had seemed to hit it off, chatting at the end of the table while the team devoured eight pounds of wings.

“Wes in yet?” he asked Miley.

“In his office. Head on in,” she said, fixing the damaged spiderweb and resetting the attacker.

Trent took in the office as he entered farther. The space was the perfect size for his buddy’s business, and he was so happy that the year before, Wes had been able to once again secure the office space needed to grow and expand his construction company. He’d had a rough few years after the death of his wife, raising his daughter on his own, but then reuniting with Sarah had changed all their lives for the better. He was thrilled for his buddy and maybe a little envious of the family Wes had.

He wished he and Whitney could reach that great balance of having careers and a family the way Wes and Sarah had figured it out.

He knocked once on Wes’s open office door and entered. “Morning.”

“Hey, man,” Wes said, standing over several blueprints.

“Those the new cottage designs?” Trent asked, moving closer to peer at the sketches of the new Melendez Cottages rebuilds Wes and his team were working on. Thanks to a new website Wes’s daughter had made for the company, showcasing Wes’s impressive construction skills, Wes had landed the big contract to renovate and rejuvenate the old campgrounds into a more luxury glamping experience.

And by the looks of the designs, he was killing it.

Loft-style cabins with open-beam interiors and floor-to-ceiling windows, stone fireplaces, and Jacuzzi tubs… The old campsite was completely transformed.

“Yeah,” Wes said. “We finished the main house rebuild last month, and the demolition crew is wiping out the old cabin structures this week. The storm along the coast had really done a lot of damage, so we weren’t able to salvage a lot of the original materials, so it’s a complete teardown. We hope to at least have three or four of these ready for the Christmas season.”

“That fast? Really?” That was only two months away.

“Awilda Melendez has already booked them out, so yep,” Wes said with a laugh.

If his friend was stressed about the tight construction timeline, it didn’t show, but now Trent hesitated to ask what he’d come here for.

“What brings you by?” Wes asked.

“Well, I found a new location along the coast for the new bar. Right now it’s a country saloon that’s for sale because the owners have retired. Great bones, but it definitely could use a major remodel.”

Wes nodded, immediately grabbing a Day-Timer and pen. Old-school almost to a fault. Trent would bet the guy didn’t even know he had a calendar on his phone. “What’s the address? I can drive out there in the next few days and take a look.”

“There’s no real rush…” Except he’d like to get the new location up and running as quickly as possible. With the two local locations, he was doing well. He’d paid off a lot of old debt and he had savings, but he hoped the third location would help springboard the income to a new level. But the first few months were always the slowest while the advertising and marketing took time to do its thing and people realized there was a new place.

“Don’t worry, man. I got you,” Wes said. His cell chimed, and he quickly glanced at it. “Unfortunately, I gotta jet. The baby’s doctor appointment is in ten minutes.”

The tug in Trent’s chest was a familiar one at the mention of the baby. “Is Mitch his doctor?”

Wes nodded. “He’s so great with babies. I swear him and Jess will have a dozen.”

His cousin was so blissfully in love with the former Doctors Without Borders doc, who’d taken over his father’s medical practice the year before, that Trent suspected Wes was right.

“Hey, can I tag along?” he asked. “Not to the appointment obviously, but I’d love to see the little rascal.”

“Absolutely,” Wes said, grabbing his keys. “Be back in an hour,” he told Miley.

Trent followed Wes outside, and they headed toward the medical clinic down the street. “Heard you and Sarah set a wedding date.”

“Yeah. January first seemed like a great date. Start the year off right, and it’ll be an easy anniversary to remember,” Wes said with a laugh.

Trent nodded.

Wes glanced at him. “Still no luck nailing down a date yourself?”

“No…but we’re getting there. I’m not worried,” he said, struggling to hide his disappointment. His future plans were at a standstill, while everyone else had exactly what he wanted.