Page 6 of Breaking the Ice

As Belle wheels my suitcase out of the bedroom, I ask her, “Why are reporters still stalking me? I thought things were slowing down.”

“Yolanda gave an interview to Hollywood Tonight yesterday,” she says.

“Were you planning on telling me?”

She shakes her head. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.”

My shoulders slump. “That bad?”

“The same as always.”

“You mean she’s telling everyone what a stingy lothario I am?”

Nodding her head sharply, Belle says, “I’ll go down with you and put this in the trunk. If any reporters show up, you stay in the building, and I’ll pretend I’m the one leaving.”

“And then you’ll go to Washington instead of me?” I joke.

Her blue eyes narrow perceptibly. “I’ll drive around the block and we’ll try it again.”

Luckily, there’s no press at the back exit and it looks like I’m going to make a clean getaway.

I tell Belle, “You might as well stay at my place while I’m gone. I mean, at least that way you won’t have to deal with traffic.” Belle lives in Pasadena and even though that’s only twenty-five miles from my place, it still makes her commute well over an hour.

Instead of thanking me for the generous offer, she pushes me into the car. “Bye.”

While buckling up, I wonder what kind of men my assistant likes. More importantly, I wonder what kind of guy would put up with her. I can’t imagine she’s all that popular of a date with that blunt demeanor of hers.

Luckily, the drive to the Santa Monica airport only takes thirty minutes, and I use the time to make a dent in my inbox. Twenty minutes after boarding I’m in the air and on my way to what I hope is going to be a trip that not only ends my bad press, but will be a nice break from all the chaos in my life. I’m not delusional enough to think it will be a real vacation, but it’s got to be better than suffering through the maelstrom of a PR nightmare.

I told my brother I was going to arrive on Friday, but I’m coming a day early so that if he slips up and tells anyone, I can avoid any trouble at the airport. I’d like to get a lay of the land before everyone knows I’m there.

Opening my laptop, I spot an email from Yolanda. It reads:

Zach,

You know by now that you’ve messed with the wrong girl. If you would like me to quit my campaign you need to call me. I have a proposition.

Yolanda

My first reaction is one of frustration. Even though the subtext of Yolanda’s note suggests extortion, she doesn’t come right out and say what her proposal is. So, it’s possible no one else would interpret her email as menacingly as I have. So much for using it to show the world what her real intentions are—which, as far as I’m concerned, is more attention for herself.

Even though I’m sorely tempted to call her and find out what she wants, I don’t want to give her the pleasure of knowing she’s causing me trouble. Like the government, I have a longstanding policy of not negotiating with terrorists, and I will not succumb to Yolanda’s guerrilla tactics—even if it means getting my life back on track.

Once my plane lands, I grab my bags and hightail it across the tarmac to the SUV Belle arranged to have waiting. I know the black Trailblazer is for me because it’s the only automobile on site. Peeking in the window, I spot another giveaway—the key fob is sitting on the middle console.

After stowing my luggage in the back hatch, I climb into the driver’s seat. Kelly told me to pick up the key to my lodgings at the rink, so I program the address into Waze. Then I sit back and enjoy a traffic-free drive through what I can honestly call paradise.

I steer my way around a winding road that traverses a heavily wooded landscape. I wouldn’t exactly call the thoroughfare a highway as I only pass four cars and I have to stop to let two deer cross the road. What a strange dichotomy between traffic here and traffic in LA.

When the map app tells me my destination is only five hundred feet away, I start to get excited. I barely see the break in the trees until I’m on top of my turn. That’s when the landscape opens to a parking lot. The skating arena isn’t far away.

After pulling into a space close to the front entrance, I get out of the car and take a deep breath. The air still smells like summer, but the cooler temperature hints that autumn has arrived. Even though the weather eventually cools in Southern California, the mercury often stays well over a hundred degrees into October which, plainly put, is miserable.

I pass four little girls and their mothers as I walk inside the building, and no one takes notice of me. No double takes, no curious gazes—it’s like I’ve landed in a world where I’m nothing special, and I couldn’t be happier about that.

Inside the lobby, I look around for the office. When I spot it, I head in that direction only to discover the door is locked. Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I reread the text from Kelly.

Kelly

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