Page 7 of Bachelor CEO

Most of them would be staying at the nearestmotel, or one of the resort cottages in the area. As for the two smallguesthouses on the McDaniel estate, their grandmother’s sister was living inone for the entire summer, and this weekend Leroy’s good friend and businesscolleague, Walter Peters, would occupy the other. Walter had arrived earlierfrom Chicago, and like Leroy, was napping.

Chase had never seen the need for a siesta.He’d found that exercise always cleared his mind better than sleep.

His siblings disbanded, leaving the room andreturning to other activities. Chase glanced at his watch. He had a few hoursbefore the party started, and no desire to remain inside on such a gorgeousday.

He strode into his bedroom, stripped anddonned his bike shorts and shirt. He grabbed his bike fromthe screened-in porch, put on his helmet and hit the rural highways. Trafficwas light, and he inhaled deeply as the satisfying burn began in his legs.

During the summer he would ride at leasttwenty miles a day, usually doing seventy-five to a hundred miles one day eachweekend. When he wasn’t coming to the lake to visit Leroy, Chase would fastenhis bike to the rack on the back of his hybrid SUV, throw an overnight bag anda tent in the vehicle and head out for some new place. He was king of thecampground.

The lake itself offered diversion, and Chasewould often take the catamaran out. They had other watercraft as well, andmaybe Sunday, once things died down, he and his siblings could go water-skiing.

Today, Chase decided to do a quick loopthrough the state park. He’d ride about two miles on Highway A on the returntrip before turning onto the last few asphalt side roads leading back to thelodge.

He switched gears and purged his grandfatherand the current debacle from his mind, tuning in to his body. For a couplehours, at least, he could be free from stress.

MIRANDA CHECKED THE CLOCK on her dashboard.Even though the birthday party didn’t start until four, and Walter had insistedmost people wouldn’t show until at least five-thirty, she’d been told to arrivebefore three. She was going to be late.

She pulled over to the shoulder of Highway A.Once she’d found the barn and the road, she’d followed instructions and stayedon the blacktop for fifty miles. Unable to find her next turnoff, she’d drivenback and forth over the same five-mile stretch at least three times. She’dfinally realized that spotting the elusive road was hopeless,and had been parked for the last ten minutes trying to decide what to do.

Walter had insisted there would be some sortof sign announcing the turnoff to North Shore Drive, but so far she hadn’t seenone. In the ten years she’d worked for Walter, she’d never known him to bewrong, which made the mistake hers. She allowed herself a wistful smile. Surelyhe’d laugh at this foible. Walter had mentored her growth in the cutthroatworld of business. He’d once told her that he’d never seen anyone work harder,which was one of the reasons he’d first noticed her and moved her into a fast-trackposition within the company. He’d said that as a young man he’d received a legup from the former CEO, and felt honored to carry on the tradition.

He’d made Miranda responsible for millions ofdollars and hundreds of employees. She’d proved her competency again and again.

Not that it helped her now. Venting herfrustration, she pounded her hands on the steering wheel. She’d already triedher cell phone, but had no service in this neck of the woods.

She’d expected this part of Minnesota to bemore like Iowa—miles and miles of open farmland. Instead she’d probably foundthe last old-growth pine forest in the country. So much for a “lone” pine.

She glanced in her mirror and saw a cyclistapproaching. Maybe he could help. Cyclists weren’t usually muggers or rapists,right? And if the guy on the bike knew where he was going, maybe he could giveher directions. Despite all the warnings to stay safely inside the vehicle withdoors and windows locked, Miranda went with her gut, and stepped out of thecar.

The cyclist drew to a stop next to her. He wasa tall, fit man. His bike shirt clung to six-pack abs. His shoes hit the pavement with a click, and she tried not to stare athis legs. Because of his sunglasses, she couldn’t see his eyes—not that she waslooking at his face, anyway.

She heard his voice, though—an incredulousdemand: “What the hell are you doing here?”

CHASE HAD BEEN ALMOST back home when he’dseen the car on the side of the road. The ride had been invigorating andexactly what he needed. He’d get to the lodge, take a shower and dress fortonight’s party, all with time to spare.

He hadn’t thought much about the parked caruntil he’d drawn closer. Then he’d noticed the vehicle was silver, a sensiblelittle four-door sedan…with Illinois plates.

He knew that car. He’d changed its tire. Twicein two days was more than a coincidence.

When its owner stepped from the car he’denjoyed a glimpse of toned calf muscles under the red capri pants she wore.He’d braked, coming up next to her. And said the first thing that came to mind.

He could tell he’d surprised her, because shedrew back slightly, the words of greeting dying on her lips. Man, those lips.They’d tortured him. Not as much as his grandfather’s announcement, but closeenough to do some damage to his sleep.

“I’m starting to think you’re stalking me,” hesaid.

Her hypnotic green eyes widened farther. “Me?I don’t even know you.”

He reached up and removed his mirroredsunglasses. “We met yesterday.” Though he still didn’t know her name, herealized. “Remember?”

She exhaled, relieved at seeing him. “Chase.You scared me.”

“Do you have something to be afraid of, Ms….”He let his voice trail off.

“Miranda Craig,” she offered.

A pretty name, and not one he recognized.

“So what are you doing so far from Chenille,Miranda Craig?” He liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “Don’t youhave unpacking to do? Didn’t the moving van show up?”

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