Page 39 of No More Billionaires

I nodded and buried my chin in the collar of my coat. For the first two hours, we’d inched along in bumper to bumper traffic, making it about ten miles before the deadlock had occurred.

According to radio reports, there had been dozens of spin-outs and crashes on all the area highways right around the time we’d started our drive.

Apparently the combination of icy streets, inexperienced foul-weather drivers, and the lack of snow tires or four-wheel drive vehicles had resulted in a massive jam stretching for miles in every direction leaving the city.

And Nashville wasn’t the only place.

“The entire Southeast? How is this possible?” Larson practically shouted into his phone.

He’d been calling Deb periodically over the past several hours, doing Facetime reports for his own show and several others in the WNN lineup.

The crippling winter storm was the network’s top story, and we were right in the middle of it.

“Deb? Can you hear me? Deb?”

Larson held his phone away from his face, scowling at the black screen.

“Shit. My battery died. I forgot to bring my charger, but it should’ve been enough to last me until we got home—of course, I should’ve been home hours ago. Then Snow-mageddon occurred. There isn’t even that much on the road.”

He rolled his eyes, his tone full of disdain.

I pulled out my phone again to text Deb and tell her why she’d lost Larson’s call.

“Excuse me Mr. I-Can-Drive-In-Any-Weather. It’s not the snow, it’s the ice. And don’t go all superior-Northerner on me now—I tried to tell you. The best driving skills in the world don’t help when there’s nowhere to go.”

I gestured to the cars stopped in the front, back, and on both sides of us. We’d be trapped even if the accidents up ahead cleared because many of the cars around us had been abandoned, their occupants giving up and deciding to walk—probably for home or to look for some shelter… or for a restroom.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

I really had to pee.

Larson had already excused himself from the car a couple of times, taking advantage of nightfall (and his more convenient plumbing) to walk to the shoulder of the road and relieve himself.

Lucky.I wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer.

On the bright side, I’d discovered therewasactually something more awkward than trying to make light conversation with Larson in the car.

I was either going to have to apologize to him for what was about to happen… no, no way. I had to find a ladies’ room.

“Can I use yours?” Larson asked, gesturing to my phone.

“Well, it still has some power, but not too much. I don’t know if we should be using it for any more reports. We might need it for an emergency. And… I’m afraid I have a problem a phone call won’t fix. I, uh… can’t wait anymore,” I said, shaking my head in dismay.

“Wait? Oh!”

Larson straightened, pulling the keys from the ignition and grabbing his wallet from the console. “Okay. Right. Well, we’ll walk then. It’s a good thing you’re not wearing heels and a dress.”

I looked down at my pants and my already-cold feet. No, not heels, not a skirt, but it wasn’t exactly hiking apparel either.

Because I’d been on the shoot with Sky today, I was wearing work clothes, a pair of thin black pants, loafers with trouser socks, and a light sweater with nothing but a bra underneath. I had my overcoat, but no hat, no gloves.

Larson was even less prepared for a trek through the snow, which had exceeded all predictions and looked to be at least six inches deep now.

He wore a thin cashmere sweater with a t-shirt poking out beneath, a pair of jeans and running shoes. He’d apparently neglected to even bring a coat.

“You can stay in the car if you want,” I offered. “Maybe after I find a place with a bathroom, I can get us some hotel rooms or something. And then I’ll walk back to the car to get you. Or I could leave you my phone and call you from the hotel with directions.”

He opened his door, letting in a blast of frigid air.

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