Chapter 1
AJ
In the marketing world, late is a four-letter word.
You can say many colorful things and get away with them, but nothing is more taboo than L-A-T-E.
Unfortunately, if the snow didn’t stop soon, late was exactly what I was going to be.
I tapped the toe of my patent leather boot against the airport floor and glanced at my phone.
I should have been thirty thousand feet up reviewing my notes for my pitch right now, but a snowstorm was messing with my plans.
I ran my hands over my hair, which was slicked back into a bun so tight no strand dared to escape. The line shuffled forward.
“My flight was canceled; I need to rebook.” I handed my ticket and passport to the service agent.
“Let’s see, Anna Johnson. Kamloops, British Columbia to Los Angeles, California.” The agent studied the screen with a furrowed brow. The desk was covered in red and green garland, reminding me that not only was I fighting winter weather, but I was doing it during the busy Christmas travel season.
I straightened the lapel of my crisp black business suit. As a woman in a man’s world, especially one stuck working with my ex, I always had to be at my best. “I really need to get to LA.”
He gave me a tight customer-service smile. “I can get you on a flight to LA with a layover in Vancouver on Tuesday.” He turned his computer screen so I could see the times. “Should I book it?”
I deflated like a balloon against the counter.
That was two days away. Dumb luck had finally given me a chance to prove myself, but I wouldn’t prove a thing if I got to LA after the presentation was over.
This was unacceptable. I pulled myself up, squared my shoulders, and tried again.
“I have to be in LA by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”
The agent blew a breath out of his nose. No doubt he had heard this a hundred times already today, and there was nothing he could do.
“I’m open to suggestions.” I mustered up what I hoped looked like a genuine smile.
“There’s nothing we can do here today, but I can book you a flight out of Vancouver tomorrow morning that departs at 9 a.m. The problem is how you’ll get there, and not just because we are out of rental cars.”
I glanced out the window at the snow. Vancouver was a four-hour drive, if the weather was good. The fastest route was over the infamous Coquihalla Highway. The highway winds through canyons and over mountains, and it’s known for weather conditions that deteriorate rapidly.
My stomach dropped. Damn it.
I had driven the unpredictable highway a few times, but it was always in good weather, and I hadn’t even put winter tires on my little compact yet.
So much for my big pitch, and so much for beating Stephen, my ex, at his own game.
My eyes landed on a yellow taxi spinning its tires through the slush in the parking lot, and a smile quirked at the corner of my lip. “Book the ticket.”
Transportation wasn’t what it used to be. I had options. There was a driving service that Creative Solutions used all the time. With all the business we gave them, they could surely help me out of this mess. I dug a faded business card from my wallet and quickly typed in the number.
“Hi, Sam here.” The voice was deep, and I could hear wind blowing in the background.
“Hello, this is Anna Johnson with Creative Solutions. I’m stuck at the Kamloops Airport.”
“Where to?”
“Vancouver. I know it’s a long shot, but can you help me out here?”
There was a long pause, and I bit my lip in a very un-AJ-like gesture.
“Has to be Vancouver? Not sure if you have looked out a window today—”
“Mark up the price if you have to. But it has to be Vancouver, and it has to be today.”
I listened to him exhale hard through his nose. “Just a standard-size car?”
I had been hoping to review my notes while on my way there in a luxury town car with leather seats, but I was willing to accept a horse and buggy at this point. “Yes, standard size.”
“See you in twenty minutes then.” He hung up before I could reply.
A smile crept onto my lips. I wasn’t out of the game yet.
I tried to review my slides on my phone, but fifteen minutes later, I was pacing the lobby.
Patience may be a virtue, but in my world, it was as popular as decaf coffee and Friday afternoon meetings.
The crowd in the airport had thinned, providing me with some much-appreciated quiet.
The clock on the wall showed that twenty-three minutes had passed since I had hung up with the driving service.
L-A-T-E.
The squeak of the main door opening drew my eye, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in navy coveralls stepped through.
His five o’clock shadow had expired at least a day ago, and his hair duck-tailed around his ears.
Not a bad sight, but not what I was waiting on.
I sunk into a chair and pulled my phone out again.
His wet boots squeaked on the polished lobby floor, and I found myself watching his long, purposeful strides.
He had the air of a man who could handle anything, fix anything, and drive anything, and I wondered just what was hiding under those coveralls.
I’d always had a soft spot for blue-collar men.
Need an oil change? A shelf hung up? A leaky sink fixed?
No problem. He was a one-stop shop, and at night, those callused hands could be put to other uses.
“Anna Johnson?” his voice boomed out.
Strong.
Loud.
Authoritative.
I stood instinctively. I took a step toward Mr. Coveralls, adjusting my purse strap and pulling my rolling suitcase to my side.
His blue eyes locked on mine as he approached, and I felt a prickle of sweat on my palms.
This isn’t right.
The closer he got, the more grease stains I saw on his coveralls, his face, and his hands. It looked like he rode to the airport under the car rather than behind the wheel. He pulled a dirty rag from his pocket, wiped his hands, and reached out to shake mine. “Did you call for a tow truck?”