13. Todd
TODD
The water on Lake Norman shimmered beneath the afternoon sun.
Small waves rolled toward the shoreline, their rhythmic lapping mixing with the distant hum of boat engines.
It was the kind of afternoon that made it easy to forget the rest of the world.
I leaned back in one of the oversized teak loungers, taking it all in.
Her deck stretched the entire width of the house, with a large entertaining space built to take full advantage of the view.
Multiple seating areas were arranged beneath wide cream-colored umbrellas.
A dining table occupied one end, while an outdoor kitchen with a built-in grill, and stone countertops, anchored the other.
There were broad steps leading down toward a private dock below. The dock stretched out into the lake. A dark blue bow rider rested above the water in a covered slip, spotless and protected from the elements.
Her place was the kind designed for summer parties, family gatherings, and long evenings with friends.
Today it held only the two of us.
The entire scene felt peaceful.
Comfortable.
Dangerously comfortable.
I glanced toward Cici.
“You have a really nice place here.”
She looked up from her laptop and smiled.
“Thank you. I like it too.”
She returned to her laptop in front of her. Her blonde hair was now pulled into a loose ponytail. The breeze lifted a few strands around her face.
For the first time in weeks, I wasn't thinking about shareholders, work, quarterly reports, or television appearances.
I was sitting on a deck overlooking a lake with a beautiful woman.
I could get used to this.
Wow, where did that come from?
Three months. That was how long she was contracted to fly for me. Three months wasn't nearly long enough.
I pushed the thought aside.
"Cockpit briefing, Archer."
She pointed to the chair beside her.
"Let's see how much trouble you're planning to cause this week."
I laughed as I rose up from the lounger to join her at the table.
"You're assuming I cause trouble."
"I know you cause trouble. You told America you ordered me from room service."
I winced.
"I admit, that was not my finest moment."
"No, it wasn't." I pulled out the chair next to hers.
Her smile faded.
"What is this?"
The change in her voice immediately got my attention.
I sat down.
"What?"
She stared at the screen.
The color drained from her face.
"Cici?"
Her hand started shaking.
"What happened?"
She turned the laptop toward me.
A headline filled the screen.
WHO IS TODD ARCHER'S MYSTERY WOMAN?
My stomach dropped.
Below it was a photograph.
The photograph.
The screenshot from my live broadcast.
Cici was walking toward the bathroom wearing nothing but her underwear.
A black bar covered her breasts. Her profile was visible. The tattoo on her shoulder blade was visible.
Jesus.
I clicked the next image.
Another photo appeared.
The two of us were leaving the hotel in Aspen.
Another.
Me walking with her into the restaurant in Chicago.
Another.
Me carrying her flight bag in Charlotte.
Another.
Walking off the tarmac yesterday.
My arm around her shoulders.
Another.
Cici jogging alone.
The article itself wasn't nearly as bad as the photographs.
Most of it was speculation.
Questions.
Rumors.
Suggestions that the woman from the viral television clip was now accompanying me on business trips.
One paragraph implied she was a paid companion. Another referenced my room service comment. The entire thing was garbage. But it wasn't the article making Cici panic, It was seeing her life spread across a screen and seeing how strangers were dissecting it.
"I can't breathe."
I looked up.
She was staring at the laptop.
Her face had gone completely white.
"Cici."
"I can't breathe."
I immediately closed the computer.
"Come on."
I took her hand.
She didn't argue.
I guided her through the sliding glass doors and into the kitchen.
She sat down on one of the kitchen Island’s high top chairs.
I pulled out the chair beside her.
"Look at me."
Her eyes found mine.
"Breathe."
"Todd—"
"In."
She took a shaky breath.
"Good."
Another.
"Again."
She followed my lead.
Slowly.
With each careful breath the panic began to ease just a little. I glanced toward the stove. A navy blue tea kettle sat on one of the Viking burners.
Without thinking, I stood.
"What are you doing?"
I opened a cabinet.
"Mug."
Another cabinet.
"Bingo."
She blinked.
"What?"
I found a box of tea.
Then another.
"Earl Grey or Lemon Ginger?"
For the first time since seeing the article, confusion replaced panic.
"What?"
"Earl Grey or Lemon Ginger?"
She stared at me.
"Lemon Ginger."
"Good choice."
I started the water. A few minutes later I filled two mugs and placed one in front of her.
Steam curled upward and the scent of lemon filled the kitchen. She wrapped both hands around the mug.
I moved behind her chair and rested my hands on her shoulders. She was tight. Far too tight. I worked my thumbs into the tense muscles.
She closed her eyes, letting a small sound escape her.
"Better?"
"A little."
I continued rubbing her shoulders. The protective urge that had been growing since Aspen tightened inside me.
None of this should have happened to her. She hadn't asked for any of it. Not the viral video or the gossip sites. Not strangers discussing her online. She'd spent one night with me and this was the result.
Guilt settled throughout my bones.
The article bothered me. The photographs bothered me more. Especially the one from her run.
The others made more sense.The airport, hotel, and restaurant. They were all public spaces.
But someone had recognized her. Someone had followed her enough to photograph her while she was jogging.
I didn't like that. Not one bit.
"You okay?"
She gave a humorless laugh.
"No."
Fair enough.
I rested my hands on her shoulders.
"We'll get it taken down."
"You really think that's possible?"
"No."
That earned the smallest hint of a smile.
"At least you're honest."
"Always."
The smile disappeared.
Immediately.
I felt her body stiffen beneath my hands.
Something changed.
Something deeper than a gossip article.
Slowly, she looked up at me.
Those blue eyes held mine.
There was hurt there.
Old hurt.
The kind that had nothing to do with me. Or maybe it had everything to do with me.
"I can't do this, Todd."
My stomach tightened.
"Do what?"
She looked down at the tea.
At the steam rising from the mug.
Then back at me.
"I refuse to let my life be built on lies."
The words landed between us.
Heavy and final.
"I can't do that again."
Again.
The word echoed in my head.
Again.
Whatever she was talking about, it wasn't this article.
It wasn't the photographs.
It wasn't Aspen.
And as I stood behind her with my hands resting on her shoulders, I realized there was an entire part of Cici's life I still didn't know.
A part that had just walked into the room.
And wasn't leaving.