Rising Heat (30 page)

I was proud of my company, proud that my hard work and dedication was finally paying off. I had big hopes for the future when it came to developing more, bigger, and better for my company. That’s what it should be about. Not what happened over a decade ago…

I deliberately turned away from the window, pushing thoughts of my ancient past out of my mind and turning my attention back to Ruby. “Okay, I’ll try to play nice. Who is this reporter, and when am I supposed to speak to him?”

“Her
name is Misty Rankin, and she’ll be meeting you here in just a little while,” she said, checking her watch. “As a matter of fact, she should be on her way soon.”

“I’m not hanging around all day talking to her,” I warned. “My chopper’s being fueled as we speak.”

“She’ll be going with you, Blake,” Matt said idly.

I stared at him, saw the grin playing about his mouth. My eyes narrowed on my friend. “What?”

“That’s the agreement we made with the magazine. This will be an in-depth interview; one that will show readers what Hard Impact is all about. Inside and out.”

I continued to stare at him for several additional seconds. Matt wasn’t as intimidated by that stare as many others were. He merely stared back and lifted his eyebrows. “What are you saying, Matt?”

“I’m saying that she’s going to tag along while you take a look at that property in Oregon.” He shrugged. “And anywhere else you decide to go. Then, take your time and head over to Jackson Hole. They’re just about done with construction there. In fact, I suggest that you also check out the new facilities in Aspen while you’re at it.”

I stared at my friend as if he’d lost his mind. “You mean you want me to babysit this reporter? Are you nuts?”

“You’ve always said that the only way to really get to know what Hard Impact is all about is to go on one of our adventures. What better way for a reporter to really understand the company than showing her some of our properties, some of the options available to clients?”

I could tell by the sound of Matt’s voice that he was enjoying this. But I also knew that Matt was right. It was one thing to talk about a company, but another to show someone what it was, how it operated, what value it had. While I wasn’t happy about it, not in the least, I knew that Matt loved the company as much as I did. Was devoted to its success.

Nevertheless, I frowned. I opened my mouth to speak, to find a way around his logic, but Matt held up his hand. “I’ll hold down the fort here,” he said. “I’m meeting with the finance advisers in regard to our potential acquisition in New Mexico.”

I nodded. Bungee jumping off of the Rio Grande Bridge, otherwise known as the Gorge Bridge, located between Taos and Santa Fe, was a lure to bungee jumpers and wingsuit divers from around the world. The bridge rose over five hundred feet above the Rio Grande. I’d had my eye on the attraction for the past couple of years.

“What about the heli-skiing in Alaska?”

“I’m meeting with them next week.”

I nodded. Matt seemed to have things under control. Always did. That’s why he was such a valuable asset. Once the new properties were ready to launch and contracts made in New Mexico and Alaska, I could focus my attention on my next acquisition.

It was ambitious, no doubt about it, but if my talks with a number of military trained pilots and the Defense Department worked out, I’d be able to offer one of the most unique adventure experiences in the world. Clients could take to the skies with experienced flight instructors operating as a primary pilot in jet fighters. Right now, I was focused on a location in Texas, but if things went well, I would soon be expanding to Canada and maybe even Europe.

Which was another reason I was so frustrated and disgusted with Celine. My business had been growing by leaps and bounds, on the fast track to take me and my company to the top. Then Celine started spreading rumors, dredging up the past, casting innuendo and aspersions that she knew weren’t true. But to get her to stop, I would have to throw a defamation or libel suit at her and that would mean depositions, questions, maybe even investigations.

Shit. No one knew the truth, and if I had anything to say about it, they never would. It was nobody’s damned business. Why did it matter that I was a billionaire? Just because I had money didn’t give people the right to stick their noses into my personal and private life. Not on my watch.

Bottom line, I knew that Jerry, Ruby, and Matt were right. If I didn’t put a stop to all the rumors and gossip, my hope for upcoming deals could be permanently damaged. I knew the importance of reputation and had always worked hard to earn a good one. I had been successful at it too, until Celine, damn her!

I paced around the table for several moments, eyeing each of my board members. I’d chosen each of them for a reason. Not one of them was afraid to stand up to me. Not one of them was afraid to say what they really thought and back it up with good, solid reasons. I didn’t like it all the time, like now, but that’s why they were here. I sighed and turned to Ruby.

“So who is this woman doing the interview with me? Who is she?”

“Her name is Misty Rankin.”

“Never heard of her,” I said.

“From what I’ve been able to gather, she’s relatively new at the magazine. This is her first serious assignment.” Ruby saw that I was about to say something and held up her finger. “Don’t be so quick to judge. I’ve done a little background on her. She’s a hard worker, born in the Dallas area. Worked at a regional paper for a while before relocating to San Francisco last summer to start with the magazine.”

Great.

An overzealous newbie wanting to earn her stripes with the magazine editor would be interviewing me. Well, she shouldn’t be too hard to handle. It wasn’t like I was being interviewed by one of the more well-known journalists in San Francisco, or even Los Angeles. Some of those so-called reporters were cutthroat, and I didn’t use the term lightly. All flash on the outside, no substance on the inside. Oozing charm one minute, then displaying their wicked side the next.

Once again I was right back where I started. I abhorred interviews and most reporters. All they really wanted to know was the very thing I refused to talk about. Once that was made plain to them, they printed negative aspersions in their articles. “Refuses to speak about his past” or “failed to answer questions about…”

Maybe my past would never escape me, I thought, stepping back to the windows and gazing outside. My office, located near the top of the hill in the Presidio neighborhood, offered a gorgeous view of the Golden Gate strait as well as the Golden Gate Bridge, when the fog lifted, that is. Despite the wild beauty of the day, the often unpredictable weather, and the beautiful beaches along the seashore to the north, I felt stifled here. Yes, I was within driving distance of a number of outdoor spots, but nothing in this city really captivated me.

I settled, at least temporarily, in San Francisco because that’s where Matt’s family lived. Matt was devoted to his parents and because they were getting on in years, he wanted to be located in a place where he could visit them on a fairly regular basis. After college, as I was mentally shaping the formation of my company, Matt suggested using San Francisco as our base of operations, at least regarding the central hub. I had agreed, thinking that it really didn’t matter where the home office was located. I was out on the road checking, visiting, and improving properties all over the United States on a regular basis and wasn’t in San Francisco for extended periods of time.

Still, I was feeling the itch. It was time to get out of the city, to disappear into Mother Nature once again, the only place where I really felt at peace. And now this woman, this Misty girl… whoever… was being forced on me. I didn’t like the idea, not in the least. Sometimes, I liked to disappear for days, even weeks into the wilderness. Jerry, Ruby, and Matt were used to that. Sure, I kept in touch, leaving a lot of the business stuff for Matt to deal with while I took my time exploring properties, imagining what I could do to improve client experiences when it came to the outdoor adventures. Rock climbing, ice climbing, developing Black Diamond skiing options, wind sailing, parasailing, and skydiving ventures. No limit to the ideas I had for not only introducing the general public to the adventures the wilderness could provide but getting them away from the city to appreciate everything the wilderness had to offer.

I blew out a long breath. So, little miss Misty Rankin was going to accompany me to inspect my new acquisition between the Rogue River National Forest and Crater Lake National Park in southern Oregon. So, Misty Rankin wanted to get to know me, did she? Find out what I was all about? Learn firsthand how my company had become so successful, and if she were very lucky, who Blake Masters really was?

Fine. If Misty Rankin was serious about her job, she would have to work for her answers. I hoped she didn’t arrive at my office wearing a pencil skirt and high heeled shoes because this little journalist was about to get the low and dirty on Blake Masters. She was going to learn what makes me tick. But she’d have to work for every word that came out of my mouth. If she couldn’t keep up, oh well.

I had yet to meet a woman who could keep up with me. I wasn’t being particularly arrogant with that kind of comment, but it was true. The few women I’d met in the past with whom I’d even considered getting serious were not exactly comfortable with the great outdoors. They preferred the high life that money could give them. They wanted to dine at fancy restaurants, go to parties, and hobnob with rich people. And that was the entire problem. Could any woman ever appreciate me for who I really was?

I knew that not all women were after money or recognition, or being followed on Twitter, Instagram, or Periscope, or whatever the hell they were involved in these days. The problem was, due to my reputation as an up-and-coming billionaire, I was often targeted by women who wanted what I could offer. Most of those relationships had been brief and superficial.

Unfortunately, Celine had managed to fool me, for a while anyway. Yes, she was a socialite and a beautiful one at that, but she’d also pretended to be interested in my company, to hear about my adventures. Once, she had gone with me to one of my properties. She had taken one look at the canoe and the rapids and begged off. When I asked why, she hemmed and hawed for a few minutes, and then dropped the bombshell. “I’m pregnant, Blake.”

Stupid as I was, I’d believed her. Not long after, I proposed. After all, that was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Despite my concerns, despite my fear of being a husband and father, I
had
stepped up to the plate. And what had I gotten for it? Stabbed in the back.

Once again I shook my head, hardening my heart. Not all women were like Celine or the other women I’d dated. I knew that. Not all women were in it for the money, or for what I could give them. Not all of them were just interested in a one-night stand. But to date, I’d not met one who wasn’t. I didn’t want to prejudge Misty Rankin, but until I got to know her, she would be lumped into that category with the rest.

I just hoped that she was up for the challenge.

Misty

I
decided to take a cab from my apartment to Blake Master’s home office, located in the Presidio section of San Francisco. Though I had been here for nearly eight months now, I still got nervous driving in the city. Sometimes parking was a bear and I didn’t want to have to deal with all that. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect with this initial interview and had changed clothes three times before deciding on a simple pair of dress slacks, a button-down linen blouse, a light sweater, and flats. I carried a small leather satchel that contained my laptop and a good old-fashioned legal pad, an assortment of pens and pencils, calculator, and of course, my wallet.

My auburn hair was drawn back into a simple, sleek ponytail. I didn’t want to over-dress. After all, he was the head of an outdoor adventure company. I rather imagined that he would be wearing something casual, either khakis or jeans, but certainly not a suit. At least I hoped not, or I would be terribly underdressed. I had wavered between a skirt and silk blouse at one end of the spectrum and casual jeans and a t-shirt at the other but had ultimately decided on something in between.

As I sat in the back seat of the taxi, which smelled vaguely of Lysol, sweat, and, unfortunately, puke, I frowned, not at all pleased with what little I did manage to learn about Blake Masters the day before. I spent the remainder of yesterday at the office trying to dig up information about him on the Internet, made several phone calls, all of which ended up nowhere, and bouncing ideas off Melanie.

“How is it possible that there’s so little information about the murder?” I exclaimed in frustration after about an hour of searching.

“He was a juvenile,” Melanie commented. “His records were probably sealed.”

“I get that,” I said, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. “But I’m talking about the murder. The family was wealthy. You would think that there would be a lot more in the news about the entire incident, but there’s only a couple of brief write-ups.”

“That’s just it,” Melanie said. “They were, and are, rich. They can pay off anybody, and back then nobody thought twice about it. It was the way things were done.”

“At the turn of the millennium?” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not like DNA was in its infancy or anything, Melanie. I’m not finding any information regarding the particulars of the case; no forensics, no evidence, no motives…”

“Keep digging,” Melanie encouraged. “If anybody can find information, it’s you.”

I wasn’t so sure. “I’m not the first one to go digging into this case. And I’m sure I won’t be the last. I’ve tried public records and the Shawnee County Courthouse. I left a message with the County Sheriff’s office too, but doubt they’ll call me back.” I sighed and rubbed my temples. “I even left a message with the Topeka City Police.”

I didn’t like to go into anything blind without at least some information. What little I’d managed to find out about Blake Masters was that his father, Jeremy Masters, had made his millions with something to do with the railroad. At the time he was murdered, he was in his early fifties. His wife, Eileen, had been somewhat of a social butterfly, apparently loved by all, or at least the social columns claimed. Blake’s grandfather, Ralph, had some questionable ties with Chicago. Not surprising, really, as he was born in the early 1920s, and Blake’s great-grandfather, Jack Masters, had been born and raised there. It was no secret that he was heavily involved in bootlegging.