Colorado is different than it was a decade ago. I’ve been back a few times after my life imploded, but never to stay longer than a few days. I pretty much left the airport and headed straight to my parents’ house, barely setting foot outside until it was time to head back to the airport.
Few things could have brought me back to my childhood town, my mom and dad being two of them. Truth is, I should have confronted my past a long time ago. It shouldn’t have taken my father’s sickness, because now I’ve lost too much time with him when he was healthy.
But first things first. I need a job.
Which is why I’m currently a tad creeped out at the building where my childhood friend, Ford Masterson, asked to meet him to talk about becoming a part of his campaign team for the mayoral race.
Ford’s parents live next to my parents and he’s always been a stand-up guy and good friend to me. Even though he was part of the stupid group called the Classholes in high school and we didn’t run in the same circles, to me he was always just Ford, the kid who liked to go out on rainy days and move worms from the concrete to the grass before the sun came out and killed them.
I grab my leather bag off the passenger seat and step out of the SUV. The sun warms my face even though it’s colder than normal this January according to the weather guy. Tightening my coat, I steel myself against the brisk wind and walk into the building.
The foyer isn’t anything special. Standard beige walls with matching tiles and a board listing all the suite’s occupants. This building is so not up to the caliber of the Mastersons’ taste. Why would he ever start up his campaign here?
I dig out my phone to reread his text. He said to meet him in suite 302. I opt to use the stairs over the elevator because I’ve been slack on my workouts. The stress and tension winds its way through my muscles, leaving me hunkered down in a dark room with a migraine when I don’t find a way to release it.
By the time I reach the third floor, I’m a little winded, which means I need to fit in time for my workouts. I follow the signs to the left until I reach the door marked 302.
With a deep breath, I turn the handle and step inside. It’s a large space with three doors at the far side facing the street. Completely empty, not one table or chair to be found. My adrenaline kicks in, and I’m ready to run back down the stairs and out to my SUV to reach safety.
I suddenly wish Gretchen and I had attended those self-defense classes last year rather than ditching them for tapas and sangria.
“Hello?” I call out, my shaking voice echoing through the large and vacant space.
“Isla?” Ford pops out of the furthest office. “I was just mentally planning out my office space.”
One look at Ford Masterson’s aqua eyes and charming smile and it’s like a fresh wound opening up all over again. High school. His friends. The enigma that a perfect life does exist for a select few.
There were six Classholes altogether. They all came from wealthy and powerful families who allowed them to do whatever the hell they wanted without repercussions or concern for who got hurt in the process. Me included when I stupidly played into their hands senior year.
“It’s good to see you.” I step forward as he draws nearer, lifting a hesitant hand out between us.
He glances down and a crease forms between his eyebrows. “We’re past that, don’t you think?” His arms wrap around me, pulling me into him.
My arms stay on my sides until he doesn’t release me. Raising them up, I pat him on the back a few times to increase the odds of his affection ending. It’s funny how you forget certain things about people when you’ve been away. With Ford, he’s a politician’s son turned politician himself. He was trained to make people, in and out of his social circle, believe he’s their best friend.
“You look amazing.” He holds me at arm’s length as his eyes sweep up and down my body. Not a slow and easy sexual perusal, but like he’s cataloging all the changes since the last time we saw one another.
“Thank you, you as well.”
And he does. His straight nose and dusting of facial hair mixed with his blue eyes and brown hair give the appearance of royalty. It’s easy to see why he’s referred to as a political prince by the press.
“I’d offer you a place to sit, but as you can see, I haven’t furnished the place yet.” He gestures to the stark space around us.
“From what you said on the phone, you don’t have much time.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got people on it.” He smiles in that way only the uber-rich do, knowing that they have the means to make anything happen.
“I’m sure they are.”
It’s not like my family doesn’t have money. Ford and I weren’t neighbors because my family was gifted a mansion in Cherry Creek by Habitat for Humanity. But I didn’t grow up under the same pressures that Ford and his friends did. I wasn’t next in line to rule the throne of an awaiting dynasty. My father got lucky by investing in the right companies early in the 1970s and continued to use his profits to make more money.
“Do you want to hang up your coat?” He gestures behind me to a series of iron hooks anchored to the wall, one of which holds his jacket.
“Sure.” It might lack furniture, but the heat sure works because it’s hot in here.
I hang up my coat and bag, quickly running my fingers through my wavy brown hair, hoping the wind didn’t turn it into a bird’s nest.
“I have to admit, I was surprised to get your phone call,” I say.
“My mother ran into yours at a meeting for the hospital fundraiser and mentioned that you’re back in town.” He waves me into the office he came out of.
“I’m not sure for how long, though.”
He leans on the windowsill with his hands gripping either side of the ledge next to his hips, the mountains a beautiful backdrop from what I’m guessing is the office he’s claiming. “What brings you back?” he asks, tilting his head, assessing me.
I blink to force the tears back that want to break free. My dad is a private man and he was clear that no one is to find out about his illness. He doesn’t want people to think he’s weak and vulnerable.
“I recently finished law school and need to pass the bar, so I thought I’d come home while I study.”
He nods. It wasn’t a complete lie. I do need to study and pass the bar if I’m ever going to practice law. “How did you like Washington? Is that where you’re going to practice once you pass?”
I nod my head. “Yes.”
Another lie. The last thing I’m worried about is passing any state bar exam. It can wait until my dad’s healthy again.
Ford shoves both his hands into his pockets. One thing I was always jealous of when it came to the Classholes was the way they held their confidence. “Would you have time to help out with my campaign?”
I tilt my head to the side. “Depends on what you have in mind?”
He smiles. “I’d like you to come on board and act as my press secretary.”
“You realize I have no experience?”
Ford rocks back on his heels. “I’m aware. But I also know that you volunteered at the NCAAP for the duration of your time in Washington and that you helped out with Senator Richie’s campaign. Not to mention some of the work you did at legal aid. All that makes me think that you’re someone who wants to make a difference in the world.” He winks, like he’s the change the city needs.