Venture Forward (5 page)

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll teach you what you need to know so you can get one of your own. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Darryl pointed back to the group of girls. “I bet the hotties’ll love it.”

Darryl’s dad was an alcoholic who’d taken off when he was six. He’d been working odd jobs since he was eleven to help out at home. Surfing was a luxury he would never have been able to afford, if not for the program. But what would happen when the program ended? It would be too easy for Darryl to fall back into bad habits when he no longer had his support network, and that was the biggest challenge they’d faced with BreakOut.

Evan herded the group toward a pile of surfboards on the sand. “Okay, guys, let’s get to work. All the boards need to be cleaned and waxed. I also contacted a bunch of local surf shops. I’m thinking we can get sponsorship for a countywide beginner surfing competition. You guys have come a long way, and I think you can hold your own. Could open some doors.”

Darryl looked down at his buzzing phone. With a deep sigh, he tucked it into his board shorts.

Paul nudged him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Typical crap.”

“You good with money? Do you need anything?”

“Nah, you’ve done so much already. It’s cool. I just gotta get right home after this. My ma needs to… to go out. You know how it is.”

Yeah, it really sucked to have to hold it together all the time. He knew that feeling all too well. “Look, if things get rough, you know you can always call me, right?”

“I know. I just feel like I need to handle things on my own. To be strong for my family and all that.”

“It’s okay to ask for help. We’re all in this together. That’s the whole point of the program. If things get rough, just pick up the phone.”
Don’t do anything stupid. Find an outlet. Save yourself.
Sure, it sounded so simple in theory, but the harsh reality was anything but.

“Thanks, man.”

“Great, now get your ass over there and grab a few boards.”

“Yes, boss.”

Unfortunately, money could only solve their immediate problems. The long-term effects of the abuse they’d suffered were what would ultimately cripple the emotional stability of the kids. And since Paul hadn’t exactly figured out how to deal with those himself, how the hell could he help anyone else?

“
A FEW YEARS AGO
, my life wasn’t glamorous. I was constantly on the road, networking like crazy, trying to get investors to buy in to my idea. It was a big gamble, but I believed in CrowdRok. I wanted to provide an open forum for entertainment hopefuls, give them a chance to convince cyberspace they had a talent worthy of recognition. I created a level playing field for anyone who felt in their heart of hearts that they had
it
. Not an easy feat. It took a lot of convincing to get the initial start-up funding. Not everyone shared my vision or my desire to create opportunities for people who might not otherwise have them. But the right partners helped the company expand beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. It’s now
the
premier online concert venue. Members register with a dream, and CrowdRok delivers a platform that can help turn those dreams into reality. I’m sure you’re all familiar with a young lady named Ally Maxwell.”

The room erupted into loud hoots and thunderous applause.

Avery flashed a wide smile at the crowd of Berkeley students. “Ally tried out for
American Idol
three separate times and was rejected after each audition. But she never gave up, and through CrowdRok, she was able to convince the world that she was a force to be reckoned with. Now she’s on her way to signing with one of the biggest record labels in the country, all because of you.
You
helped her achieve that dream.”

“Al-ly! Al-ly! Al-ly!” the students chanted, and Avery couldn’t stop the chuckle from escaping her lips. A wave of sadness quickly followed as she recalled Tara’s excitement and the following she’d created on CrowdRok. She’d been the first one to achieve the dream. At least she’d experienced that happiness before she died.

There was a huge turnout for Innovation Day at UCLA Berkeley, and the pure energy in the room was infectious. Avery surveyed the students milling around after her presentation. Maybe she could find some summer interns. Why should Stanford students get all the cushy jobs? There was plenty of talent outside those Spanish stucco arches.

“Excuse me, Miss Hunter?”

Avery’s head snapped up from her iPhone, and she came face-to-face with a strikingly pretty girl with long, light-brown hair and large green eyes. She grinned. “Hi, and please, call me Avery.”

“I’m Kearney Fuller. I just wanted to say your presentation was fantastic!”

“Thanks so much. It’s great to meet you. Are you majoring in Entrepreneurship and Innovation?”

“Yes, I’d love to do a double major, maybe with marketing.”

“Good plan. What’s your background?”

Kearney snickered. “Surfing, not that it's my future.”

“Oh, I love surfing too. Although my short-lived aquatic career almost came screeching to a halt the other day when I took a board to the head. Trust me, it’s always good to have a Plan B.”

“I didn’t know you surfed!”

“I’m not going to win any awards, but, yes, I guess you can say I do
surf
.” She furrowed her brow at an incoming text from Carly. “Kearney, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to take a call. Here’s my card. Why don’t you give me a call sometime so we can chat? I’d be happy to help if you have any questions at all or just need some career guidance, one woman to another.”

“Thank you so much! I’ll definitely be in touch.”

Avery grabbed her handbag and walked out of the amphitheater, hoping for a little privacy. No such luck. The halls were jammed with throngs of students focused on their phones and iPads. An empty lecture hall… perfect! That was exactly what she needed. Her body lurched forward to take the next step, but her right foot wouldn’t cooperate. What the hell? A quick glance at the floor made her groan. Her brand-new Jimmy Choo was now held captive by a metal grate. “Dammit!”

Avery twisted her ankle to free the heel, but it was futile. “Who puts air vents on the floor anyway?” she grumbled, trying to free the leather-covered heel without scratching it. She pinched her lips together.

“Seems like you’ve got quite the fan base here at Berkeley. I’m sure they’d love the shoe as a keepsake.”

Oh God, not again.
She narrowed her eyes at Paul Emerson’s amused look, still jiggling the shoe. “I already left them with plenty.” Her voice was sharp, but her insides trembled under his ice-blue gaze. Why was her body always betraying her like this? Big deal, he was a hot guy! Had she never encountered one of those before? Why was breathing such an effort when he was near? Argh! If only she could get the damned shoe out!

With a cocky grin on his handsome face, Paul knelt and slid a little button forward. The vents opened, and suddenly her shoe was freed, only having suffered a few minor scratches.

“Crisis averted.”

The intensity of his gaze sent shivers to her core. She swallowed hard. Jesus, did it really only take a flash of those eyes to make her forget
everything
? Was she really that vapid? “Thank you.”

“So rescuing your
shoe
qualifies for acknowledgement. Interesting.“

He held out a hand and she grasped it, horrified at the tingling sensations shooting up her arm. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. She clenched her fists; silently willing her mind to erase those images of him sprawled on top of her, the feeling of his hard—

Yanking her hand away, she returned attention to the slightly injured shoe, trying in vain to calm her racing pulse. The scent of his cologne swirled in the air, teasing her nostrils. Why couldn’t he be wearing Old Spice? There was nothing remotely sexual about
that
scent. “What are you doing here? I figured you to be a Stanford exclusive.”

That sexy smile never wavered. “I can always be persuaded to have a change in direction.”

“Paul Emerson! It’s so great to see you again!” Case in point. The voice belonged to a young woman in her late twenties: tall, curvaceous, and drop-dead gorgeous in a skin-tight dress and sky-high heels. An outfit completely inappropriate for such an event, but its effect wasn’t lost on Paul. The girl flipped her long wavy hair and greeted him with a seductive smile, which he quickly returned.

Avery stifled a snort and slipped her foot back into the shoe. He probably hadn’t needed too much convincing from Little Miss Double D. Slimeball.

Busty Supermodel focused a critical eye on Avery and linked her arm through his. “You’re late.”

Avery’s fist twitched at her side, itching to land a left hook on her dewy cheekbone. Maybe it would knock out a few of those perfect teeth, too.
Jeez, when did she get so territorial about a guy she despised?

“Sorry. Just helping out a friend.” He glanced back at Avery. “Nice to see you again. Watch out for those grates.”

With a triumphant look on her perfectly made-up face, the girl whispered something in Paul’s ear as she led him away.

Bitch.
The iPhone buzzed again. “Hi, Carly. What’s up?”

“We need to set up some time for you to meet the new head of public relations for Yardley Press. She’s excited to meet the woman behind the story and eager to capitalize on the media blitz. We suspect the intrigue surrounding your pen name is what gave it the initial boost, which we now need to sustain. There may even be a second book deal with a very lucrative advance in your future.”

“Are you sure my real name won’t be leaked?”

“Of course. Don’t worry, your true identity is under lock and key. Just make sure your inner circle can be trusted. The media has a way of making people talk, and we want to keep T.A. Powell our little secret. She’s going to make us a bundle.”

People should be focused on Peter Everly, not T.A. Powell.
He
was the one who deserved to be exposed. The real monster on Sand Hill.

THE EVENING AIR WAS BRISK
as Paul walked toward his car, a welcome change from the blazing hot midday sun. Leaves rustled on the maple trees that lined the office park. It had been a long day, one he was intent to put behind him, but Evan insisted they meet at Wellington’s for a drink. It was rare Evan was available so early on a weeknight. Residents at Menlo Park Surgical Hospital didn’t frequently see the light of day. Something must have been up for him to be awake, alert, and in need of brotherly conversation.

Paul slid into the plush leather bucket seat and, with the press of a button, the Bentley’s engine roared to life. The 101 headed toward Sausalito was deserted, unlike the normal bumper-to-bumper traffic that plagued the freeway. A near-empty bag of Twizzler Cherry Bites called from the over-stuffed glove compartment, except sugar wasn’t what he craved at that moment. Avery Hunter had his head in a million-and-one places, none of which involved licorice. Chocolate syrup maybe, whipped cream… definitely. For the past three hours, he’d been able to think of little else other than the way her tight skirt clung to that perfect ass as she lamented over her imprisoned shoe. There was obviously a reason behind the intense hostility she’d been harboring, but it wasn’t enough to stop the lewd fantasies from permeating his mind, scenes he’d like very much to act out with her as a willing and eager participant. It wouldn’t take much for him to eradicate all that pent-up anger. It might even spice things up.

A few minutes later, he pulled up to the valet stand and handed over his keys and a fifty-dollar bill. “Keep it close for me.”

Several younger women congregated at the bar, flashing appraising glances as he passed. One particularly well-endowed brunette pressed a business card into his hand, her bright red lips curled into a sultry smile. “Maybe you’ll join me for a drink later.”

Typical. This was the usual drill to which he’d grown accustomed. Women sensed the power and control and would do just about anything for a sliver of his attention. Then they were his — ready and willing — begging most times to do just about anything he suggested. Until the morning, when he was ready to move on.
Alone
.

“Maybe.” He stifled a smirk, ignoring the look of shock that flitted across her perfect features. She obviously wasn’t used to being bypassed. Too bad Evan was waiting. It would have been fun.

Paul clapped Evan on the back as he approached the table. “Why do you look so rested? Did you get fired or something?”

“No, I’m on call tonight, but I needed to talk to you.”

A waitress came over and flashed a bright smile at Paul. “Here you go, Macallan on the rocks.”

“Thanks, my brother knows me too well.” He lifted the glass and gulped the amber liquid. Maybe few more might get that hot blonde mess out of his head, at least until he was able to do something about it. “What's with the look?"

The somber expression on Evan’s face sent up a bunch of red flags. “I got a call today from Aunt Margaret. Dad’s in the hospital with Stage 4 liver cancer.”