Sparks Fly

surprised to see me?”
    “I take it you had a really important business meeting you couldn’t get out of?”
    It would have been impossible for Will to miss the sarcasm lacing her every word. “I was an idiot. But I’m here now.”
    His admission seemed to make Krista happy. “She’s in New York.”
    “New York? Why?”
    Krista shook her head. “You’re going to have to figure that one out for yourself,” she said, but she wrote Wishing Lake on a piece of paper and held it out to him.
    “You’re going to look great as the maid of honor,” he said as he leaned across the table to give her a quick hug, then high-tailed it out the door.
    Krista swiveled in her chair to watch Will run out to his car and speed off. She sighed and thought about Derek, whom she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind for the past few weeks. Even though he was a total nerd.
    “Why can’t I find my own CEO?” she muttered as she turned back to her latest case. “Heck, I’ll even take a VP at this point.” She smiled as she thought about her best friend and the man who obviously couldn’t live without her. “He’s right about one thing, at least. I’m gonna look damn good at their wedding.”

    * * *
    The five-hour flight to New York gave Will plenty of time to think about his life. Way too much time, in fact, considering he was still trying to stay clear of anything too deep or painful. Hoping to keep himself occupied with some light reading during the flight, he reached for the stack of newspapers next to his seat.
    Will soon comprehended his tactical error. His picture was on the front page of the Wall Street Journal , the New York Times , and the Financial Post .
    Playboy CEO walks out on takeover negotiations. Shareholders are outraged as PTI stock takes its biggest dip ever.
    Tech tycoon leaves company in jeopardy.
    CFO alleges illegal activity at PTI. Will Scott, CEO, implicated in dirty dealings.
    “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Will was hardly able to believe the newsprint spread across the table before him. He waited for his brain to start working on the best game plan for getting his company back on track.
    “Come on,” he urged himself when no inspiration was forthcoming. “There’s got to be a good idea in here somewhere.”
    He paced the small confines of his private plane, figuring that some movement was all he needed to get the blood going to his brain again. The only reason he had walked out on the negotiations in his boardroom was so that he could see Angelina. After that was taken care of, he was going to head right back into his office and throw himself wholeheartedly into running PTI again.
    Will heard the little voice in his head taunting him. Hey buddy, you know you don’t ever want to go back into that place. So why are you fighting it? You’re too much of a sissy to be a painter, aren’t you? You always loved the excuse that you couldn’t be a painter because you needed the money. But now that you’ve got money, you’re petrified to start painting.

    Will wondered if he was going crazy from lack of sleep.
    You go back into that office and keep playing CEO and you know what’s going to happen to you, don’t you?
    He was responsible to his shareholders and ...
    You’d get that damn word responsible gilded in gold if you could. That way you could run from ever having to feel anything again. You could just say, Oh, look at me. I’m so important and responsible for everyone.
    No. He didn’t do that. Did he?
    Why do you think your wife left you? Now you’ve got another chance at being happy, but you’re gonna blow it, aren’t you?
    No. He was going to ask Angelina to marry him.
    Now isn’t that sweet, the voice mocked. Won’t she be ever so happy playing the cute little wife to the big, fancy, lady-killer CEO?
    Will finally saw the truth: She was going to hate it.
    That’s right, Einstein. So why don’t you admit that you hate it, too?
    But he didn’t hate it. Not everything about it, in any case.
    Fine. Let me just ask you this: Would you rather be standing behind a canvas right now painting, or back in the boardroom locked in for forty-eight hours?
    Will punched the backrest of the seat beside him.
    “Sir?” The pilot opened the cockpit door and leaned out, looking at him with concern. “Are you all right back there?”
    Will quickly composed himself and nodded. “Everything’s fine, Charlie. Thanks for the smooth flight.” The pilot gave him a thumbs-up and