She turned toward her office. Her assistant should have arrived, so they could meet face-to-face for the first time. Technically they’d been working together for a couple of weeks now, with Sheryl faxing and e-mailing information to Charity in Nevada.
Charity had visited Fool’s Gold during her interview process. She’d met with the mayor and a few members of the city council, and toured the area. She’d never lived in a small town before. The closest she’d come was Stars Hollow, from watching Gilmore Girls while still in college. She’d liked everything about Fool’s Gold and had been able to imagine herself putting down roots in the lakeside town. She had even been in this building, had looked around. But apparently she hadn’t noticed the giant poster on the wall.
Now she stared into a larger-than-life-size picture of her mystery guy. He smiled down at her, a bicycle helmet under one arm, a tight shirt and bike shorts leaving very little to the imagination. The print underneath the picture proclaimed Josh Golden—Fool’s Gold’s favorite son.
She blinked, then blinked again. Josh Golden as in the celebrated cyclist Josh Golden? Second youngest winner of the Tour de France and possibly hundreds of other bike races? She’d never followed the bike racing circuit or whatever it was called. She didn’t follow any sports. But even she had heard of him. He’d been married to somebody famous—she couldn’t remember who—and was now divorced. He endorsed energy drinks and a major athletic brand. He lived here? He’d come to her meeting and had saved the day?
Not possible, she told herself. Maybe she’d fallen and hit her head and now couldn’t remember the event. Maybe she was in a coma somewhere, imagining all this.
She walked past the poster and moved toward her office. Just outside the open door, she saw a thirty-something woman on the phone. The woman, dark-haired and pretty, looked up and smiled. “She’s here. I gotta go. Love you.” The woman stood. “I’m Sheryl, your assistant. You’re Charity Jones. Nice to finally meet you, Ms. Jones.”
“You, too, and please call me Charity.”
Sheryl grinned. “I just heard you got the university to sign. Mayor Marsha will be doing the happy dance. They’ve been slippery little suckers, but you nailed them.”
A flash of movement caught Charity’s attention. She glanced over her assistant’s shoulder and saw Sheryl’s screen saver had come on with a picture show.
The first shot showed Josh Golden on a racing bike. The second showed him shirtless and grinning. The third photo was a very naked guy in a shower, his back to the camera. Charity felt her eyes widen.
Sheryl glanced over her shoulder and laughed. “I know. He’s gorgeous. I downloaded these from the Internet. Want me to put them on your computer?”
“Ah, no. Thank you.” Charity hesitated. “I’m not sure naked pictures are appropriate for a business office.”
“Really?” Sheryl looked confused. “I hadn’t thought of that. I guess you’re right. I’ll take off the shower picture, even though it’s my favorite. Have you met Josh? He’s what my grandma would call dreamy. I’ve told my husband if Josh ever comes calling I am so outta here.”
So every other woman on the planet also reacted to Josh the way Charity had. Fabulous. Nothing was as thrilling as being part of an adoring crowd, she thought as she made her way into her office.
But it wasn’t a problem. She would simply avoid the man until she figured out how to control her reaction to him. She wanted a nice, normal, safe man. Her mother had always been attracted to the Joshes of the world: too handsome and adored by women everywhere. She’d gotten her heart broken regularly and painfully. Charity had been determined to learn from her mother’s mistakes.
After putting her dead laptop next to her box of personal things she had yet to unpack, Charity glanced through the open door toward Sheryl.
“Would you call the mayor and ask if I can stop by and see her this morning?”
Sheryl shook her head. “This isn’t the big city, Charity. You can pop in to see Marsha anytime.”
“All right. Thank you.”
Charity took the folder with the signed letter of intent with her as she walked to the end of the hallway. Mayor Marsha Tilson’s office was behind huge carved double doors, both of which stood open.
There was a big desk, two flags—U.S. and State of California—and a small conference table that seated six by the window.
Marsha sat in the small conversation group in the corner. As Charity entered, she saw that Josh was already there, lounging on a sofa, looking breathtakingly handsome and completely at home.
Marsha, an attractive, well-dressed woman in her sixties, smiled and rose to her feet. “We were just talking about you, Charity. You’ve had a busy morning. Congratulations. Josh here tells me you convinced Bernie to sign the letter of intent.”