Page 1 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

Chapter One

Gemma

“I’m sorry, what did you say? Where are you? Kansas? As in Dorothy and Toto? That Kansas?” Benjamin’s string of questions came in his signature style—rapid-fire. “What happened to West Virginia?”

“I was in West Virginia,” I said into the phone. “Now I’m in Kansas.”

“B-but why?”

I didn’t need to see his face to know it was agape with shock. For too long, Benjamin had tracked my every move. He’d stood by my side as I’d created my empire and had executed my directives with precision. The rigidity of my schedule wasn’t just for my benefit. He’d managed it flawlessly for the past six years.

This trip of mine was going to freak him way the hell out.

“I have something important to tell you.”

“No.” He groaned. “I’m still dealing with the mess you left me the last time you had something important to tell me.”

“Sorry.” I hadn’t meant to shake up his world. But since I’d completely torpedoed mine, changes to his were inevitable.

Three weeks ago, I’d called Benjamin into my office and told him that I was no longer the CEO of Gemma Lane. That I’d sold my beloved cosmetics company and namesake to Procter & Gamble. The monster corporation had purchased my brand and skin care formulas for the bargain price of twelve million dollars.

The sale had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. I didn’t make those, not anymore. And ever since, I’d been waiting for a ping of regret. It hadn’t hit me yet.

Instead, I’d felt free.

Selling Gemma Lane had been the first spontaneous decision I’d made in years. The floodgates were open now and these past three weeks had seen countless decisions made entirely with personal motivations.

For eleven years, I’d given every shred of my concentration and energy to my businesses. I’d worked my ass off to make sure I’d never be poor or homeless or hungry again. I’d lived my life with extreme control, shutting out any added emotion that wouldn’t increase my bottom line.

Then I’d just . . . walked away.

All because of a pasta and breadsticks lunch with a former colleague.

I’d gotten a random phone call from my friend Julie. She’d worked with me selling real estate years before and we’d loosely kept in touch over the years. Neither of us had stayed in real estate, and while I’d chosen to create my own company, she’d worked her way up the executive ranks at Procter & Gamble.

We’d met for lunch to celebrate her recent promotion. And she’d asked me, point-blank, if I’d ever sell Gemma Lane. The word yes came from nowhere, shocking us both. We’d negotiated over the meal and Julie had taken my bottom-line number to her superiors.

Five hours later, I had the legal agreement in my inbox.

My life had flown out the window, like a ream of paper being tossed from my fourteenth-floor office on a windy day. Benjamin had been trying to catch the pages and stack them neatly again, except I just kept tossing more.

“I’m taking some time away,” I told him.

“In West Virginia. You’re supposed to be in West Virginia visiting Londyn. Wait, what’s that noise? Are you driving?”

“Yes. About that . . .” My best friend Londyn was the reason I was in this car. “I was in West Virginia visiting Londyn. But remember last year when I told you she was taking her Cadillac and driving it to California?”

“I do. Except she met Brooks in West Virginia and married him. What does this—” Benjamin stopped. He was a brilliant man and normally our conversations went this way—I’d start explaining and he’d jump to the end before I could finish my story. “No. Tell me you’re not taking this car to California yourself.”

“I’m taking the car to California myself.”