LITMIR.BIZ

       One

      Mayor Chase Ferguson’s best friend and head of his security team strolled into his office, sheet of paper in hand.

      “Busy?” Emmett asked.

      “Extremely,” Chase answered, droll. He’d been staring at the same spot on the wall for going on twenty minutes trying to figure out how to answer the governor’s email.

      “I won’t be long.” Emmett wasn’t smiling, but Chase could tell his best bud was amused. Emmett knew Chase better than anyone—better than his own family in some cases. With a flick of his fingers, Emmett dropped the sheet of paper on the desk.

      Chase lifted the printed color photo. In it, a delicate, thin woman, mouth open in an angry shout was holding a poster board. On the poster was a photo of a bird dripping with black goo and the words painted around the image read OIL KILLS. An angry crowd in the background held similar signs, but it was the woman in clear focus that snared his attention.

      Soft, dark curls blew over fine cheekbones and plump lips. Even now, years later, he didn’t have to try to recall the feel of her elegant, slim body against his. Mimi Andrix was runway-model thin with small breasts and subtle curves. The years had been good to her, depending on how recently this photo was taken.

      “When was it taken?” Chase asked.

      “Three years ago, in Houston.”

      “How did you come across it?”

      “One of your campaign staff alerted me. It was mailed to the office alongside a letter threatening to send it to Jamie Holland.”

      Chase’s opponent. An all around `not-so-nice guy with questionable ties to big, bad men in Texas, and involved in too many illegal activities to list.

      “We’re trying to find out where it’s from, but so far no luck,” Emmett said in the same flat, matter-of-fact tone.

      Chase grunted. Ah, election season. He was on his second term and preferred to stay where he was for as long as his city allowed him. Not only was he one of Dallas’s youngest mayors, but he was also one of the few politicians interested in the seat who was unbribable. As a son of the Fergusons and one-third owner of Ferguson Oil, Chase had plenty of money of his own. He didn’t crave power or prestige. He craved justice. Staying in office meant crowding out potentially corrupt politicians. Jamie Holland, for example.

      “I recognized her right away.” Emmett tapped the edge of the photo. He’d been on the three-month-long trip where Chase had met Mimi. Emmett was one of the few people who knew what had transpired between them all those summers ago. All that had gone well before it’d gone sideways.

      “She should know that she’s a potential target for publicity.” Mimi hated politics. She wouldn’t appreciate being dragged into the mud during his upcoming campaign if and when news of their previous relationship saw the light of day.

      “I tracked her down. She lives in Bigfork. You have a trip scheduled for Montana soon, don’t you? Why not tell her in person?” His friend smirked knowingly.

      “Somehow I doubt she’d welcome me with open arms.” The last time Chase had seen her, he’d put her on a plane leaving Dallas for Bigfork. Her face was red from a combination of anger and devastation—both of which he’d put into her expression. She’d hated him then and he doubted her feelings for him had warmed since.

      “She works for a conservation society. Some environmental group. Her bio on the website mentioned ‘saving the planet.’”

      That drew a proud smile to Chase’s mouth. Mimi’s giving and loving heart had been so huge it’d encapsulated not only him, but the environmental causes she’d cared about so passionately. Not until she’d come with him to Dallas did she know the extent of Chase’s involvement in one of the biggest enemies to the environment—her words. The oil industry was his family’s industry.

      But she didn’t call it quits between them when she found out. Chase was surprised she’d seen around his inherited billions that had come from the very industry destroying the causes she’d championed, but she had. She’d tearfully told him she didn’t hold it against him and that they’d work through it and that the only thing that mattered was how they felt for each other.

      He’d been the one who’d ended it. It’d killed him to do it. Even though they never would’ve worked out, he’d cared about her and would’ve preferred ending their relationship on better terms.

      “Do you ever wonder,” Emmett said as he turned for the door, “if you two had married how that would’ve gone?”

      “No.” Chase never second-guessed decisions. The point of making one was that you didn’t have to revisit it.

      “Seeing that photo made me wonder if she’d have bent to your will and become a proper politician’s wife, or if you would’ve caved to hers and been alongside her protesting the evils of big oil.”

      The bagel Chase had for breakfast turned to stone in his stomach. He didn’t like thinking about what would’ve happened. What could’ve happened.

      What a colossal waste of resources.

      “The first one,” he answered. Which was exactly why he hadn’t continued a relationship with Mimi. She was too good at being who she was to be dragged into politics, having to explain herself or apologize for her past. Chase’s desire to protect her had dominated his decision to put her on that airplane. Clean breaks were best, and he’d told her as much at the time.

      Emmett shut the door behind him, leaving Chase in his office with thoughts he didn’t care to have. He’d had plenty of brief relationships in the ten years since he and Mimi had ended theirs. He didn’t know if it was the age they’d been at the time—him twenty-six to her twenty-three—or if it’d been the high of a summer fling, but she stood out in his mind to this day. The rare act of being wrapped in her arms for three months had felt more like three years.

      Whatever it was, she’d left a mark. An indelible one.

      Back then, he hadn’t been as conservative as he was now. He’d been more like his father, Rider. With a rough edge. His mother, Eleanor, had taken it upon herself to sand those edges down on her boys. It’d worked on Chase, and while Zach fell into line with the company, his wild streak was still strong. Chase’s had been buried long ago. Hell, it was probably on the bottom of Flathead Lake in Montana.

      Once he’d become certain of his political interests, he’d gladly gone from rough to refined. If he hadn’t gone the refined route, he imagined he’d have turned out like Emmett, who was best described as rough on the edges and in the middle. Emmett had started out in security—a perfect fit for his bulk and brawn—and it wasn’t long before Chase had asked him to

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