Worth the Risk(22)
I begin to collect my visuals—mock-ups of graphics with logos and ad copy, a detailed breakdown of the social media campaign that will begin with the next round of voting, a brainstorm of different outlets to try to channel support from as well as the ever-important numbers my contest has affected. Advertising intake and search engine statistics and website hits. All the stuff that makes my head spin but is the exact barometer of my success.
“Your numbers are solid,” Rissa says as the last person leaves the conference room, her pseudo-praise surprising.
“They could be better.”
“They could be,” she says as her fingers click over the keyboard of her laptop. “I did some digging on your Grayson guy.”
“You did?” I ask with a glance her way, wondering if she came up with the same run-of-the-mill information I did last night. And secondly, why is she digging anything up on him when he’s my task to figure out? But then again, I failed that part miserably if judged by our last interaction.
“Mm-hmm.” She narrows her eyes and purses her lips but keeps her attention focused on her laptop.
“And?”
“And from the pictures I could find—Mercy-Life staff photos and whatnot . . . you know, the kind we can’t exactly use for our purposes—yeah, he’s pretty damn hot.”
“Told you.”
She lifts her eyes to meet mine for the first time. “Telling me he’s hot is one thing. Telling me you convinced him to be an active participant is a whole other ball game.”
“He’s single,” I blurt out for no other reason than to try to let her know I did in fact find out something new about him. The minute I say it though, I feel stupid, and the laugh that Rissa fights to emit tells me it sounds equally as ridiculous to her.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Thorton . . . like tell me he’s agreed to give you new pictures?”
“We’re in talks.”
This time, she can’t win the battle, and a laugh falls from her mouth, drawing heads to pop up like meerkats over the tops of cubicles to see what is so funny. “You’re in talks? That means you don’t have anything, and it most definitely means this.” Her smile widens as she reaches out to a mock-up of one of my advertisements and slides a picture of Braden over the center where I’d planned to put Grayson.
“Uh-uh.” I shake my head. “That’s Grayson’s.”
“Well, until you get a picture of Grayson, it’s Braden’s spot.” She winks as she throws down the challenge. “You’re pretty sure of yourself for a woman who can’t convince a man to be part of a contest.”
I give her a sideways glance to let her know I hear her but don’t want to talk about it. Grayson made his feelings more than clear last night. Now it’s on me to eat some crow all the while figuring out what it would take to convince him to change his mind.
“Did you know he’s known for being quite the hero around these parts?”
“What do you mean?” I think of those kind eyes of his and try to imagine him in the role. Then I think of last night and how he stepped in and don’t doubt it for a second.
“There was an article I found buried a few pages in when I searched his name. Do you remember that rescue in the High Sierras that hit national news earlier this year? A rough snowstorm, high altitudes, those stranded hikers missing for almost a week?”
“I think I saw something about that on CNN. Didn’t a civilian fly into the storm to try to find them? Something about how he calculated they had gone the opposite direction the authorities thought—”
“That’s the one.”
“The guy who flew directly into the blizzard, found them, saved them, and flew them out. Holy shit . . .” My words trail off as realization dawns.
“He took the risk to save them. Yeah. That’s our Grayson.” She purses her lips.
“Then how come I didn’t find that when I looked him up?”
“That article and others never mentioned the pilot by name, but I was curious as to why it came up in my search. It couldn’t just be because he’s a pilot. So, I dug deeper and looked at more accounts of the rescue, and one of the comments on, like, the tenth article mentioned the rescuer’s name, one Grayson Malone. Then I called a friend in the know at the airfield, and he confirmed it. He said people around here have respected Grayson’s wish for privacy and leave the subject alone. He also directed me to the only interview Grayson gave on the situation. He wasn’t identified in it, but he said him finding the hikers had been a matter of circumstances. He had access to the right equipment and had the right skills and that anyone would have stepped in to save them if they could. That he didn’t consider himself a hero, and that no thank-yous were needed because he didn’t do anything out of the ordinary.”
“Huh.”
What is it with this man? How can he make me feel like a complete heel even when he isn’t around? No thank-yous were needed? He can risk his life flying in high altitudes to save random strangers from certain death, while I’m the asshole who was so annoyed with him and his arrogance that a simple thank you was a struggle to say.
Mr. Stoic definitely played me.
“It seems Mr. Malone is not fond of the spotlight or any of the accolades being a hero brings with it.”