hate men, at least until this book is done.”
“I don’t hate men.”
Reaching across her desk, Ceci snatched up a magazine and tossed it at Angela. “You wanted to interview a drifter?” She pointed to the picture on the cover of Outdoor Adventure magazine. “Charlie Templeton. He has a huge profile on our site. And he is a classic example. He’s doing a couple lectures at the university in Boulder, Colorado. I figure you could fly out there, corner him and get him to talk.”
Angela peered at the photo. “God, he is gorgeous.”
“He is,” Ceci said. “Of course, if you’d rather, I could fly out there and interview him.”
“No. I’ll do it. If I surprise him, maybe he’ll agree to talk.”
Angela set the magazine down, then went back to scanning the newest profiles created on the Web site. Who would have known that a silly little blog chronicling her dating woes would have turned into a thriving business? She ought to be grateful to every guy who ever dumped her for giving her the opportunity of a lifetime.
There was one chapter she wasn’t ready to write, though. One that brought up all sorts of memories. She needed time to prepare for her memories of Max Morgan, the Sexy Devil. Time to work up the courage to call him for an interview. Would he even remember her?
All through high school, she’d had a secret crush on him and he’d never once noticed her. He’d been the most popular guy, the star athlete, the boy every girl dreamed of kissing. She’d followed him to college at Northwestern, attending all his football and baseball games, taking every opportunity to put herself in his path. Looking back on it, her behavior probably could have been considered stalking.
“Do you want me to make reservations?” Ceci asked.
“What? Oh, for Boulder? Yes. And do the hotel, too. Do that thing you do when you get the really good rates. If Charlie Templeton won’t talk, I don’t want to regret wasting money on a nice hotel room.”
She hadn’t been able to snag Alex Stamos, but she’d learned from her mistakes. The best way to catch a smooth operator was to eliminate any means of escape. They called it ambush journalism, but Angela preferred to think of it as just a way to get the job done.
1
CHARLIE TEMPLETON STOOD at the top of the world. Literally. He sucked in a deep breath from the oxygen mask covering his face. The air was thin at 28,740 feet and after climbing for nearly twelve hours, all he really wanted to do was lie down and sleep. But he knew the risks of taking just a moment or two of relaxation. Many climbers had died ascending Mount Everest, but the descent was even trickier.
Exhausted, his body depleted of energy reserves, cold, hungry and mentally numb, Charlie knew all the dangers. The thought of dying on the face of the world’s tallest mountain had haunted his nightmares. But now that he was here, it didn’t seem all that frightening. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift. Just a moment was all he needed.
Everest was the last on his list of seven summits. He’d attempted the climb twice in the past, but had been forced to stop because of weather. But when he’d stepped out his tent at midnight, ready for the final push to the top, he’d known today would be the day.
For an adventurer, there was no higher goal than bagging the seven summits—the tallest peak on each continent. He’d written about his quest for the adventure Web site Adrenaline and had done numerous speaking engagements at college campuses all over the U.S., all to fund his trips. He had a pair of lectures scheduled in just a few weeks at the university in his hometown of Boulder and he was banking on the fact that he’d arrive fresh off the top of Everest, ready to tell of his adventure.
But now that he’d accomplished his goal, Charlie was left to wonder what it all meant. He didn’t feel the way he’d expected—elated, awestruck, satisfied, humbled. In truth, Charlie didn’t feel anything.
He unsnapped his oxygen mask and pushed it aside, then shoved his goggles to the top of his head, taking in the view and waiting for the impact of the moment to hit him. It was all there, more stunning than he’d ever imagined it. Below him was the Rongbuck glacier and the North Col, and to the north horizon, the vast Tibetan plateau. He slowly turned, to the west and then the south, finishing with the most breathtaking view of all—the highest peaks of the Himalayas, jagged and snow-covered, jutting into the thin atmosphere to the east.
He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. An image flashed in his brain and he gasped. A face from the past. Charlie brushed it aside. God, he must really be oxygen-deprived to think of her at a time like this. He hadn’t spoken to Eve Keller in more than five years, not since the night before he departed for his first attempt at Everest.
Maybe that was it. He’d completed the circle and he was back to where he’d begun. Or was it something more? Charlie had learned to live his life without regrets. It wasn’t easy, but he’d had to put aside relationships in order to focus on his ambitions. It hadn’t seemed like a sacrifice at the time, but now that he’d come to the end of his quest, he had to wonder if it had all been worth it.
“Evie,” he murmured. She’d been the one person who’d tempted him, the one relationship that might have changed the course of his life. Hell, if he’d stayed with her, he’d probably be married with two or three kids by now.
“Charlie!” He opened his eyes to find his Sherpa guide waving at him. “Come. Up here long enough. We start down.”
“Just give me a few more minutes,” Charlie replied.
“Put mask back on,” Pemba Ang said, his heavily accented words muffled by his oxygen mask.
“No. It gets in the way. I’m all right. I am. Don’t worry. Just a few more minutes.”
The guide studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Few minutes. Stay up here for half hour already. We must go.”
Had it been that long? Time seemed to be slipping through his fingers at an alarming rate. It seemed like just days ago that he’d graduated college and now he was fast approaching thirty.
Charlie turned again, slowly, taking in more of the view. It was over. He was finally finished. He had the rest of his life in front of him and no plans for how he’d spend it. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner? What would he do with his time? There was always the “Second Seven,” the second-highest peaks on each continent. But was he willing to invest another five years of his life?
“Charlie!”
The words echoed in his ears. But in the thin air, it didn’t sound like Ang at all. It sounded sweet and soft, tantalizing. Funny how he still remembered her voice. There’d been so many other women since Eve, women he’d easily forgotten. Yet she was still there, indelibly imprinted into his brain.
Charlie stared down the route of their descent, his footprints still visible in the snow. He still had to get down the mountain and he knew the dangers. Fatigue, the weather, cerebral edema, snow blindness, avalanches, crevices that could swallow a man in the blink of an eye. A successful ascent didn’t guarantee a safe descent. But what was waiting for him at the bottom? Would anyone really care that he’d made it up to the top and back again?
Did she even remember him? Did she think of him at all or had the passion they’d shared been replaced by the love she felt for … hell, what was his name? Dave? Dan? Odd that he couldn’t remember. She’d married him, chosen security and dependability over uncertainty. He hadn’t blamed her for making the safe choice. She deserved better than a man who warmed her bed every six months in between adventures.
“Charlie! Move. We head down.”
“I’m thinking I might stay here,” he said, sitting down in the snow.
“Get ass up!” Ang shouted, grabbing his arm and tugging. “I not leave you here. You walk down or I carry. Kill us both.”
“Who’s