Not so Snow White

Chapter One Yes, Alden, I know I'm no longer on the tour, but--" Tess Hamilton bit her lip and, more firmly, her tongue as the Nike marketing rep continued talking over her. For Tess, not talking when she had something to say--and she had a whole lot of things to say at the moment--was like trying not to breathe. She ripped her Boxster S convertible across three lanes of traffic on I-4, ignoring the honks and shouted commentary regarding her driving skills. She had to make her exit, right? Besides, at the moment, she had far bigger things to worry about than instigating inadvertent road rage. Lord knew she'd been responsible for far worse and lived to tell the tale. The rep paused for an infinitesimal breath and Tess leaped in. "I appreciate what you're saying, really, I do, but this is shortsighted thinking." She raised her voice to be heard over the rush of road noise. God, she loved driving with the top down. Of course, shouting suited her rising temper at the moment, too. "We're moving in new directions, Tess. So we're looking for a different kind of image. We need to stay fresh. I'm sure you understand." No, she didn't understand. She refused to understand. She was no longer fresh? Well, shit, how mortifying was that? Not even thirty years old, and her shelf life had already expired? She accelerated, going way too fast down the winding suburban road leading to her home in the elite, gated, Boca Raton community of Sea Spar. A home she loved. A home she'd bought and paid for with her own hard-earned income. Income which, since her career-ending injury the summer before last, had rapidly ceased to match her outgo. Mostly because of shortsighted morons like the marketing rep currently droning on in her headset about focus groups and future percentages. She took a sharp turn without decelerating, leaving rubber behind as she fought to keep her temper in check. Unlike past run-ins with various sponsors and marketing reps, this wasn't about some stupid tabloid headline or missed promotional event. She could have talked her way out of that . . . and often had. Too often. No, this time her entire life was on the line. What was left of it, anyway. And okay, sure, maybe that was partly due to the fact that she so often had spoken out when it would have been smarter to shut up. Financially smarter, at least. She was a firm believer that if more people spoke their mind instead of blowing smoke up people's asses and saying what they thought everyone wanted to hear, the world would be a much better place. But it wasn't like her sponsors hadn't known that when they signed on the dotted line with her. It hadn't mattered to them then. However, as the condescending, very annoying man on the other end of the phone was making unavoidably and quite painfully clear, it mattered a whole hell of a lot right now. She tapped her horn as she turned into the lavishly landscaped, stone-and-wrought-iron entrance, alerting Saul, the gate guard, of her impending arrival. She barely slowed as the bar began to rise, having to duck her head just slightly to keep it from catching on the brim of her tennis hat. She caught a glimpse of Saul, shaking his balding head as he always did when she zipped past, a blur of midnight blue and chrome. This time she didn't wave or blow an apologetic kiss they both knew was completely insincere. Not that she didn't have a soft spot for Saul, she just wasn't particularly remorseful about her no-prisoners style of driving. And she was pretty sure Saul secretly admired her for that. She passed a string of long, winding driveways leading to this sprawling mansion or that, paying them no attention whatsoever, until she finally turned into her own drive. She slowed slightly, her attention snagging as it always did now, on the two pristine tennis courts laid out so perfectly behind her equally beautiful, perfect house.Kauffman, Donna is the author of 'Not so Snow White', published 2006 under ISBN 9780553383096 and ISBN 0553383094.