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Chapter One
“She wants you.”
Zane Hollander tipped back his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. The sun glittered off the Pacific Ocean, a confetti of surfers waited in the temporarily placid sea for the perfect wave, and bikini-clad women baked on the soft sand under a blazing August sun. From the balcony of his rented beach house, Zane wondered which female his best friend and agent might be referring to.
“Which she?” He pitched forward, his elbows landing on the round teak table.
Bryce Bishop shook his head. “Seriously?”
“I take women very seriously. You know that.” Only lately, the media didn’t seem to think the long line of company he kept did his reputation any good. Party girls with dirty mouths who left their undergarments at home apparently were frowned upon everywhere but the tabloids. The least desirable outlet when a guy had an already-compromised image.
Of course, it wasn’t like he took themallhome. His mom had raised him better than that. But caught with enough scantily clad women on his arm, he’d been labeled a bad boy. Only his best friends knew that the worst of his less-than-respectable behavior happened around the same time every year—the anniversary of his dad’s death.
“I meantS-H-E, Zane. Surf Help Exchange. They want you to be their ambassador after all.” Bryce ran a thumb across the condensation on his iced tea glass. “It’s the kind of exposure that will cement your status as one of the top pro surfers, regardless of how many world titles you’ve got.”
Zane’s eyes drifted shut. The image he shared with the world was only a small piece of the man on the inside. He wanted this position with SHE—the largest nonprofit organization promoting humanitarian, clean water, and natural healing efforts across the globe. Wanted to make a difference and maybe, just maybe, be good at something besides riding waves.
“But…” Bryce trailed off. Yeah, lately there’d been quite a few “buts” given Zane’s behavior.
“What?” Zane popped the last piece of sushi on his plate into his mouth.
“They’re concerned about your image. The deal is close, but only if you clean up your act—fast.Fun-loving tube junkieisn’t what they want, but I think I’ve almost convinced them you’re more than that.” Bryce fanned his T-shirt away from his stomach. “They want the best you, and you’ve got this week in White Strand Cove to prove you’re capable of giving something back.”
“You know I am.” Zane led the typical pro surfer life—in the water more than 320 days a year in multiple countries, including Panama, Micronesia, Fiji. He lived in perpetual motion, sometimes hotdogging it, more often ass-deep in a tube and winning competitions.
Girls fell all over him. Guys bought him beers.
But his small circle of close friends and family—Bryce; his other best friend and business manager, Danny; his mom and sister—knew he didn’t want a life dictated by the ocean’s moods. He wanted to leave something meaningful behind.
“I think it’s time everyone else did, too,” Bryce said.
A sliver of fear stole its way down Zane’s spine. Being told his whole life by his father that he wasn’t good at anything but surfing made it difficult to stand up for other things he believed in. He knew who he had to be in the water and on the circuit. Anywhere else? Not so much.You’ve got shit for brains, son. The only thing you’re good at is surfing. Quit school. Take that endorsement deal and go where they want you. The only thing that suits you is the water.
They. His father hadn’t cared whotheywere as long as they took his stupid son off his hands. Just shy of his seventeenth birthday and his senior year of high school, he’d gone. Until the day his dad died three years ago, he’d always made Zane feel foolish whenever he opened his mouth.
And the son of a bitch still made him doubt himself. Still doused his confidence when the topic of conversation veered away from superficial issues.
There was nothing superficial about SHE.
“What’s the plan?” Zane asked, his gaze on the sea. He still smelled and felt the salt on his skin from earlier, but he itched to straddle his board and get back in the water. No one questioned or doubted him out there.
“This is your third year at White Strand Cove and their Surf Fanatic Film Festival. The town loves you. This time, though, Danny and I thought that along with promoting your film and mingling in the bars and festival parties with the locals, you should let us organize a couple of soirees with the town’s officials and other notable residents.”
Zane looked him up and down. “You drop your man card somewhere? Since when does my agent saysoiree?”
“Smart-ass. A good agent shifts with the changing landscape. And you”—Bryce pointed a finger—“are changing.”
“Think the public will buy it?”
“Absolutely. You’re selling you, just dropping the guard you keep under the guise of surfing’s biggest bad boy, and your adoring fans will be jumping off the cliff with you.”
“I do feel more at home here than anywhere else.” White Strand Cove sat tucked away only sixty miles from where he grew up. Famous for fast waves and fierce localism, the Strand reminded him of his small town, only better. Better because now when he chased monster waves, he always came out the other side. And because people liked him no matter how he behaved.
“Exactly. The film festival opens tomorrow night, and I’d like to get anicelocal girl on your arm. Preferably dressed in something that doesn’t make it clear she has no tan lines.”
Zane chuckled. That still left a lot of options.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Bryce said. “I was in the surf wear shop on Bluff this morning. The manager is cute and finishing law school this fall. I thought we’d set it up with her.”
