Sparks Fly

judgment, she clicked on the top link for a recent interview. “I met Will Scott, CEO of PTI, on a weekend after his morning run. As he walked up to me, hand outstretched, his muscles glistening in sweat, I found myself faltering as an objective journalist. I promise you this, one look in those blue eyes and the hardest soul would have been utterly lost, too.”
    Angelina snorted and looked for something more substantial. Finding a link for another interview, she read: “Rarely in my twenty years as a financial writer have I met a CEO more charming than Will Scott. Which begs the question: What is he hiding?”
    Angelina nearly laughed out loud at the preposterous statement. Still unable to control her wayward curiosity, she clicked on a link titled Will Scott: Fan Page and Photo Gallery .
    Staring her in the face were page after page of pictures of Will with women who all looked the same: Big breasts, long legs, blond hair, beautiful faces.
    All of her old feelings of inadequacy bubbled to the surface. She was twenty-one again and had just been told, “Did you actually think I’d be serious with a girl like you?”
    Feeling hollow inside, she got up without turning off the computer, walked like a zombie back to her bedroom, crawled under the covers, and fell into a fitful sleep.
    Images of Will surrounded by a harem of supermodels danced through her head until daylight.

    * * *
    Will woke up early, went for a jog, then came home and reached into the refrigerator for some OJ. The digital clock on his microwave read 8:00 a.m. and he decided it was late enough to call Angelina.
    He picked up his phone, but before he could press the Talk button, it rang. He checked the caller ID, hoping it was Angelina, but instead he was surprised to read his mother’s phone number on the small display.
    “Mom?”
    “Hi, honey. Did I call too early?”
    “No, of course not. What’s wrong?”
    “First, promise me you won’t get upset.”
    “Mom ...” Will didn’t like the sound of this one bit.

    “Well, I was doing a little painting.”
    “At your easel?”
    Joyce sighed. “No. I thought the window trim out front needed a touch-up.”
    Will tried not to panic. He had a tendency to be overprotective when it came to his mother, but he couldn’t help it. She was all the family he had.
    “The ladder slipped and I had a teeny little fall.”
    “Where are you? On the ground? Is anything broken?”
    “Honey, stop freaking out. Mary from next door heard the fall and drove me to the hospital. It’s just a small fracture in my hip, so—”
    “I’ll be there this afternoon. I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve made the travel arrangements.”
    Will immediately arranged for his pilot to be at the airport in thirty minutes. He would call Angelina once his mother’s situation was under control.
    For the next several hours he was on the phone, either talking with the best doctors in the country about flying them out to the small hospital in New York, or dealing with urgent issues at PTI.
    By the time he got to the hospital, he was exhausted and frustrated.
    His mother was propped up in bed sketching when he walked in. She looked up from her drawing and held her arms out, overjoyed to see him.
    “Come give me a hug!” Joyce held him tight for a moment. “Well, if you aren’t just as gorgeous as ever.” Peering at him more closely, she added, “Definitely tired, though. Anything you want to talk about?”
    He groaned. He had forgotten about her eagle eye. Hoping to deflect her, he said, “I’m here to talk about you. I’ve called several specialists from New York City and—”
    She held up a hand to halt him. “I know you want the best care for me, honey, and I appreciate it, but I’m just fine here with the local doctors.” Will opened his mouth to protest. “I won’t hear any more about it. The doctors have been wonderful and I’ve seen the X-rays. All I’ve got is a slight hip fracture.”
    “But Mom—”
    “My favorite son just flew all the way out here to see me and I don’t want to argue with him.”
    “I’m your only son.”
    Joyce grinned merrily. “That’s right, isn’t it? So then, let’s talk about you.”
    He pulled up the nearest chair and plopped down into it, knowing he wasn’t prepared to deal with Sergeant Mom in his current state of mind. Somewhat sarcastically, he said, “Would it help if I just gave you my diary?”
    “I didn’t know you kept a diary.”
    “I