Free Second Time Around by Nancy Moser Page A

speculation as to what year they’ll choose to visit.”
    Mac closed his eyes. “It’s our own doing. We beg the press to leave the winners alone during this week between the drawing and the departure so they can finalize the specific choices they want to change and make arrangements to be gone—perhaps forever. I can’t believe you’re complaining that the media is cooperating.”
    “Get off it, Mac. I don’t want cooperation. I want exploitation. We have only this one time each year. We have to make the most of it.”
    The man had no shame. More, more, more. He was never satisfied and had the capability to focus like a laser beam: The bottom line was Wriggens’s god. He wasn’t choosy about how he worshipped it and wouldn’t waste a moment if a commandment or two were broken in the process. The ends always justified the means.
    Although Mac knew applying logic would be unsuccessful, he gave it a shot. “You know the no-interview request is for the good of the winners.”
    “Yes, yes, but I bet if we took a poll, most people have their choice figured out before they even buy a ticket. This week-long interim… you’re wasting everyone’s time, Mac. Time that could best be used to promote and nourish the program. Sometimes I wonder about your loyalty and your priorities.”
    And I yours. Mac slumped in the soft leather of the limo’s seat and closed his eyes. He still had a hard evening ahead of him. “Fine. I’ll take a poll of one right now. What would you change?”
    “Me?”
    “Sure. Pin it down to one moment, one decision, one past choice.”
    “I’m not eligible to buy a ticket.”
    “But surely you’ve thought about it. Surely you’ve done some mighty soul-searching.”
    There was the slightest of pauses. “I’ve got another call. I’ll see you at the press conference.”
    Lurking in the back, no doubt.
    The limo pulled in front of the hotel. The driver went around and opened the door. As soon as Mac exited, a bevy of cameras converged, following Lane Holloway as she sprinted from the hotel entrance to the car.
    “They’re out in force today, Mr. MacMillan,” she said as she stepped inside the vehicle. David Stancowsky led Vanessa Caldwell into the fray, with the cameras clicking wildly.
    As Vanessa got in, David winked at Mac. “No turning back now, is there, Mr. MacMillan?”
    “None at all.”
    David and Mac took seats across from the two women. Once they pulled away, they each took a deep breath, smiling at their unison.
    “I apologize for the cameras during your exit,” Mac said. “Have they been hounding you all day?”
    “I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Lane said. “I bring out the worst in people.”
    “Nonsense,” Mac said. “We’re thrilled to have you here.”
    “I will say it’s quite exciting sitting next to Lane Holloway,” Vanessa said.
    “I’ve got the better view,” David said from his facing seat. “You’re every bit as lovely in person as you are on the screen.”
    If Mac hadn’t had time to get to know Lane after picking her up at the airport, he would have been surprised by her blush. But after talking to her and finding out she was delightfully unassuming…
    “Please,” Lane said. “Can we forget the movie-star title for the rest of this? At least between us? We’re all winners. We’re all in this together, right?”
    “I’m in,” Vanessa said.
    “Absolutely,” David said.
    Mac beamed. He retrieved a note card from the inner pocket of his suit. Such lists were essential during these stressful two days. “While we’re gathered I thought I’d go over a few details. Time tends to go too quickly these last eighteen to twenty-four hours.”
    “Time. Amusing,” David said.
    “Tonight we will take you before the press one at a time. You may make a statement or just answer questions, but you obviously know that the press—the world—wants to know the year you are going to explore and something about the whys behind it. It will be short,