would prove her father wrong.
So what if she had vowed never to step in front of another television camera again? Millie wasn’t a reality TV contestant junkie. She was only doing the show to help her students at Two Rivers Elementary School. Whatever money she won would go directly to her school to keep upcoming budget cuts from affecting the students. The show’s participation fee had already saved the after school track and field program she’d founded and coached for special needs students. That alone made up for whatever the show put her through over the next month.
And if she kept saying the words over and over again, she might come to believe them.
As Millie zipped her fleece-lined blue windbreaker to the top, she tried to remember her cameraman’s name. Zack? Zeke? And her sound guy. Ron? Maybe Ryan?
Names usually stuck with her, but right now her mind was as blank as a chalkboard on the last day of school. Not a good thing when the two guys would be filming and recording everything she said and did.
“Bathroom breaks won’t give us a lot of privacy,” an older woman said. Her jacket resembled Millie’s except for the orange color. Each contestant had been assigned a color and given clothes to wear during the race. Even their backpacks, lying on the other side of Union Square, coordinated to their colors.
Pete’s bright white teeth contrasted with his dark tan. “There’s no such thing as privacy on a reality television show.”
Millie caught herself nodding. She didn’t want to appear to be a know-it-all even if she was the only former reality TV contestant on the show.
A passing car honked its horn. Men in three-piece suits and women in raincoats stared at the lights and cameras. A construction worker yelled, asking if they were filming the new season of The Amazing Race.
No. Oh, no. That was one show she wouldn’t want to be on. Relying on a partner, a teammate, to win or lose didn’t appeal to Millie in the slightest. Cash Around the Globe would be different. Better. Or she would never have agreed to do it.
“Any questions?” When no one spoke up, Pete clapped his hands. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Millie took a deep breath, the cold June air chilling her lungs. Goose bumps prickled her arms and legs.
A red light glowed on the cameras. Show time. She pasted on a smile, resigning herself to the role she would play until she was eliminated from the race or crossed the finish line.
Colt Stewart, with war correspondent good looks and a charming smile, stepped forward. “I’m going to be your host during the race around the globe. Are you ready for the adventure of a lifetime?”
“Yes,” Millie said along with the other contestants.
“I didn’t hear you,” Colt said. “Are you ready for the adventure of a lifetime?”
The contestants shouted a hardy, “Yes!”
Colt flashed an even wider toothpaste ad smile at the cameras. “Welcome to Cash Around the Globe. This is the most exciting, most adventurous, most dangerous race you’ll see on television. You won’t want to miss a single episode.”
By the time the race finished airing next season, her life would—she crossed her fingers—be back to normal. No more marriage proposals from strangers. No more early morning phone calls from talk show hosts. No more reality TV.
“Racers, prepare yourself,” Colt yelled.
The contestants around Millie postured themselves for the best possible start. She did the same. A clanging rang out, the sound of a cable car bell. Ding. Ding. Ding.
“Go,” Colt shouted.
Two guys, one in black, the other green, sprinted to the line of backpacks. Millie ran after them, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She would not fall behind. All the softness had been driven out of her. She was ready this time.
Ten feet from her blue backpack, she noticed a round zippered pouch with a globe imprinted on the front. Inside she found thirty dollars and a small key on a chain and a clue card.
“Make your way to Coit Tower,” Millie read for the camera’s sake. “You must travel via public transportation. Look for the green and blue flag. There you will find your next clue and something to take with you on the race.”
Take with her? Her excitement swelled. A GPS unit would be great. Useful. Millie reread the clue.
“Coit Tower?” She’d never been to San Francisco before, but had heard of the landmark. Heart pounding, she surveyed the buildings around her. High-end department stores, boutiques and hotels. She saw a uniformed security guard and ran to him. “Could you please tell me where to catch the bus to Coit Tower?”
The guard led her to the bus stop. “Take the 30 or 45. Grab a transfer ticket when you board. Get off at Washington Square. Take the 39 to the top of Coit Tower. You can walk, if you’d rather, but it’s a steep climb.”
“Thank you,” she said as the 30 bus pulled to the curb with a squeal of breaks.
The bus passed through Chinatown and North Beach also known as Little Italy. At Washington Square, she transferred to bus number 39 and rode to the top of Telegraph Hill. She exited. The camera crew followed her.
Tourists milled about the base of Coit Tower, snapping pictures. Not even the overcast skies could detract from the lovely view. Millie searched for a flag, but came up empty. She hurried up the steps to the tower’s entrance.
Inside the circular lobby, Millie found colorful murals, but no clue box. That meant she had to go up. She disliked—okay, hated—heights, but purchased three tickets from the gift store anyway. With the camera crew and two students from Brazil, she crammed into a small elevator.
At the top, the doors opened, and everyone spilled out. She climbed a winding staircase to the upper viewing area. A breathtaking panoramic view of jutting skyscrapers greeted her through arched windows, but she stayed far away from the edge.
Millie stared for a moment feeling so much like a small town girl in the big city. And then she remembered…the race. Self-preservation kicked in. She located a blue and green banner flapping in the breeze.
“There’s the clue box.” A lock, however, kept her from opening it. “Good thing I have a key.”
Millie stuck her key in the hole, but the lock wouldn’t open. She tried again. “Why isn’t this working?”
She took a closer look. “Two holes.”
Millie inserted her key in the other hole. No luck. Fear pulsed through her veins. If she couldn’t open the box to get a clue, she would be eliminated. Over her dead body.
Leaving the key in the lock, she examined the clue box. “What am I missing?”
“This,” a male voice said from behind her.
She turned. A dangling silver key caught her attention. Millie focused on the man holding it.
Jace Westfall.
The air rushed from her
