Page 1 of Sharing Shadow Secrets (High Five Novella #6)

“ T oday could change everything,” I mutter, driving toward Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. If High Five’s owner, Nicholas O’Malley, goes for my pitch, I can finally leave my underpaid, overworked social media agency job. His yes would be the excuse I’ve been waiting for to go out on my own.

I glance at the rental car’s navigation. Thirty more minutes of staring at corny billboards and wondering how many people actually get into accidents with trucks to justify this kind of monthly advertising spend before I exit the highway.

“Experiential,” I say aloud, rehearsing the pitch that could change my life.

Nicholas would have no idea what “omnichannel marketing services” means, but “experiential”—that, he’d understand.

Since I’ve been his account director, his bar’s social media presence has grown from a couple thousand followers to nearly two hundred thousand when you add up all the channels.

Driving two hours from Chicago to Lake Geneva for a client’s Fourth of July party is a big ask, but this opportunity felt like the universe was coming together, giving me an excuse to be one-on-one with him.

No one else from work was invited to this barbecue, so that has to mean something.

Although they all suck, and I wouldn’t want them at my party either.

If he agrees to cut ties with them and sign on with me directly, then today will be the best day ever.

I have the skills. I have the talent. All I need now is the balls to pitch Nicholas to work with me.

I almost did it after the success of the Christmas pop up.

I actually called him after the Valentine’s event but then chickened out.

I laugh lightly. I was a little mad he vetoed my St. Patrick’s Day party, but otherwise, he’s been very receptive to all of my thoughts and ideas.

It will be suspicious if I drag my feet any longer about the Halloween event and its social media campaign. But I want the Halloween pop up at High Five to be with my company, not the agency.

I’m so fucking ready to be my own boss.

I flip down my visor, checking myself out. I smooth my wavy brown hair, building my confidence to have this conversation. I think he’ll go for it. I think he’ll want to work with me and become my first client.

Following the GPS instructions through winding back roads, I’m still curious why this party is at Declan Kruk’s Geneva Lake home rather than Nicholas’s place.

Declan is not only the most famous businessman in Chicago, but one of the richest people in the world.

Dude made billions on Bitcoin and owns a crypto trading platform.

I know Nicholas used to live in Chicago, but if he’s friends with Declan Kruk, that’s pretty cool.

Driving to a billionaire’s summer home made the offer even more interesting and worth renting this car. It’s a small sedan but was less than fifty dollars for the day. Couldn’t beat that. Living in the Old Town neighborhood of Chicago, I don’t need a car. I can walk or summon a ride anywhere.

I wonder what kind of people will be at this barbecue. Let’s hope my sundress fits the vibe and isn’t too casual. It’s a barbecue . But it is a barbecue at a home that, according to Zillow, is worth more than thirty million dollars.

Maybe there will be good networking? I’ve never been invited to a place like this. It’s intimidating.

Hopefully it’s fun. Maybe there will be some billionaires around that I can flirt with.

I shake my head, laughing to myself. Flirting has never been a problem for me—the fourth date, though?

That’s where things fall apart. Most guys bore me by then.

They’ve used up all their jokes, and it feels like I’ve learned everything I’ve needed to and am no longer interested.

This party is odd all the way around. The short notice, for one.

Nicholas only texted me about it on Thursday.

The location. Plus, it’s a holiday weekend so High Five has to be so busy.

Suspicious. Another reason why I had to attend today.

Nicholas doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that just throws things together.

Either way, it’s bound to be a story worth telling my roommates when I get home.

I take the final turn off the quiet back road and pass through a wide-open gate, easing down a long, tree-lined driveway.

There’s valet ? I furrow my brow as I pull my car closer to the line of vehicles approaching the valet station. Guys in white collared shirts step up to each car, taking keys like they’re stationed outside a Michelin-star restaurant.

Now I’m second-guessing my sundress. Spaghetti straps and leather sandals with no heels. Hopefully I’m dressed appropriately.