Goodnight and Godspeed - Prologue. Prologue

“And finally, I’ll be taking a few weeks off for some personal time—which many of you may be aware of. I want you all to know that I’m good. The hard decisions were mutual. Elizabeth and I will always be close, and we both have every intention of remaining so.

“That’s the news for tonight. For the National News Network, I’m Greyson Myers. Goodnight and Godspeed.”

The stage manager counted down while I pretended to shuffle papers in front of me.

“Clear!”

“Thanks, Jules. I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few weeks.”

“Yeah, Grey—because I’m not going anywhere, and you better get your ass back here in two weeks—not three—two.”

“It’s going to be three weeks. I’m flying to Maui tomorrow morning for a two-week retreat. I’ll need some time once I return before I get in front of the cameras again.”

“It’s going to be Hell around here with Jackson filling in. He’s so fucking full of himself.”

“Jules, Jules, Jules—If he bothers you, speak to Lannie. That’s what producers are for.”

“I just hate that you’re leaving. I mean, I totally get it. I know it’s been intense for you lately.”

Intense. That’s putting it mildly. The only thing worse than a celebrity marriage is a celebrity divorce. And, of course, the paparazzi only makes it worse.

You see, I’m in a rut—a massive rut. It’s been four weeks since Elizabeth and I got our divorce. Since then, my routine has been—well—routine. I’m in my office by noon. At 1:00, I meet with my producers and get the run sheet for the stories planned for the broadcast. Of course, if something happens during the afternoon, we get to scramble and go with a “breaking news” broadcast. With one of the worst presidents ever sitting in Washington, that’s always a possibility.

The afternoon is spent on the phone with different field reporters so we can settle on the setups for their stories. I answer emails—ignoring those that dwell on my personal “drama.”

At 5:00, I’m in the makeup chair. At 5:45, I dress for the broadcast. At 5:55, I’m in the studio with the teleprompters cued up and ready to go. At 6:00, I begin The Nightly Report on NNN.

It’s the same thing five days a week. I used to go out to our house in the New Jersey hills on weekends, but that’s where Elizabeth is now. She got the Jersey house, and I got the Brooklyn loft.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I’ve been in this rut for just a few weeks. It’s been more like a few years. Elizabeth and I began drifting apart after just a couple of years of marriage. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. When one person is the face of the number one cable newscast and the other is one of the world's top models, the schedules can wreak havoc on a marriage.

Tomorrow, it all changes. Well, that’s what Beverly tells me. Beverly Harris, my manager, basically ordered me to attend this seminar in Hawaii called Epic Life. She said the network called her and said something had to be done about my on-air mood. I didn’t think there was a problem, but when she showed me some video clips, I saw for myself that I needed to make some changes and get my head out of my mopey ass.

Beverly is also Elizabeth’s manager. That’s how we met—Elizabeth and I. We were at an enormous party that Beverly was throwing at Tavern on the Green. We both hated those parties and found each other hiding out in the background. We talked for hours and ignored the rest of the crowd, much to our manager's chagrin.

Elizabeth and I became instant best friends. Over the next two years, our careers—and relationship—blossomed. We were always together. Sometimes we might even get photographed together when the paparazzi had nothing else going on.

As Elizabeth and I became better known to the general public, the rumors began to get crazier with each photo. It was Beverly who insisted that we get married. She explained how it would help our careers, and good or bad, we agreed with our manager. We ended up getting married. Almost immediately, we became the power couple—America’s Couple—as the rags labeled us.

Our careers took off. Beverly got the cover of the most-read (looked at) swimsuit issue. NNN and Fox News were courting me. Beverly was masterful in getting the networks to fight over me and garner some national interest.

Things couldn’t have worked out better for each of us in the long run—things just couldn’t work out for us as a couple. We’re both determined to remain friends. It’s just all kinds of awkward for now.

And now, I’ve been on this plane for nearly eleven hours. We’ve started our approach to the Kahului Airport on the island of Maui. I slept most of the trip over and was able to get in a shower before we made the approach to Maui. Those new First Class showers were probably the best thing about flying since they decided to serve alcohol. I was ready to face whatever what lied ahead.

As soon as I got out of the airport, I was whisked to the Montage Kapalua Bay resort—the site of the Epic Life seminar.

Nice digs! I may or may not find my so-called epic life at this place, but I most definitely found myself in an epic suite! I had a virtual apartment—living room, bedroom, kitchen, ocean-view terrace—it was heaven on earth.

I unpacked and found a packet on the kitchen counter. I opened it and began reading:

Welcome to Maui—and the journey to finding your Epic Life. We will begin our first session tomorrow morning at 8:00. We respectfully ask that until that time, you put yourself in a place of quiet reflection.

Your meals will be delivered to your suite. Please use the room service menu for all of your meals until we meet. We also ask that you refrain from any alcoholic beverages or any sleep aids. We want your mind to be free and open when we get together.

You and your fellow attendees have traveled from points all over the world. Please take the evening and sleep as much as you can. Tomorrow will be rather long and, at times, intense.

Please look over the brochure before you turn in for the evening. We promise you will have time for the beach and spa amenities once we begin our journey. Please refrain from enjoying these tonight.

We’ll see you at 8:00 tomorrow morning—on the Sunset Patio.

I looked at my phone and saw it was 1:00 in the afternoon. I was starving, so I ordered a nice steak dinner with all of the fixings—and iced tea—although I really wanted a beer!

After ordering dinner, I placed a call to Beverly and told her I had arrived. She told me that we wouldn’t be talking until after the seminar. I was surprised but also a bit relieved. Beverly can be a handful.

I ate and slept quite well that evening. Before I knew it, I was walking through the doors of the Sunset Patio with twenty-three other people. As I walked in, a very professional-looking woman greeted me and said I should walk around the room and meet the others. That sounded simple enough until she added that we were not allowed to say anything.

So there I was, wandering around the Sunset Patio, smiling and nodding at the others, minding my own business, but giggling when someone recognized me.

Then it happened. He walked up to me and smiled. It wasn’t a smile of recognition—there was a different kind of connection. We just stood and faced each other, drinking in the other’s—something—with nothing but our eyes.

I have never seen a man this stunning in my life—not even at one of Elizabeth’s model parties. Whoever this was—he was about my height, with eyes as blue as the Hawaiian sky. Those eyes—what the Hell? I’m not into guys—not even the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

No—I don’t mean beautiful. That would mean—oh, fuck—he’s gorgeous.