If I stayed in the car, I’d freeze.

If I began walking, I could freeze.

“You didn’t get here by staying put.”

It was a conversation with myself; nevertheless, it was accurate.

After learning that my best friend was expecting my fiancé’s baby, I bolted from our newly constructed home, leaving Skylar stranded. As I drove away, my mind spiraled with the shock of my uncertain future. Millions of thoughts swirled in a whirlwind only to settle with no distinguishable rhyme or reason. It was as one disconnected thought passed by that I grabbed ahold, recalling a job listing I’d seen nearly a month earlier.

Pulling over outside Chicago, I searched, only to find the listing still existed. It read as follows:

Financier seeks writer to pen memoir. No experience required. Must be willing to live on-site until the project is complete. Salary negotiable. Contact Fields and Smith Agency for more information.

It was a crazy idea—a crazy idea that would allow me to walk away from my life’s planned trajectory, and in the process, utilize my degree in literature and journalism. From the side of the road, I sent a message to the Fields and Smith Agency, a legal firm in Ashland, Wisconsin.

Less than an hour later, I received a phone call. The gentleman on the other end of the call sounded older. He asked all the appropriate questions. It was when I asked who the financier was that Mr. Fields informed me that his client wanted to remain anonymous until it was time to meet a candidate.

“Have I heard of this person?” I asked on the call.

“I’m not certain who you’ve heard of, Miss McGrath.”

“Is he old? Or is he a she?”

“You will have your own quarters. My client’s gender and age are irrelevant.”

“Is there something wrong with your client?”

“No, miss. My client prefers his privacy, and this project is something he takes seriously. I assure you, if you are selected, you will be well compensated.”

The only clue I’d managed to glean was that the client was male.

It wasn’t compensation I sought. It was the chance to get away from my commitments and obligations—my shares of Wade would remain in my father’s hands—and to take some time away from all the lies I’d accepted, to find out what it was I truly wanted.

“I’d like to have an interview, Mr. Fields.”

“How soon can you get to Ashland?”

“In a few days.”

“There is the holiday.”

“I am aware, Mr. Fields, but I’d like to move on to this opportunity or to something else.”