“Hale Westbrook is the billionaire of all billionaires. He’s got his hands in pretty much everything- Hollywood, overseas retail factories,
reconstructing the Golden Gate Bridge , you name it . In the business world, Hale Westbrook is God.”
“So what’s he doing here?” Ally asked, as the crowd that had enveloped Hale began
to move inside the diner.
She got a glimpse of perfectly coiffed hair amidst the hubbub, but not much else.
“I can’t believe I have to explain all of this to you,” said Martha. “He’s here because he’s campaigning for governor. He’s made pretty much all the money that one
man can possibly make, so I guess he’s moving onto conquering California. Some say
he’s even lining himself for a chance at the presidency someday.”
Ally had never seen Martha this excited. She knew from her cranky co-worker’s enthusiasm
that whatever was happening must really be a big deal.
Finally, the sea of people surrounding Hale Westbrook parted, and for a brief moment,
she thought he saw her—just as she was seeing him for the first time.
Hale Westbrook just might have been the most fantastic looking man she’d ever seen
in person--maybe anywhere, ever.
He was a broad man, just over six feet tall, with a barrel chest and shoulders like
an athlete. He had beautiful dark brown hair. His skin was remarkably tan, probably
because a billionaire could travel to the most beautiful tropical islands whenever
he felt like it.
But it was Hale Westbrook’s eyes that truly captured Ally’s attention.
His eyes seemed kind, but also strong and without a flicker of doubt about who he
was or what his purpose might be in life. And anyone he spoke to seemed to be held rapt by Hale’s gaze, as if to just speak
with the man was a privilege and an honor.
Normally, Ally would have been annoyed with his phony politician demeanor- smiling
way too much, shaking hands with people that he probably wouldn’t normally give the
time of day.
But at the same time, he somehow seemed different than most politicians. There was something genuine underneath it all, she decided.
After a moment of greeting a few patrons and talking with his handlers, Hale Westbrook
held up his hands to signal that he wanted to speak to everyone in the establishment.
The diner hushed as the billionaire began to speak.
“Some of you might know who I am,” he said, smiling wryly, as everyone chuckled.
Obviously, everyone knew who he was— everyone else , Ally thought, feeling her cheeks flush a little.
“My name is Hale Westbrook,” he said, surveying the room, “and I’m running for governor
of California.”
Applause broke out spontaneously as he said this. Strangely, Ally found herself beginning to clap as well—and then stopped when she
realized she knew absolutely nothing about him.
For all she knew, he’d make a terrible governor.
“People want to know why I’m running for governor of this incredible state. Well, it’s simple. I think that I can do better. Scratch that—I know I can do better. Heck, my eight year old nephew could do better than the guy who’s running California
right now.”
Again, laughter and applause from the audience.
Hale surveyed his crowd, and suddenly, as he swept the room with his intense and confident
gaze, his eyes met with hers. Ally could feel herself fidgeting, as he seemed to hold eye contact with her longer
than anybody else in the crowd.
He grew serious, softening somehow, as he spoke—and it was like he was talking
reconstructing the Golden Gate Bridge , you name it . In the business world, Hale Westbrook is God.”
“So what’s he doing here?” Ally asked, as the crowd that had enveloped Hale began
to move inside the diner.
She got a glimpse of perfectly coiffed hair amidst the hubbub, but not much else.
“I can’t believe I have to explain all of this to you,” said Martha. “He’s here because he’s campaigning for governor. He’s made pretty much all the money that one
man can possibly make, so I guess he’s moving onto conquering California. Some say
he’s even lining himself for a chance at the presidency someday.”
Ally had never seen Martha this excited. She knew from her cranky co-worker’s enthusiasm
that whatever was happening must really be a big deal.
Finally, the sea of people surrounding Hale Westbrook parted, and for a brief moment,
she thought he saw her—just as she was seeing him for the first time.
Hale Westbrook just might have been the most fantastic looking man she’d ever seen
in person--maybe anywhere, ever.
He was a broad man, just over six feet tall, with a barrel chest and shoulders like
an athlete. He had beautiful dark brown hair. His skin was remarkably tan, probably
because a billionaire could travel to the most beautiful tropical islands whenever
he felt like it.
But it was Hale Westbrook’s eyes that truly captured Ally’s attention.
His eyes seemed kind, but also strong and without a flicker of doubt about who he
was or what his purpose might be in life. And anyone he spoke to seemed to be held rapt by Hale’s gaze, as if to just speak
with the man was a privilege and an honor.
Normally, Ally would have been annoyed with his phony politician demeanor- smiling
way too much, shaking hands with people that he probably wouldn’t normally give the
time of day.
But at the same time, he somehow seemed different than most politicians. There was something genuine underneath it all, she decided.
After a moment of greeting a few patrons and talking with his handlers, Hale Westbrook
held up his hands to signal that he wanted to speak to everyone in the establishment.
The diner hushed as the billionaire began to speak.
“Some of you might know who I am,” he said, smiling wryly, as everyone chuckled.
Obviously, everyone knew who he was— everyone else , Ally thought, feeling her cheeks flush a little.
“My name is Hale Westbrook,” he said, surveying the room, “and I’m running for governor
of California.”
Applause broke out spontaneously as he said this. Strangely, Ally found herself beginning to clap as well—and then stopped when she
realized she knew absolutely nothing about him.
For all she knew, he’d make a terrible governor.
“People want to know why I’m running for governor of this incredible state. Well, it’s simple. I think that I can do better. Scratch that—I know I can do better. Heck, my eight year old nephew could do better than the guy who’s running California
right now.”
Again, laughter and applause from the audience.
Hale surveyed his crowd, and suddenly, as he swept the room with his intense and confident
gaze, his eyes met with hers. Ally could feel herself fidgeting, as he seemed to hold eye contact with her longer
than anybody else in the crowd.
He grew serious, softening somehow, as he spoke—and it was like he was talking
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