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impression and be taken seriously in a man’s world like the newsroom. None of them had wanted to be in that parade, but Evelyn had made it mandatory. They’d all been half-drunk by the time the float started edging its way down Pennsylvania Avenue. To her benefit, at least no one could see her face in that costume.
    The unmistakable clip-clop of horse hooves against the pavement grabbed her attention. There’d been a time when riding was one of the only things she could still find joy in. It had been years since she’d even been around horses, but the one walking by wasn’t your everyday trail horse.
    The beauty of this horse was undeniable.
    The sheen from the animal’s coat glimmered almost like it was wet, and his muscles screamed athlete, even with the bright-purple saddle towel and decorative tack. The jockey sat astride the horse in matching bright-purple-and-white silks.
    Cheers and hushed whispers from the crowd filled the air. This wasn’t just any horse. This was Hillcrest Joyful Kixx, the Kentucky Derby winner. From what she was overhearing, he was being moved out here to a local farm. His win had been big news; in fact, if she remembered correctly, Evelyn had lost a bundle on that race because this horse won.
    Too bad she hadn’t placed a bet. She probably would’ve picked this horse—purple was her favorite color.
    A police car followed closely behind the horse, probably more for safety precautions for the high-dollar athlete than for parade reasons.
    Savannah pulled her phone out of her purse and snapped a picture, then texted it to Evelyn with the message, Look .
    Evelyn: Who’s the hot guy in the cop car? That your cop?
    Savannah: The picture is of the horse. The Derby winner. And yes. That is the cop who pulled me over.
    Evelyn: He’s hot. The cop. That horse cost me 5k.
    Savannah: ;)
    Evelyn: This little gig is going to be more fun for you than I thought.
    Savannah: I didn’t agree to that gig.
    Evelyn: One more thing. Hang on a second.
    That woman ran at ninety miles an hour all day long. Her mind was always spinning up the next big thing. Too bad Savannah hadn’t considered that before she’d tried to play that silly April Fool’s joke on Evelyn. That joke had backfired on her big time. Evelyn hated advice columns. She made no bones about that, so Savannah had slipped a fake advice column tagged Advice from Van in the GetItNowNews upload to run on April 1.
    In the Dear Abby format, she’d posted a question with a snarky answer. Evelyn was the only one who’d ever called Savannah Van , so she’d know exactly who was behind it, and it had seemed the perfect prank at the time. She’d thought they’d get a big laugh and it would be over. The problem was, the readers loved it. Questions came pouring in, and Evelyn, being the shrewd businesswoman she was, knew a good thing when it was in front of her and wasn’t about to let Savannah get away with not finishing what she’d started.
    An advice column was not her idea of being a writer, and it sure as heck wasn’t something she could write home about. Especially since it wasn’t done with a real remedy in mind. The answers poked fun, making light of what really were some serious issues.
    The paper had decided early on that part of the viral aspect would be to keep the columnist under wraps, which was easy to do since so few people knew about it to begin with.
    So there she was, stuck getting no credit for all the hard work she’d put in and not sure she’d really be proud of it if she did.
    She glanced down at her phone. Nothing back from Evelyn yet, and that just made her nervous.
    She dreaded the one-more-hoop that Evelyn was always putting in front of her. Why was there always one more hurdle before Savannah could get off of that darn advice column? Change takes time. Patience just never was one of her strong suits.
    Float after float went by. Good thing she’d decided to skip the wedding, because Bobby’s estimate of an hour had