Chapter 2 #2
Brynn laughs, clearly not convinced, but lets it drop. "Well, red it is then. For purely professional, community-integration purposes."
"Exactly." I turn my attention to the campaign taglines she's drafted. "'Winter in Hope Peak: Where Luxury Meets Local.' I like that one."
"Me too. It acknowledges both worlds without suggesting one is taking over the other."
I nod, impressed again by her insight. "You've got a good feel for what we're trying to balance here."
"I grew up in a town like this before it got 'discovered.'" There's a wistfulness in her voice. "Trust me, I understand what's at stake for the locals."
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with a text from Atticus: If you try to make me wear plaid, our friendship is over.
I laugh out loud, typing back: No promises. I've already got a lumberjack beard on standby.
His reply comes instantly: I hate you.
I text back, smiling to myself. No, you don't, you'd be lost without me.
There's a pause before his response appears: True. But I'm still not wearing plaid.
I tuck my phone away, still grinning. Three weeks until Christmas. Three weeks to transform Atticus Morgan from corporate shark to community partner. Three weeks of having him all to myself, away from the New York office and its endless demands.
Not that I'm counting the days or anything.
Because that would be ridiculous.
Almost as ridiculous as the way my heart skips when the afternoon sun slants through the glass walls, illuminating Atticus as he crosses the lobby, phone to his ear, looking every bit the powerful CEO even as he catches my eye and winks.
Completely ridiculous.
Later that afternoon, I'm organizing slope-groomer inspection schedules when the air shifts behind me. I don't need to turn to know it's Atticus, his subtle cologne gives him away, that and the particular quality of silence that seems to follow him, as if the world holds its breath in his presence.
"You're hovering," I say without looking up from my tablet.
"I'm observing," he corrects, coming to stand beside me. "There's a difference."
"Mmm-hmm." I glance up at him, noting the slight furrow between his brows. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Atticus." I put down my tablet and turn to face him fully. "I can read you like one of those financial reports you love so much. Something's bothering you."
He sighs, leaning against the edge of my desk. "The board is questioning the extent of our community involvement. They want to know if it's... strictly necessary."
"And by 'strictly necessary,' they mean 'will it affect the bottom line if we just bulldoze through local concerns?'"
His silence is answer enough.
"You know it is necessary," I say quietly. "Not just for PR, but because it's the right thing to do. Hope Peak isn't just picturesque scenery for your corporate retreat. It's home to real people whose lives will be impacted by every decision you make."
"I know that." Frustration edges his voice. "But the board...”
"The board isn't here," I cut in, standing to meet his gaze directly. "You are. And you have to decide what kind of legacy you want to build, Atticus. One that extracts value or one that creates it, for everyone."
Something shifts in his expression, a resolution forming. "You're right."
"I usually am." I bump his shoulder with mine. "That's why you keep me around."
"Among other reasons." There's a warmth in his voice that catches me off guard.
I clear my throat, suddenly needing space from the intensity of his gaze. "We should head to the locker room. If we're going to make you look less Wall Street and more Main Street before the meeting."
He grimaces but follows as I lead the way to the ski-gear locker room at the edge of the open workspace. The room is empty this late in the afternoon, walls lined with sleek wooden lockers and benches.
I open my locker and pull out a navy blue sweater, holding it up against him. "This might fit. Jason from my hiking group left it at my place months ago and never claimed it."
"Jason?" Atticus's eyebrow raises. "Should I know about Jason?"
"Just a friend." I hand him the sweater, oddly pleased by his question. "Try it on."
He hesitates, then sets his phone on a nearby bench and begins loosening his tie.
I should look away, give him privacy, but I find myself transfixed as he unbuttons his crisp white dress shirt, revealing the white t-shirt beneath.
Even through the thin cotton, I can see the definition of his chest and shoulders, evidence of the pre-dawn workouts he never skips, even on vacation.
"What?" he asks, catching me staring.
"Nothing." I blink, forcing my gaze away. "Just making sure the sweater will fit."
"Right." There's a knowing tone in his voice that makes heat rise to my cheeks.
He pulls the sweater over his head, and I turn back to find him adjusting the sleeves. The navy blue transforms him, softening his corporate edge without diminishing his natural authority. He looks more approachable, more human.
More dangerously attractive.
"Well?" he asks, holding his arms out. "Do I pass as a mountain local yet?"
"Not quite." I step closer, reaching up to mess with his too-perfect hair, letting a few strands fall across his forehead. "There. Now you look less like you'll foreclose on the coffee shop and more like you might actually drink a flavored latte."
"Never going to happen."
"Never say never." My hand lingers near his face, and for a moment, we're standing too close, breathing the same air.
His eyes drop to my lips, and something electric passes between us, a current of awareness that's always been there, carefully ignored, but now surges to the surface with undeniable force.
"Sloane," he says, my name barely a whisper.
My phone chimes loudly from my pocket, shattering the moment. I step back, pulse racing, and pull it out to find a text from Levi: Meeting moved up. Starts in 20. Don't be late.
"We need to go," I say, my voice embarrassingly unsteady. "Meeting's been moved up."
Atticus clears his throat, putting distance between us. "Right. Of course."
As he turns to gather his discarded shirt and tie, I catch myself watching the way the sweater stretches across his back, highlighting the strength usually hidden beneath his suits. I force myself to look away, confusion swirling through me.
This is Atticus. My best friend. My ultra-controlled, emotionally guarded, married-to-his-job best friend. The man who's seen me ugly-cry over business school rejections and held my hair back after too many margaritas on my thirtieth birthday.
Wanting more is a complication neither of us needs right now, especially with the Winter Division launch hanging in the balance and the entire town watching our every move.
I zip up my parka with more force than necessary, already rebuilding the careful boundaries between us. "Ready?"
He nods, expression unreadable once more. "Lead the way."
As we leave the locker room, I steel myself for the evening ahead, determined to keep things professional and focus on what matters, showing Hope Peak that Blackwood Industries, and its formidable CEO, can be trusted with the town's future.
Even if that means ignoring the way my skin still tingles where his gaze touched it, and the dangerous question now lodged in my mind: what would have happened if that text hadn't come through?
Some questions are better left unanswered.
At least for now.