Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Gravel crunched under my heels as I dragged my Louis Vuitton up the steep path, its wheels collecting pine needles and small rocks along the way. Every rustle in the bushes sent waves of panic through my body. Was that a mountain lion? A bear? A rabid beaver with a taste for human flesh?
As I climbed higher, my thoughts returned to Noah, which only fueled my frustration. His piercing blue eyes kept materializing in my mind, along with those broad shoulders and the stubble that somehow looked deliberate rather than lazy.
“What kind of person just abandons someone at an airport?” I asked myself for the ten thousandth time.
Clearly, Noah had some sort of problem with LuxeLife, but that didn’t give him the right to take it out on me.
Did he hate LuxeLife that much? Did he hate me that much?
We’d barely exchanged ten sentences before he decided I wasn’t worth his precious mountain-man time.
Nobody could be that much of a jerk.
Nobody.
Except, apparently, for him.
One of the wheels on my Louis Vuitton got caught on a root, and when I tried to yank it loose, the whole suitcase tipped over like a helpless turtle. Which I assumed they didn’t have in Colorado. And if they did, it would probably be the flesh-eating kind.
As I struggled to reorient both myself and my luggage, my mind drifted once again to those blue eyes and broad shoulders. Jerk. Stupid jerk face. Stupid jerky jerk jerk … jerk. I was too exhausted to even come up with a proper insult.
After what felt like an eternity of climbing, I reached a fork in the road. “Left or right?” I muttered.
Neither direction had any signs, because why would a luxury resort want to help its guests avoid getting eaten? The right path looked slightly more worn, so I took it, hoping “worn” meant “frequently used by resort guests” and not “preferred hunting route for hungry bears.”
The trail curved through thick stands of pine trees, branches creating a canopy that filtered the remaining light into eerie patterns across the ground. My phone flashlight barely penetrated the shadows.
If I had been a character in one of those dark romantasy books, it would have been a good time for the hot werewolf to pop out and ravage me. But there was no hot werewolf. Only a grumpy mountain man with a pet wolf. And there certainly wouldn’t be any ravaging with him.
“Yikes!” Distracted by thoughts of Noah, I nearly plummeted to my death as the path opened suddenly onto a rocky overlook.
Below me stretched a mirror-smooth lake. Mountain peaks rose on all sides, their snow-capped tops tinged blue and grey.
“Well, this doesn’t suck.” It was a view that would get millions of likes … if I had any phone service to post it. I took a few pictures anyway. Maybe if I survived, I could post them later.
Turning around and doubling back, I made my way back to the intersection and took the left path.
The trail grew steeper, and the forest grew denser, trees closing in on all sides.
The only sounds were the labored breathing from my out-of-shape body and the occasional snap of a twig beneath my stumbling feet. Until …
Crack
I froze, heart thundering, oxygen-starved lungs clamping tight.
Rustle. Crack. Shuffle.
Something moved in the undergrowth. Just beyond my flashlight’s beam. “Hello?” My voice got swallowed by the dark.
RUSTLE … RUSTLE … RUSTLE
The rustling grew louder, accompanied by what sounded like ... scratching? Clawing? My mind conjured images of razor-sharp talons and glistening fangs.
I held my breath, frozen in place as the undergrowth parted. A shape emerged, low to the ground, moving with jerky motions, like something out of a horror movie. My phone slipped out of my sweat-slicked palm, the flashlight beam bouncing wildly on the ground.
“Stay back!” I brandished my Louis Vuitton like a shield.
The shape made a strange, gurgling sound that sent a chill up my spine, then emerged from the trees.
It was a bird.
A very strange bird.
A very ugly bird.
About the size of a chicken, but with mottled brown and white feathers, it had a distinctive white breast and what looked like weird spiky feathers standing up on its head. Its yellow eyes fixed on me with equal parts confusion and judgment.
“What the hell?”
The creature strutted across the path with the confidence of a runway model, its head bobbing forward and backward with every step. It made that bizarre gurgling sound again, followed by a series of pops like someone slowly opening bottles of champagne.
“Nice chicken,” I said, still clutching my suitcase in front of me. “Please don’t be a rabid chicken.”
The bird paid me no attention, continuing its strange dance, inflating what I now noticed were bizarre yellowish sacs on either side of its neck. It was simultaneously the most ridiculous and the most terrifying thing I’d seen all day, which, given my encounter with Noah and Yeti, was saying a lot.
After what felt like an eternity of this bizarre mating dance, which may or may not have been directed at me, the creature suddenly vanished back into the underbrush, leaving me alone on the path, heart still pounding.
“Noah probably planned this,” I muttered, picking my phone off the ground and shining it all around me. Once I was sure the bird was gone, I continued my trek toward the LuxeLife main lobby, looking over my shoulder just in case. “Sent his demon bird friend to finish me off.”
Dragging both my body and my luggage up the trail, I eventually saw lights through the trees. Buoyed by newfound hope, I pushed forward, quickening my pace despite my battered legs, calves, and feet.
The dirt-packed trail emerged onto a wide paved driveway, and I finally got my first look at the real Aster Park Mountain Resort & Spa.
The grand log-and-stone structure rose from the landscape like a mirage, its windows gleaming from the interior lights.
A massive stone chimney pierced the sky, wisps of smoke curling into the crisp mountain air.
Just as I took my first step toward civilization, my phone vibrated so violently in my pocket my entire body nearly bounced back down the mountain.
“Guess I got service.” The screen lit up with notifications, hours’ worth of missed messages coming all at once.
Marcus Wiles:
Your driver will be waiting when you land
Look for the name sign that says, Samantha
Enjoy the champagne and caviar!
Victoria Sterling:
Try the mountain berry welcome cocktail when you arrive
And the black truffle honey in the welcome basket
And the custom Alpine Meadow bath salts waiting in your suite They’re hand made by an aromatherapist from Sweden
Parker:
TSA vibrator story is CRUSHING IT. 22k shares in 2 hrs
Stranded LAX saga is gold! for Sam’s is trending
Engagement rate +47%. Keep posting EVERYTHING
I didn’t remember posting that many updates, but it appeared my misfortune resonated with my followers. At least something good was coming from my suffering. Then another wave of messages flooded my screen.
Mom&Dad:
SAMANTHA. ITS MOM. WHY ARE YOU IGNORING US.
its dad your mother is worried about the meese
I READ MOUNTAIN LIONS ARE MOST ACTIVE AT NIGHT
TEXT ME BACK.
ITS MOM
AGAIN
its dad your mother is worried about mountain lions
ARE YOU HYDRATING SAMANTHA
its dad your mother said there’s an avalanche warning
WE FOUND A FLIGHT TO COLORADO THAT LEAVES FIRST THING IN THE MORNING
WAIT HERES ONE THAT LEAVES TONIGHT
WAIT THAT GOES TO UTAH
HOW CLOSE ARE YOU TO MONTANA
its dad your mother is looking up flights
My thumbs flew across the screen in panic, texting Mom and Dad back.
I’M ALIVE!
Just got cell service.
At resort now.
Everything fine.
DO NOT COME TO COLORADO.
I cycled through the other conversations, quickly administering damage control.
(to Marcus):
Ride to the resort was … something I’ll never forget.
(to Victoria):
Can’t wait to try everything
(to Parker):
OMG WTF TTYL
Approaching the front entrance, I must have looked like some kind of swamp creature emerging from the woods, because the valet jumped when he saw me. For a moment, he looked like he was trying to decide if he should call security or the National Enquirer.
“Samantha Li,” I announced, standing up straight and lifting my chin. “I have a reservation.”
“Miss Li?” He checked his logs. “Oh yes, of course. We’ve been expecting you.” The look on his face made it clear I was definitely NOT what he was expecting.
“Is the bar still open?”
The valet peeled my death grip off the Louis Vuitton handle. “The Aspen Lounge is open until midnight. I’ll bring your key as soon as your room is ready.”
I nodded gratefully and limped toward the bar, leaving a trail of pine needles across the polished hardwood floor.
Hobbling inside, the Aspen Lounge was exactly what I needed, all leather chairs and mood lighting, with a massive stone fireplace on one wall. I collapsed onto a barstool, my feet screaming in relief.
The bartender eyed my disheveled appearance. “Rough day?”
“You have no idea.” I glanced at the cocktail menu propped open on the bar. “I’ll take the Mountain Sunset Martini.”
“Coming right up.” He started mixing the drink, pouring liquids in a fluid dance that was almost hypnotic. He slid the martini in front of me, a gorgeous gradient from deep purple to orange, garnished with a twist of lemon peel. “On the house.” His eyes lingered on my head. “May I?”
“May you what?”
He reached over and plucked a leaf out of my hair, holding it up with a sympathetic smile.
“Thanks.” I took a long sip of my Mountain Sunset Martini, letting the combination of vodka and mountain berry liqueur wash away the trauma of my trek through the wilderness. The sweet-tart flavor bubbled over my tongue. “You’re my new favorite person.”
“Name’s Steve,” said the bartender.