Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Ifollowed Maya through the west wing of the resort, my mind racing through everything I’d posted. “Do you think maybe I used the wrong filter on the spa content? Maybe my caption for the infinity pool was too generic.”
“I think the infinity pool posts were fine.” Maya gave me a smile that was supposed to be reassuring, but felt like pity.
“Did Marcus say anything else?” I scurried faster to catch up. “Anything specific?”
“Apparently, Victoria has some notes.”
“Notes?” I’d thought my content was performing beautifully, but clearly I’d made some sort of mistake.
Maya forced a smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing major.”
It was definitely something major.
“Maybe the engagement isn’t high enough. I can adjust my posting schedule to hit the algorithm sweet spots. I can focus more on the aesthetics. Or less on the aesthetics.”
“The numbers are great, I’m sure. Victoria can be particular. Just because something is successful doesn’t mean …” Maya paused, considering her words carefully.
“Doesn’t mean what?”
“Doesn’t mean it’s what she had in mind.” Maya stopped to take a breath, forcing me to take one too. She pointed across the hall to a section of the resort that was clearly mid-renovation, though they’d attempted to disguise it with temporary walls painted to match the rest of the decor.
“See that room there?”
“Yes.”
“It’s the third time we’re redoing it.”
The partitioned barricade couldn’t fully conceal the sounds of construction, drills whirring, hammers pounding, men shouting instructions. I caught a glimpse of a massive stone fireplace being dismantled piece by piece.
“Part of the original lodge,” said Maya when she saw the question on my face.
“Victoria thought it was too rustic.” She paused, but only for a moment, watching through the break in the barricade as more workers unceremoniously stacked decades-old woodwork like discarded kindling.
“God forbid LuxeLife preserves any bit of the history of this place.” Maya seemed to catch herself.
“Sorry,” she blurted. “It’s just … sometimes things are never good enough. ”
“Yeah, I know how that is.” No matter how great I thought a post was, some people always had to be critics. “Did you work here before?” I asked. “I mean before LuxeLife took over.”
“No,” said Maya. “But I grew up just outside Denver. My parents used to take my brother and I here when we were kids.” A distant look settled in her eyes. “But now my parents are gone, and, well, my brother is a tax attorney who lives in Miami with his wife and kids. So that’s that.”
Maya blinked her eyes and shuddered, as if waking from a trance. “The new space will be a champagne and caviar bar. This time with ice sculptures and ceiling lights meant to evoke the Northern Lights.”
“Sounds great,” I replied. “Because nothing says authentic Colorado mountain experience like imported fish eggs and artificial auroras.”
Maya chuckled before catching herself.
“I just thought of something,” I said. “If I’m going to defend myself and my content to Marcus and Victoria, I need to be both camera ready and articulate. Do I have time to grab a quick coffee?”
Maya checked her watch. “I’ll cover for you. But just promise you won’t abandon me, okay? I need all the friends I can get.”
“Never.” I smiled. Maya smiled back. “You want me to get you anything?”
“I could really use another Mountain Sunset Martini, but that would probably be a bad idea. Just get me whatever you’re having. I trust you.”
Following Maya’s directions, I wandered past a collection of curated boutique shops toward the main atrium, each more expensive than the last.
I scrolled through my recent posts as I walked, frantically searching for anything that might have rubbed Victoria the wrong way.
The rational part of my brain knew my content was solid, better than solid, exceptional.
But the perfectionist in me was already mentally rehearsing how I’d defend my creative choices without sounding defensive.
The coffee shop came into view, along with the aroma of freshly ground artisanal beans. The scent drew me forward like a cartoon character floating on visible tendrils of fragrance.
I squared my shoulders and marched through the cafe doors, ready to order whatever concoction would best fortify both me and my new ally Maya for the impending Zoom call of doom.
The interior design of “Alpine Brews” was a masterclass in rustic-luxe.
Antler chandeliers cast a honeyed glow over leather armchairs, artfully distressed to look vintage.
A mounted elk head watched from above the fireplace, wearing what looked like a hand-knitted scarf.
I couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the rest of it. Probably transformed into elk burgers.
The menu board, written in chalk calligraphy, listed drinks like “Mountain Mocha”, “Powder Day Pour-Over,” and “Wilderness Cold Brew.” A handwritten sign proclaimed that all the beans were single-origin and ethically sourced.
“Two Alpine Peak Lattes to go, please.”
“Excellent choice,” said the barista, as if I’d selected a fine wine rather than an overpriced coffee.
She turned to the gleaming copper espresso machine that looked like it belonged in a steampunk laboratory. As she worked her barista magic, I surveyed the room, taking in the cafe’s clientele, the type of people Victoria hired me to impress.
A couple in matching Patagonia fleece cuddled on the loveseat. The woman wore a diamond ring so massive it nearly blinded me. Another pair in brand new hiking gear pored over a trail map. A woman browsed a novel with a cover featuring a shirtless cowboy.
The seeds of doubt planted during Marcus’s surprise Zoom call took root and bloomed. Maybe it wasn’t the content I was posting that Victoria had concerns about. Maybe it was me. Looking around, it was clear I didn’t belong there. I didn’t fit in.
“It feels like I walked into a Norman Rockwell painting,” I mumbled to myself. At any moment, someone was going to turn around, spot the impostor, and an angry mob would chase me away with locally forged pitchforks.
“Two Alpine Peak Lattes for Samantha!”
I snapped out of my spiral of insecurity and grabbed the pair of drinks, momentarily distracted by the work of art the barista created in the foam.
An intricate mountain range rose from one side of the cups, complete with tiny pine trees and what appeared to be a soaring eagle.
She’d even dusted them with what looked like edible gold flakes.
“That’s ... wow.” I pulled out my phone, adjusting the angle to catch both the latte art and the cozy fireplace in the background. “This is incredible.”
“We take our craft seriously here.” The barista beamed with pride.
I was about to take a taste when I remembered the scorching lesson from the airport. Parts of my tongue were still seared from my last latte lament. Steam poured from the liquid surfaces like miniature geysers.
“You have any plastic lids?” I looked along the counter but didn’t see any.
“We’re eco-friendly here,” said the barista. Eco-aggressive seemed more descriptive.
Glancing at my phone, I realized the time. If I were going to make it to the Zoom call on time, I needed to get moving.
Balancing two full lattes, I power-walked through the resort’s winding hallways. Was it right at the antique ski display or left at the vintage snowshoes wall? “Past the stone fireplace …” I said to myself. “There are at least three hundred stone fireplaces in this resort.”
I rounded a corner at full speed.
THUD.
SPLASH
I ran straight into a brick wall, or rather, the human equivalent of one. Both lattes exploded as scalding liquid splashed across a familiar broad chest.
Beneath a familiar beard stubbled chin.
Accompanied by the scream of a familiar voice.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Noah jumped backward, then yanked the soaked shirt over his head in one fluid motion, muscles rippling beneath tanned skin. An angry red patch flared across his chest where coffee had singed a light dusting of chest hair.
I stood frozen, two empty cups still in hand, mouth agape as I stared at Noah’s now bare torso.
My brain, apparently having abandoned all professional and social protocols, helpfully noted that what remained of his non-burned chest hair formed a perfect V pointing down past his belt buckle like a biological arrow saying, “Right this way!”
“Oh, my God. I am SO sorry.” I hadn’t been this mortified since, well, the day before when I spilled coffee all over him.
“Do you make a habit of assaulting people with hot beverages?” Noah pressed his wadded-up shirt against his chest, wincing as he dabbed at the red mark. “What the hell was that?”
“Two Alpine Peak lattes.” I said, eyes searching for the nearest emergency exit route. “I was trying to find the business center and got turned around and …” When I looked back up, into Noah’s narrowed eyes, my cheeks burned even hotter than the coffee I just splattered all over him.
“Well, if you’re looking for the business center, you’re going the wrong way.” He gestured behind him with his free hand, the movement causing his shoulder muscles to ripple. “Business center’s back there. First right past the elk head.”
“Which elk head? This place has a concerning number of dead animals on the walls.”
It wasn’t quite a smile, but his mouth moved in a less frowny direction. “The one wearing the beanie.”
“I thought it was wearing a scarf?”
Noah’s eyes narrowed, the blue somehow more intense without a shirt to compete with them. “That’s a different elk.”
My eyes involuntarily drifted again to his chest, which looked like it had been sculpted by an artist. I would have bet you could grate artisanal mountain cheese on those abs. Or use them as a washboard for laundering elk head accessories. Like beanies and scarves.
“Why are you looking for the business center?” Noah used his shirt to dry some of the coffee that had dripped into his pants. My eyes took careful note of his drying technique.
Noah cleared his throat, the sound snapping me back to the present moment where I was, in fact, still staring at his naked torso like I was taking mental measurements for a custom-fit suit.
“Maya’s making me go to some Zoom call.”
“That sounds … horrible.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Maya said you weren’t even a resort employee, so what are you doing in the resort?” I mimicked the way he’d said the word at the airport, just to mess with him.
“Yes, as everyone keeps reminding me.” Noah walked over to a clearance display outside the clothing boutique, grabbed a t-shirt off the rack.
“I’m just here to pick up a tour group.” He pulled the t-shirt over his head, but it looked at least a size too small.
The lines of his arms and shoulder stretched the cotton to its limit.
I held my hand to my face, trying to muffle a giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Noah glared.
“Nothing.” My eyes flicked back to his shirt. It read “Mountain Man” in bold font across the chest. I suppressed another giggle. “What kind of tour?” I asked, not really interested, but looking for a distraction.
“Hiking tour.”
“That sounds … horrible.”
We did our whole glaring and glowering thing.
“I thought you said you had a Zoom call,” said Noah, clearly done with our conversation. “You need help getting there or something?”
“Is that a question or an offer?” The words tumbled out before my brain could stop them, landing between us with all the subtlety of a falling piano. They seemed to surprise him even more than me.
“Um …” Noah’s eyebrows shot up. His cheeks were now as red as his scalded chest.
“Actually, it’s fine. I’m sure I can find it all by myself.
” Before he could respond, I brushed forcefully past him, ignoring the electric sensation when my arm accidentally grazed his bare skin.
I dumped the now-empty cups in the nearest bin and marched down the hall, refusing to look back even as I felt his eyes boring into the back of my skull.
As I passed under the elk head wearing the beanie, not its scarf-wearing cousin, the frozen smirk on its taxidermied lips seemed to be laughing at me.
I spotted a sign with an arrow that said “Business Center” and nearly broke into a run.
I was actually looking forward to the Zoom call now.
Anything to distract me from what I’d just done.
Taking the steps two at a time, I clung to one last desperate hope: that I would never see Mr. Mountain Shirt Grumpy Muscles ever again.