Chapter 12
Jack
I look around the tiny cabin and want to turn around and walk out. We are miles from the main resort, and the owner of this particular cabin is obsessed with everything Christmas—if the decorations are any indication. A fully adorned Christmas tree stands proudly next to a cheery fireplace below the wooden mantle with two stockings. Garland and ribbons festoon the banister to the second floor, where the bedrooms are, while glass nativities and Christmas villages rest upon almost every flat surface.
“Miss Mitchell. Is this payback for asking you to accompany me on this trip?” I flick a dismissive finger against a nearby snowman.
Maisie trudges behind me, covered head to toe in winter wear that is more appropriate for Antarctica than Colorado. She hangs her parka on a peg by the door before grabbing her satchel and slamming it angrily on the bar.
“No. This is all that was available at the last minute for the time you requested this close to the holidays. Why? What’s wrong with it?” Her harsh tone melts away when she sees the great room. “Oh, how lovely! They even put up a tree for us! That is so sweet.”
She flits about the space, admiring every piece of Christmas tchotchkes she comes across. I drop both suitcases and groan.
How can she honestly enjoy all this… this cheer?
“If we could get back to the business at hand?” I know my tone is short when Maisie glares at me a little before grabbing her satchel and pulling out her steno pad.
The second week she was with me, I bought her an iPad for notes. As far as I know, it’s still in the box at the bottom of a drawer in her desk. However, I have seen her go through at least thirty steno pads meticulously arranged by date.
She flings herself into a nearby chair, crosses her legs, and looks at me pointedly before flipping open her notes. “Marcus agreed to a meeting tomorrow, at noon, at Element 47, followed by drinks, if required. He is available only once if you want to meet him to ski for the next three days. Apparently, he’s scheduled events with his family and will not be available again until the very end of our trip. He will attend the meeting as long as it includes hot chocolate—his words, not mine—although I agree. And for the record, you will not be getting me on skis ever.” Maisie closes the steno pad a tad aggressively. “Thank you very much.” She stalks over to the table to pull files from the banker boxes we had couriered over from the private airstrip.
“How am I expected to meet at Element 47 when we’re staying this far from The Little Nell?” I know my words are clipped, and Maisie doesn’t deserve it. Still, I’m finding my control slipping around my little assistant.
Maisie glares at me over her shoulder. “We will have to ride the snowmobiles parked outside. Like I told you, this was the only cabin with an open booking this far into the season. It was this cabin or no cabin. And no cabin wasn’t an option, so here we are in this frozen hellscape. I would also like to add if you think you are getting me on one of those death machines, you are sadly mistaken. I will not be stepping out into that frozen wasteland any more than I have to.”
I shake my head at her antics before swiping up both suitcases and taking them upstairs. After a quick peek in the bedrooms, I deposit Maisie’s in the one with the best view. It may be a small consolation, but it’s all I can give her right now.
I walk into the bathroom to find even more festive Christmas junk. Gathering it all up in my arms, I dump everything in the one recliner in the room before hopping in the shower. A delicious smell wafts upstairs when I finally open the stall door again. I take my time getting dressed before returning downstairs.
On a good day, Maisie doesn’t hold a grudge, but today is a bad day, as she’s obviously irritated with me. Dragging her out here to Colorado has put me firmly in her bad books, and I’m desperately trying to give her time to calm down. That said, after the little incident in the living room, I can only imagine her irritation has kicked up a notch.
I make my way to the kitchen and am floored by the vision in front of me. Maisie is dancing around, her long blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun on her head, while she sings Christmas carols at the top of her lungs. At the same time, something simmers on the stove, giving off the most fantastic aroma.
But what stops me dead in my tracks is the sight of Maisie’s ass in a pair of tight black leggings, her chest accentuated by a fitted tank top. I’ve seen women of all walks of life wear this type of workout wear and never had an issue, but on Maisie, it’s downright sinful.
I watch her maneuver around the kitchen, wholly comfortable and oblivious to my presence, and she radiates happiness. I think back on all the changes in my office since she arrived. Productivity is up, we’ve landed several new contracts, and employee satisfaction is high. The halls are now filled with laughter and chatter as people work far more productively. The place is not the silent tomb it was before.
She’s happy. It hits me with an almost physical force, strong enough to bring me to my knees.
The song changes to something with a deeper, more suggestive beat. When Maisie’s dancing switches to match, I decide that I’m really not a masochist and clear my throat, only to have a wooden spoon smack me in the face.