Chapter 10 Oh, What a Plot Twist You Were #2
Aaron shoots me an apologetic look. “We’d take you, but we’ve only got a two-seater.”
“Don’t worry.” I wave it off. “See you tomorrow.”
The two raise their hands in goodbye before getting into their car and driving off.
I wonder what to do now. Last night, Ruth gave me Mr. Winterbottom’s number.
We talked and agreed that I’d come by around six-thirty for an interview.
Now it’s ten past, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to get to Aspen Highlands that quickly.
A white Range Rover pulls into the parking lot. At first my heart skips a beat thinking it could be Gwen with another car, but then I recognize who’s driving.
It’s Knox. Wyatt is sitting next to him in the passenger seat, leaning all the way back with his boots on the windowsill. I roll my eyes and pretend to type into my phone to look busy.
What are they doing here?
Behind me a door opens up and Harper strolls past. She is wearing her sports bag like a little designer purse, its strap in her elbow.
The Range Rover stops right in front of us, the back door opens, and a girl with long black hair waves Harper over.
“Move your cute ass, Davenport. Kate’s burgers are waiting for us. ”
Harper swings herself into the car. Before she closes the door, she leans over to Knox and…kisses him. As he doesn’t turn toward her properly, she just catches the corner of his mouth, but it is definitely a kiss.
I slowly put my phone back down. I don’t even realize that I am unabashedly staring into the car. Harper reaches out to pull the door shut. Noticing my stare, she narrows her eyes. “Don’t gawk.”
She slams the door and Knox turns the steering wheel. His eyes meet mine. I almost expect a mocking grin to appear while he makes a comment about me that I cannot hear. But I’m wrong. A second later all I have in front of my eyes is its taillights as it turns the corner.
My chest tightens, and I feel a light pain in my stomach without really knowing why. Okay, apparently Harper and Knox have something going on, but what do I care? Especially after the way he behaved yesterday.
Or?
I catch myself shifting my weight from one leg to the other, thinking about that movie night at the Old-Timer.
The Knox I was with there seemed to be a different person than the one I ran into yesterday.
He bought me buttered popcorn and even made me laugh.
I haven’t been doing much of that for a while.
Suddenly, I’m really angry. Angry at Gwen for leaving me hanging, angry at Knox for hurting me. And for getting involved with that dummy by the name of Harper. But maybe I’m angry at myself, too, for caring what he does and with whom. I shouldn’t have watched that movie with him.
I look back at my phone and call Mr. Winterbottom.
He picks up after the second ring. “Jack Winterbottom.”
“Yes, hello…this is Paisley,” I say. “There’s a problem. My, umm, ride has disappeared, and I need to take the bus.”
“Gotcha. Which bus are you taking?”
“Umm…” I look around. No bus stop far and wide.
On the other end of the phone Mr. Winterbottom gives a friendly laugh. “Where are you right now?”
“At iSkate.”
There’s a brief pause. “Good, you can catch the Highland Express. Going out of the parking lot, turn left. You’ll come to a yellow sign. That’s where it stops. Just tell the driver you want to go to the Winterbottoms’.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks a lot!”
“See you soon.”
I follow his directions and indeed I’m in luck: The Highland Express shows up just a few minutes later at the yellow sign.
During the ride, I have to keep forcing myself to keep my eyes open and not nod off.
Knowing my luck, I’d wake up somewhere in the Rockies, staring right into the eyes of a malnourished bear.
“This is where the Winterbottoms live,” the gum-chewing driver says.
It can only be directed toward me, as there is no one else on the bus.
The doors open and I step out into the snow.
A couple in snowsuits are making their way down the driveway to the wide front door, and I remember what Gwen told me, that this resort is divided into the area for the guests and the private one of the Winterbottoms’.
And so I’ve got to go to the other door.
My assumption is confirmed by a hefty brass plate upon which Winterbottom has been written in elegant letters.
I take off my cap, undo my messy training bun, and shake my hair out.
I stifle my nervousness, take a deep breath, and ring.
I hear steps approaching the door, and as it swings inward, I find myself before a well-built man, who is quite attractive for his age.
His light-colored hair is streaked with gray and his toothpasty grin gives Brad Pitt a run for his money.
He stretches out his hand. “Hello, Paisley, I’m Jack. Come on in.”
I’m met by a blast of warm air as soon as I step inside. Between the wooden beams I take note of the perfectly matching furniture, which, judging by its extravagant look, no doubt comes from an interior designer. Naturally, there’s a fire going.
“Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? I’ve just made some coffee.”
“Coffee would be great,” I say while attempting to put on a confident smile.
Jack nods, disappears into the kitchen, and comes back shortly with two steaming cups. He puts them on the coffee table in front of the couch and sits down across from me. “So, Paisley. Tell me about yourself. You’re new in Aspen, you were saying?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and grip my cup. “I’m originally from Minneapolis. Last summer I applied to iSkate and was accepted.” A tentative smile crosses my lips. “Yeah, well, and now here I am.”
“Nice, really nice. I’m happy for you. Aspen is a great town.”
I nod. “It’s got a charm I’ve never encountered anywhere else.”
Jack nods in agreement and takes a sip of his coffee. A phone begins to beep in his pocket. “Excuse me a moment,” he says, places his cup on the saucer, and types something before turning back to me. “Do you have any experience as a chalet girl?”
“Not directly,” I admit. “But I worked at a hotel for a few years while going to school.”
Mr. Winterbottom nods. He looks at his phone again, and I start to feel the beginnings of panic. If he doesn’t find me interesting, he certainly won’t be giving me any job. “Nice,” he mutters, without looking at me. I can see that he’s messaging someone.
Right now? This is my interview, and he can’t even concentrate on me for five minutes? I lose my courage. Nothing’s going to come of this. Ever.
I swallow. I restlessly move about my velvet-covered chair. “I can cook, too. Well, no one’s ever complained, in any event. I’m an athlete, so naturally I cook really healthy things, and…”
“Paisley, excuse me, please,” Jack interrupts. He lets out an impatient sigh and continues to type into his phone. “I’ve got to go. When can you start?”
“I… What?”
Finally Jack looks back up from his phone. “Tomorrow? That would be the best. If you need someone to bring your things over, let me know.”
“My things?”
His phone rings. Jack rolls his eyes, takes the call, and puts the phone to his ear. “Give me ten minutes, okay? I’m on the road.” He hangs back up. It’s like I’ve been hit on the head. I have no idea what’s going on. Do I have the job or not?
“Your room should be ready by then. Come on over tomorrow with your things, and we’ll go through the schedule together. Basically, all of my chalet girls receive the same salary. Seven hundred fifty dollars, every week. Is that acceptable?”
“Umm…”
Seven hundred fifty dollars…a week?! Where do I sign?
“How much in rent do you want for the room?”
Jack blinks. For a moment he looks confused, before he stands up, laughs, and waves my question away. I don’t understand what he means. Does he think I’m joking?
“I’ve got to go.” Yeah, unreal. He took my question to be a joke. “Come on over tomorrow, at your convenience, and…”
The door opens. I turn my head—and for a fraction of a second my heart stops. Really. It simply stops. Whether it’ll start back up, I don’t really know.
Well, apparently it does, because I’m sitting here. Whereas, to tell the truth, I’d rather sink into the ground and become part of the waxed parquet.
“Ah, Knox.” Mr. Winterbottom points from me to Knox and then back. “How good that you’re here. This is our new chalet girl, Paisley. Paisley, this is my son. Knox.”
This has got to be a bad joke. This could never happen in real life. I’m dreaming. For sure.
The door closes. Knox stares at me.
I stare back.
Then he tilts his head. “Paisley, huh?”
Oh, my Lord. This isn’t going to go well at all.