Chapter 11
HANNAH
For the next few days, my main priority is revamping Snowy Peak’s website and creating a few sample ads for Jill and Anthony to look over. I’ve been sending them mockups of what it could look like, getting back what they like and don’t. It’s nice to help people I care about.
My stomach flutters at the possibility this might work.
All staff members at Snowy Peak have begun preparations for the event. They ordered a giant Christmas tree to be placed in the center and planned to host a lighting ceremony after the team’s arrival. My job is to capture every event from here on out.
I take a quick shower, braid my thick, red hair back, put on my favorite blue beanie, comfortable snow gear, and grab my camera as I head to the main building.
I spot Maya in the foyer, pacing behind the front desk and giving Joan instructions on what to do and how to do it. I can tell Joan’s trying not to interrupt or offer any suggestions. Once Maya is in planning mode, there’s no stopping the avalanche tumbling down the mountain.
Lucky for everyone else, I know how to stop it.
Not caring about her loud protest, I drag her the hell out of the reception area, get a quiet thank-you from Joan, and force her to sit. “You have to relax, your face is starting to show blotchy red patches.”
She touches her cheeks on instinct. “I’m just nervous, okay? They’re coming in less than,” she pauses, checking her watch, “ten minutes, and I need to make sure their first impression is a good one.”
Looking around, noticing a few subtle changes from when I first arrived, most likely Maya’s doing, I know the coach and his team are going to appreciate the homey feel of this place and hopefully enjoy themselves. “Everything is perfect and going to be fine. Now, please, relax before you pass out.”
She fans herself, watching the front entrance, most likely counting down the minutes, driving herself crazy. I shake my head and laugh, while Maya gives me a dirty look, knowing I can tell what she’s thinking. “Go stand somewhere else, I need to spiral alone.”
“And miss an epic show? No thanks.” Taking out my Nikon, I clean the lens, preparing for when the Olympic team walks through the door. It’ll be a great shot for the resort’s social media accounts, announcing their arrival.
Jill gave me their log-in information last night, now it’s connected to my apps, so I can easily switch between accounts to do live updates.
Maya flips me off and proceeds to stare straight ahead, trying to avoid my presence. Her dark, curly hair hangs down her back, a light, beige cashmere sweater complementing her warm complexion.
The foyer is quiet; most of the guests are still sleeping. The coach had told Anthony their arrival would be bright and early, probably to avoid possible chaos if people recognized them, only to bombard them with autograph requests.
I haven’t kept up with any current members of the Olympic team, but I know they have one who won back-to-back gold medals in the halfpipe. Luckily, the Gomezes have one built further on the property for kids who are training to compete for a spot.
Voices are heard just on the other side of the double doors, which swing open as a man leads the pack, sporting a black winter jacket with his title in gold stitching stating “Coach” on the breast pocket.
I get my camera ready, taking shots of every interaction, Anthony coming into focus as he greets him with a hug.
Members of the Olympic team start to pile in, and they’re quite an attractive bunch.
One has deep-brown hair in a bun, a full beard, and dark eyes. A black, spiral tattoo curls up his neck, disappearing in the collar of his jacket.
The one in the middle—blond, clean cut, with striking green eyes—keeps his focus on the conversation between Anthony and his coach.
And on his other side, the final team member has dark skin, light eyes, a short haircut, and is a few inches shorter than his teammates.
“Well, they’re not so bad,” I comment, taking another shot of the male snowboarders watching their coach and Anthony converse.
“It’s intimidating to see an Olympic medalist in the flesh,” she says, watching them move around.
“Hmm, I guess.” I zoom in to get a group shot. “The only difference is they have medals, we don’t.”
“You could've, if you kept going.”
I shake my camera at her. “My love for this contraption took over.”
“Girls,” calls Anthony, motioning for us to join him.
I have to drag Maya, pulling her out of the trance she put herself in from all the testosterone in the air.
She stumbles off her seat and comes with me, where her dad introduces us.
“Girls, this is Tommy Jones, coach for the men’s Olympic snowboard team.
And over there,” he points to blonde twins who somehow slipped past us and are laughing by the coffee station, “are his daughters, Elise and Ella, both seniors in high school. Tommy, this is Maya, my daughter, and her best friend, Hannah, who will be taking photos of the event.”
We shake his big hand and exchange pleasantries.
Coach Jones points to the trio of men behind him.
“Man bun over here is Cody Smith, middle man is Taylor Reed, and our big air legend is Mark Coleman.” All three men shake our hands, excitement radiating through my bones at everything finally coming together.
“And…” Coach Jones pauses, looking around. “Where the heck is Hart?”
Man bun Cody shakes his head. “Some girls recognized him outside, so he’s signing autographs.”
Taylor, in the middle, rolls his eyes. “Can’t ignore his admirers.”
Mark slaps him on the back. “'Cause he’s a man whore.”
Coach Jones spins around. “Keep the crude comments to yourselves; we are in the presence of young ladies.”
All three men hold up their hands in defense.
Eventually, they all migrate to the lounge area, where Anthony talks Coach Jones’ ear off.
I linger back, taking more photos, when I hear a door swing open behind me, making me collide with something hard.
Big, gloved hands keep me steady as I turn to see a tall man with tawny skin and swept-back, dark, curly hair hiding behind sunglasses.
He wears the same matching gear as the other Olympians, with a dark beauty mark on his left cheek.
He pulls his sunglasses down to assess me, light brown eyes catching me off guard.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you come in.” I apologize.
He gives me a quick look up and down and says, “Clearly.” His eyes watch my every move, making me squirm. But his attitude is something I won’t tolerate. Remembering his hands are touching me, I shrug him off, putting space between us.
“As I said, I’m sorry.” Crossing my arms, I let my camera hang off my neck.
He taps the lens with his gloved finger. “Nikon Z 5?”
“Uhh…yeah?”
“I hope you know how to use it.”
Who the hell does he think he is, questioning me about how I operate a camera? “I do.” Keep your cool, Hannah. Don't say anything rude.
He smirks, slowly pushes his sunglasses back on, those piercing brown eyes hidden once more, and stalks off, joining his teammates by the fire.
“There’s Noah!” calls Taylor, greeting him with a fist bump.
Maya catches my attention, quickly noticing the sour look on my face. Before she can reach me, Anthony calls me over. Plastering on a fake smile, I make my way to where Maya stands, utterly aware of his presence, and find him ignoring mine.
What the fuck is with this guy?
Coach Jones smiles at me. “Now that Noah has finally made his way inside, I wanted to suggest to you, Hannah, that while we practice, maybe you can join us and take some behind-the-scenes shots? Whatever Gomez over here pays you, I’ll give you extra.”
His offer takes me by surprise. “Really?”
“Of course. I plan on using the material for their portfolios.”
Maya pinches my side, encouraging me to take the offer. “Uh, yeah, sure, thank you for the opportunity!” The idea of my work taking up space in their portfolios is a huge boost for my career. Mark, Taylor, and Cody give me a thumbs-up, while Noah ignores the conversation, typing on his phone.
Anthony claps his hands together. “After dinner, we’ll go over the dates for the event. Please, in the meantime, make yourselves comfortable and go explore our resort!”
Joan comes over and hands each of them their cabin keys. Coach Jones and Anthony leave us to talk privately, while the twins get a tour from one of the staff members, the men talk about the autographs Noah signed outside.
“Kids, or…?” Mark edges.
“In their early twenties, one gave me her number.” Noah holds up a folded piece of paper, waving it around. “Might call her later if I get bored.”
Taylor snorts. “You’re always bored. What number is this? Fifteen?”
Noah shrugs, unbothered. “Maybe ten, I lost count when that other girl gave me a blow job in my suite in Aspen last week.”
The men snicker, making my stomach turn. My eyes lock onto Noah’s, and a sly smile appears, mocking me from afar.
I grab Maya and pull her away from their gross comments. “What the hell is wrong with them?”
“Well, for starters, nothing, they’re quite delectable,” she purrs, eyeing Mark.
I snap my fingers in front of her face. “Focus, Maya. They’re pigs.”
“Just Noah, the others have decent pasts. I looked them up before they arrived.” She pulls out her phone and shows me a recent article about Noah’s relationship status. “I guess he’s on the market again.”
“Whatever. I’m already not a fan of his attitude, but as long as he performs for the event, he can do whatever he wants.”
They eventually leave, most likely checking out the resort. I watch Noah like a hawk, disapproving of his rude remarks and drilling my eyes into his back. He stops, looking over his shoulder one more time, and smirks at us before leaving.
“Whoa,” whispers Maya.
I cross my arms, irritated to say the least. “Whoa, what?”
“I think he caught the vibe that you’re not a fan,” she guesses.
“So? Sucks that not everyone wants his attention.”
“By the smile he just gave you, he just might give you his, and not in the way you think.”
I roll my eyes. As long as he does what he’s supposed to do for Maya’s parents, then I won’t have to kick his ass.