Chapter 3 Zoe
ZOE
“And you said you’re celebrating your daughter’s birthday?” I smiled at the Martin family, which consisted of a tired-looking dad, a mom with a designer handbag, a girl who looked to be in fourth or fifth grade, and a younger boy.
The mom beamed. “Yes, Emma just turned ten. We wanted to do something special.”
“Well, happy birthday, Emma.” I handed the carved wooden keychain across the polished counter. “You’re in the Laurel Suite on the third floor. It has a beautiful view of the mountains.”
Emma’s eyes went wide, and even her younger brother looked impressed. A porter appeared at my elbow as if summoned, and I gestured toward the family. “William here will take you up and get you settled.”
As the Martins headed toward the elevator, their excited chatter fading, one of my new coworkers nodded his approval at me.
His name was Dennis, and he had salt-and-pepper hair and the kind of calm demeanor that probably came from years of dealing with demanding guests.
Pam—his colleague at the desk—was a cheerful woman with dark curly hair and laugh lines around her eyes.
“You’re a natural. Most people forget to mention the view. ”
“I’m glad Mrs. Greer sent you down to help,” Dennis added.
I felt a flush of pride, followed immediately by a stab of guilt. Mrs. Greer had done no such thing. “Does The Fraser get many families?” That hadn’t been the impression I’d gotten from what little I’d been able to find out about the exclusive resort.
Pam leaned over from her spot at the computer. “Not really. Mostly rich couples looking for a romantic getaway.”
The front doors swung open, letting in a gust of cold air and two more porters hauling luggage. I watched them maneuver suitcases and duffel bags across the gleaming floor, but it was the long, narrow case that caught my attention.
Skis.
My stomach clenched. Tomorrow morning at eight, I’d be standing in the lobby, waiting for the ski pro to drag me up a mountain and use me as his beginner guinea pig.
I wasn’t coordinated on flat ground, let alone on two slippery planks attached to my feet.
Sure, this was the Appalachian Mountains, not the Alps, but I could still break something. My pride, if not my body.
I shook my head and forced myself to focus on the computer screen in front of me. There was work to do, and dwelling on tomorrow’s humiliation wouldn’t help.
The hours passed in a blur of check-ins, guest questions, and phone calls. By the time a new shift arrived at ten o’clock, my feet ached in my heels, and my stomach was growling loud enough that I was worried the guests could hear it.
Dennis logged out of his terminal and stretched. “Time for dinner. You coming?”
I blinked. This seemed awfully late to eat. “I was just going to head to my room.” Which I hadn’t actually seen yet, but surely I could find it.
Pam laughed. “Your room will still be there in an hour. The staff usually eats together when the shift ends. Come on, you can meet everyone.”
I hesitated, but Pam was already heading toward the back of the lobby, and Dennis was gesturing for me to go first, so I smoothed down my skirt and followed Pam.
The restaurant was elegant, all dark wood and soft lighting, with a polished bar running along one side.
Only a handful of guests were dining—the season hadn’t fully started yet—and their low conversation mixed with the clink of silverware and glasses.
We headed to the back, where several tables had been pushed together for the staff.
I slid into a chair next to Pam, across from Dennis and a younger guy who introduced himself as part of the concierge team.
“Is there a menu?” I asked, glancing around.
“Nope.” Dennis poured wine into glasses as he spoke. “Whatever the kitchen makes for staff, that’s what we eat. It’s not the five-star stuff the guests get, but it’s still pretty damn good.”
The conversation drifted to upcoming holiday events and which guests were the most demanding. I smiled and nodded, sipping my wine. A short time later, a pair of waiters emerged from the kitchen carrying multiple plates, setting them down in front of us with practiced efficiency.
The plate in front of me held seared chicken with a golden, crispy skin, roasted vegetables that still had a bit of bite to them, and a small mound of creamy polenta.
I tried that first and had to suppress a moan.
It turned out that I was hungrier than I realized, which was good because the chicken was perfectly seasoned, the vegetables caramelized, and the polenta was rich and buttery.
“This is amazing,” I said.
Pam grinned. “Asher’s talented, I’ll give him that. He was here last year too, and we were all sad when he left.”
My fork paused halfway to my mouth. Of course Asher, the very rude man who’d driven me up here, had made this. I should have known.
I forced myself to keep eating, but exhaustion was creeping in. It had been a long day—packing, the uncomfortable drive, Mrs. Greer’s cold reception, hours on my feet at the desk.
When people started pushing back their chairs, I realized I still didn’t know where I was supposed to sleep tonight.
“Pam,” I said, catching her before she stood. “Can you point me toward the staff quarters? I don’t actually know where my room is.”
“Oh, you’re not in the regular staff quarters. You’re in the visiting staff quarters.” She waved her hand vaguely. “It’s a little tricky to get to. Most people call it the hideaway, as a matter of fact. Asher’s staying there—he can show you.”
My heart sank. “That’s okay. I can figure it out.”
“Don’t be silly. He won’t mind.” Pam was already standing. “He’s a nice guy. Come on, let’s see if he can take a break.”
I wanted to argue, but what was I supposed to say? That he spent three hours this morning making it clear he thinks I’m beneath him? Instead, I followed her back through the restaurant and into the kitchen.
The space was immaculate, all stainless steel and controlled chaos. There was only a small staff working tonight—as they’d said, most of the guests hadn’t arrived yet. Asher stood at the stovetop, his back to us, and for a moment I just stared.
He was in his element. His white chef’s coat was splattered with oil and sauce, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle.
His dark brown hair was slightly mussed, and he moved with a precision that was almost hypnotic—stirring a pan, checking something in the oven, barking an order to someone behind him, all without breaking rhythm.
It was like watching someone conduct an orchestra.
“Asher!” Pam called over the noise.
He turned, and his deep brown eyes landed first on Pam, then on me. His expression shifted, something cold sliding into place. He spoke to the guy next to him and gestured toward the stove, clearly having him take over, then crossed the kitchen toward us, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands.
“Can you take a quick break?” Pam asked. “Zoe needs someone to show her to the intern quarters.”
I saw the refusal forming on his face, the slight tightening around his mouth, but after a long moment, he nodded once. “Fine.”
“Thanks!” Pam clapped him on the shoulder and headed back out, leaving me standing there like an idiot.
“You can just tell me where it is,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’m sure I can find it.”
“It’s not that simple.” His voice was flat, almost bored. He tossed the towel onto a nearby counter and strode past me without waiting to see if I’d follow.
I hurried after him, my heels clicking on the tile.
He led me down a hallway, through a door marked “Staff Only,” and into a passage I hadn’t noticed before.
The temperature dropped immediately. We were underground now, the hallway narrow and dimly lit, twisting left, then right, then up a short flight of stairs.
I tried to memorize the route, but it felt like a maze.
Finally, he pushed open a door and held it for me—not in a gentlemanly way, just in a get-this-over-with way.
“Keep the noise down,” he said, his tone flat. “The ski instructors caught a red-eye and are jet lagged.”
I nodded, suddenly hyperaware of how loud my heels sounded on the floor. Asher moved past me into a small kitchenette and poured himself a glass of water, his back to me. Clearly, this conversation was over.
I headed down the hallway, passing a bathroom and several closed doors. Behind one, I heard the unmistakable sound of snoring. Another was silent. The third was cracked open, and when I peeked inside, relief flooded through me.
My luggage sat in the corner of a plain, functional room. Bunk beds lined one wall, both mattresses made up with simple white sheets. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was clean and private. I hoped I’d be the only one staying in it.
After freshening up in the bathroom, I ventured back into the main area.
The kitchenette was empty, since Asher had already left.
In front of it was a seating area with sofas and armchairs in front of a huge fireplace that dominated the room.
There weren’t any overhead lights, just a lamp here and there, so the light from the flickering flames bounced around the space.
It felt cozy, even if it was a little on the cold side.
But the baskets of blankets placed around the seating area would help with that.
I retreated to my room and set up my laptop on the small desk.
For the next two hours, I typed furiously, documenting everything I’d seen today—guest interactions, the check-in process, ideas for improving the website and marketing materials.
This internship might not be going the way I’d planned, but I was determined to make the most of it.
By the time I glanced at the clock, it was after midnight. My eyes were gritty, and my back ached from sitting. I saved my document, shut down the laptop, and headed for the bathroom.
The hallway was dark and silent. I used the bathroom quickly, then padded toward the kitchenette for a glass of water.
The floor was cold under my bare feet. I’d changed into sleep shorts and a soft t-shirt, along with the robe and slippers I was very glad I’d brought.
My hair was loose and falling around my shoulders.
I didn’t know I wasn’t alone until I almost walked right into someone.
Asher stepped out of the shadows near the kitchenette, and I gasped, stumbling back a step. He’d changed too, and he was shirtless, wearing only low-slung pajama pants, his feet bare despite the cold floor.
For a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
His chest was sculpted, all lean muscle and defined lines, and there was a faint sheen of moisture on his skin like he’d just showered.
My traitorous brain filed away every detail—the curve of his collarbone, the ridge of his abs, the way the dim light cast shadows across his torso.
His dark eyes swept over me, pausing for just a moment on my hair, and something flickered in his expression. But then it was gone, replaced by that same cold indifference.
He stepped aside without a word.
I walked past him, hyperaware of the scant inches between us, and headed down the hallway. I heard his footsteps behind me, soft and deliberate, and I couldn’t help glancing back.
He stopped at one of the doors I’d passed earlier and disappeared inside, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stood there for a beat, staring at the empty hallway.
“Good night,” I muttered under my breath, saying the words he hadn’t bothered to say to me.