Chapter 8 Zoe
ZOE
“Mrs. Greer, I was hoping I could show you some ideas I have for the resort’s website.” It was just before eight the next morning, but the prickly manager was already at her desk.
She didn’t even look up from the papers in front of her. “No.”
I blinked. Just... no? No explanation, no “maybe later,” just a flat rejection?
“Okay,” I said, regrouping. “Can we discuss the ski lesson yesterday? Because I had some ideas that might help beginners—”
“I don’t need advice from a student.”
The words stung more than they should have. I wasn’t trying to give advice. I was trying to do my job. Or whatever this internship was supposed to be.
I took a breath and tried a different approach. “I don’t want to give advice. I want to learn from you.”
Mrs. Greer set down her pen and looked at me over the rim of her glasses. Even sitting, she somehow managed to look down at me. “Then I suggest you listen more than you speak.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
She went back to writing on her notepad, taking her time. My impatience crawled under my skin like ants, but I forced myself to stay quiet. To wait. This was a test, and I wasn’t going to fail it.
Finally—finally—she tore off the top sheet and held it out to me.
“Three tasks,” she said. “First, ask the concierge supervisor to show you the VIP arrival packet. Not so you can make suggestions,” she added, her tone sharp. “So you can familiarize yourself with our standards.”
I nodded, taking the paper.
“Second, go to the spa and verify that all service rooms have fresh robes and towels.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Third, check with the Executive Chef to see if the New Year’s Eve menu has been finalized.”
I glanced at the list in my hand. Most of these things could have been handled with an email. But at least she was finally letting me do something.
“I’ll get on this right away,” I said.
She’d already gone back to her paperwork, dismissing me without another word.
I left her office and decided to save the kitchen for last. I wasn’t in any hurry to see Asher. Well—seeing him wasn’t the problem. He was frustratingly attractive. But every time he opened his mouth, it was a huge turnoff.
The concierge supervisor, a polished woman in her forties named Vivian, was more than happy to walk me through the VIP arrival process. I’d worked at hotels before including a very expensive one back in Haverford, but nothing anywhere near as luxurious and as exclusive as The Fraser.
Each VIP guest got a personalized welcome letter on cream-colored cardstock with their name embossed in gold.
Their favorite beverages were stocked in their suite before arrival.
If they had dietary restrictions, the kitchen was notified weeks in advance.
One returning guest always requested white roses in her room.
Another insisted on a specific brand of bottled water that had to be shipped from Iceland.
“We anticipate their needs before they know they have them,” Vivian explained, her tone almost reverent.
I took notes, my mind spinning. This was hospitality on a completely different level.
The spa check was straightforward. I walked through each treatment room, verifying that the robes were pristine, the towels were thick and perfectly folded, and the essential oil diffusers were filled.
I noted the various offerings—massages, facials, body wraps, and the sauna that Kai had mentioned yesterday.
Everything had to be flawless. One wrinkled robe, one forgotten towel, and a guest paying thousands of dollars for their stay would notice.
I finished quickly and headed back to the main level. I still had to deal with the third task—the kitchen. Which meant I’d likely see Asher.
I walked through the lobby, noting that more fireplaces were lit today than yesterday. The resort was filling up—I’d seen a porter hauling in ski bags earlier, and there was a low hum of activity that hadn’t been there before.
The skis made me think of yesterday. Of Kai and of that kiss.
I still didn’t know what had gotten into me.
I didn’t behave that way with men. I didn’t lose control.
And this was the most important opportunity of my entire senior year.
If I didn’t return from this internship with a glowing report from Mrs. Greer, I wouldn’t be able to graduate on time, let alone get decent job prospects.
And even with my scholarship, I couldn’t afford an extra semester at Langley.
So I needed to focus. To stay professional. To stop thinking about how Kai’s hands had felt on my—
No. Not going there.
In fact, I knew just where to go in order to delay having to go down to the kitchen.
Pam at the front desk had told me that the upper part of the lobby was her favorite spot in the entire resort, so I headed toward the grand staircase to check it out.
The stairs swept upward in a graceful curve, the banister polished to a mirror shine.
At the top was an open loft area—part lounge, part observation deck.
Plush seating was arranged in intimate clusters, and a grand piano sat near the windows, its black lacquer gleaming.
From up here, you could see everything happening in the lobby below: guests checking in, staff gliding between tasks, the massive Christmas tree sparkling with golden lights.
It was breathtaking. Luxurious in a way that felt almost obscene.
And then I saw him.
Kai.
He was walking toward me, wearing a blue sweater today that made his eyes even more striking. My body reacted before my brain could catch up—pulse quickening, breath hitching. Like he was a magnet and I was made of metal.
I took a step toward him, almost involuntarily. I hadn’t seen him last night after I stormed off. I’d taken refuge in my room all evening. At one point, I’d heard male voices, but I hadn’t seen him or Asher.
And now here he was, striding toward me, looking really good. Why did he have to be so damn gorgeous? I couldn’t help the involuntary smile that slipped out as he got closer.
He gave me a small, polite smile in return.
And then he veered off and jogged down the stairs to the lobby.
I halted mid-step, staring after him.
He couldn’t even say hello?
I stood there for a moment, frozen between surprise and offense. Maybe he was mad about how I’d ended things yesterday. I had walked out pretty abruptly. But what was I supposed to do—let him call me “baby girl” and pretend I was okay with it?
When he’d said that, it felt like he viewed me as a plaything. He may as well have called me a baby doll, like I was a toy instead of a competent, capable woman about to embark on a prestigious career.
Still, what kind of a man didn’t even say ‘hi’ to the woman he’d been all over the day before? Frustrated, I moved to the window, looking out at the mountains, trying to settle the knot in my chest.
But I could still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin. The heat of his mouth. The way my body had responded to him. The way we’d fit together, like we were made for each other.
I shook my head and headed back downstairs.
Focus, Zoe.
Near the Christmas tree, an older couple stood looking a bit lost. The man was in his late sixties, silver-haired and wearing an expensive-looking coat. The woman beside him—his wife, presumably—had kind eyes and a patient smile.
I approached them with my best professional warmth. “Good morning. Welcome to The Fraser. Is this your first time with us?”
The man’s face lit up. “It is! We’ve heard wonderful things.”
“Are you the Hartleys?” I’d studied the guest list so long yesterday that I knew who was supposed to arrive each day this week.
“Yes, we are.” Mrs. Hartley seemed pleased that I’d figured out who she was. that kind of thing always made guests feel special.
“You’re going to love it here,” I said. “The skiing is the best in the southeastern United States, of course, but even if you’re not hitting the slopes, there’s plenty to enjoy. The spa is incredible—I just came from there. And the restaurant serves some of the best food I’ve ever had.”
“Oh, that’s good to hear,” the woman said. “We’re not skiers, I’m afraid.”
“Then you’ll definitely want to try the hot stone massage,” I said. “And if you’re interested in the local area, the concierge can arrange tours. And—”
The man stepped closer, his hand brushing my forearm. “You’re very helpful, my dear. What’s your name?”
I kept my smile in place even as I took a subtle step back. “Zoe. I’m an intern here.”
His fingers lingered a beat too long on my skin before he let go. “Well, I hope we see more of you during our stay. Such a warm welcome.”
Had he emphasized the word ‘warm’? If so, ew.
But I’d dealt with this before—male customers who got a little too familiar, who stood a little too close.
It always made my skin crawl, but I stayed professional.
I felt bad for his wife, though. She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she was just used to it.
“Thank you, Zoe,” she said with a genuine smile. “We’ll definitely check out the spa.”
I excused myself and headed downstairs to the restaurant, my stomach tightening with each step.
It was still early for lunch, but I could hear the sounds of the kitchen—the clatter of pots, the sizzle of something on a burner, voices calling out orders. I pushed through the door tentatively and scanned the room.
And there he was.
Asher stood at the center of the controlled chaos, his chef’s whites pristine despite the activity surrounding him. He was in his element, barking instructions to the staff, his movements precise and efficient.
He saw me and his expression darkened, but he didn’t stop working.
I looked around, taking in the scene. I recognized some of the roles—the sous chefs prepping vegetables, someone reducing a sauce, another checking the temperature of something in the oven.
I’d taken a restaurant management class a couple of years ago, and bits of it were coming back to me.
The brigade system. The hierarchy. The choreography of a professional kitchen.
I approached a woman who was plating something that smelled of garlic and some other spice. “Excuse me. Can you tell me where the head chef is?”
She paused and pointed toward Asher.
I stared. “Him?”
“Yes. Do you need to talk to him?”
“I... yes. Please.”
She nodded and walked over to Asher, saying something I couldn’t hear. He looked over at me, clearly annoyed, then wiped his hands on a towel and strode toward me.
“You’re the head chef?” I asked, even though I’d just been told that. I still couldn’t believe it.
“Yes,” he said curtly.
“But you’re only here for three weeks, like me. How can you be the head chef?”
His jaw tightened. “I’m the head chef for the holidays. It gives the year-round executive chef time to visit his family in France. And I’m more than capable of running this kitchen. I got my internship through talent and skill.” His eyes narrowed. “Not by being bossy.”
I bristled at that. “I’m here about the New Year’s Eve menu. Is it finalized?”
“Not yet.”
“When will it be?”
“When it’s ready.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
“Neither is you standing in my kitchen asking me questions I’ve already answered.”
We glared at each other. God, he was infuriating.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll let Mrs. Greer know.”
“You do that.”
I turned on my heel and walked out, my face hot.
On my way through the restaurant, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before—Kai, sitting alone at the staff table near the back. He had a plate in front of him, but he wasn’t eating. Just staring off in the distance.
It was odd. From what little I knew of him, he seemed like the type who’d be laughing and joking with the other staff, not sitting by himself in silence.
I walked toward him, tentative. Maybe I should apologize for how I left things yesterday. Or at least—
He looked up. Saw me. And then he put his napkin on the table, got to his feet, and walked away.
I stood there, frozen in place as I stared after him.
The ache that filled my chest was sharp and unexpected. But it was quickly overtaken by something hotter: anger.
He’d kissed me yesterday. Stroked my body in way no one ever had before. And made me feel things I’d never felt before.
And now he couldn’t even stay in the same room as me. I wavered between the two emotions—hurt and pissed off. But I was starting to lean heavily toward pissed off.