12. Mia
Chapter twelve
Mia
I wake with the sun hitting my face, loose hair spread across the pillow as if I’m in a late-nineties rom-com. I forgot to close the curtains last night before I fell into bed, so the weak autumn sun is streaming in. Four glasses of white wine will do that to a girl.
I sit up tentatively, testing my head before I stand. Surprisingly, I’m steady on my feet, and feeling much better than I deserve to. Who knew eating responsibly and drinking a few big glasses of water before bed actually works? I say a short prayer to my past-self, then pull the curtains almost closed, leaving a gap so I have enough light to read in bed. I probably have at least half an hour before anyone else will be ready for breakfast.
I settle back and crack open my book. Every so often, a sharp sparkle of light reflecting off the ice off the slope catches my attention, and the beauty of the mountains outside distracts me. I can’t resist heading outside onto the balcony for some beautiful fresh air.
The cold catches in my throat. Despite being just the beginning of October, the autumn air is colder than I had mentally prepared for in my pajama bottoms and a tank top. I tuck my hands under my armpits to protect my nipples from the cold. After a couple of minutes, the ice under my bare feet forces me to surrender to the warmth of my room, but I’m so invigorated by the cold I can’t go back to bed now.
I sort through the clothes I brought, settling on the same jeans as last night. I’m still rummaging, wearing only unbuttoned jeans and a bra, when the interconnecting door next to my bed pops open.
Will waltzes in, stark naked.
“What the fuck?” I try to keep my voice low so I don’t wake the entire hotel. I hug my arms to my chest.
“Oh no,” Will says, comically freezing in place and squeezing his eyes shut as if he’s a kid playing hide and seek. “God, Mia, I’m so sorry. I thought this was the toilet.”
“It’s not the fucking toilet, Will. My cheeks blaze. But I can’t help my gaze from straying down Will’s toned chest, down to his flat, tanned stomach, down further to his— “Jesus, dude, cover yourself.”
I throw him the tank top I had slept in, which, because his eyes are closed, bounces off his shoulder and falls to the ground. He blushes, picking it up and covering his morning-hard cock with my still-warm tank top.
In the confusion, I’ve dropped my hands to my sides, and we realize at the same time that my nipples are visible through my sheer bra, still very much suffering from the short jaunt in the freezing air outside. Will’s eyes hungrily roam my body.
After a second too long, he says, “Sorry, Mia. I’ll go.”
My heart cracks. The tiny, tiny stupid bit of hope that he came in here for me vanishes into the morning chill.
He turns, toned ass on full display, and shuffles back into his own room. I can’t stop myself from following his every step, willing him to turn around. A second later, my tank top comes flying back toward me. I fumble and catch it. The door closes with a sharp click. I gather up the shirt, and bring it to my face. Mostly it smells like me, but there is a faint lingering scent of him, too. I drop it, ashamed and slightly disgusted with myself. I’m smelling my shirt after it has been on my best friend’s junk. What the fuck am I doing? I have to get out of here—far away from here.
I quickly dress in a long-sleeved, fitted navy blue shirt, a thin but warm cream merino mid-layer. I add a zip-up jacket, pick up my book, and head down to the restaurant.
I’m finally engrossed in my book when Will joins me half an hour later, carrying a caramel latte for me, and a coffee for himself.
He hands me the coffee as if it were a peace offering. “I’m so sorry, Mia. You didn’t need an eyeful of…this, this morning.” He nods down at himself. To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded a second eyeful.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the coffee.” I raise the cup in a ‘thank you’ gesture.
By the time the others come down for breakfast, I have almost finished my book. Will is studiously focusing on a crossword he found partially complete in an abandoned newspaper.
Over breakfast, we decide to find out whether we can take the chairlifts to see the view, then after lunch, we plan to head into town to go shopping and have dinner.
I leave the others to finish their breakfast and head to the front desk to figure out how we can make that happen.
Damien, the resort manager I met checking in last night, is at the front desk when I approach. Another man in a well-fitting, expensive-looking navy-blue suit is standing next to him.
“Good morning, Ms. Davis. I trust you slept well?” Damien greets me with a smile. It looks forced. “This is Bryce. I’m not sure whether you’re aware, but while Craig has been out of action, Bryce has been filling in around the resort.” He winces. Talking about Craig is that painful for him? “Bryce, this is Mia Davis; Craig’s sister.” Bryce clutches my offered hand.
“Ms. Davis, nice to finally meet you,” Bryce says, voice oily and rich. What does he mean by ‘finally’? I’ve only known about my situation for a few weeks. What could he possibly know? “I’m Bryce, as Damien said, and I work for Starlight Resorts.”
“Mia, please. Ms. Davis is too much like my mum.” I wrinkle my nose, and am horrified as I realize the ‘mum’ they probably are thinking of is my birth mother. Thankfully, Damien doesn’t seem to notice.
“Mia, then,” Damien says, smiling. “So, Mia, how can I help? Not a complaint, I hope?”
“Not at all, no, it’s beautiful. And the electric blankets were on for us last night—it was perfect.” I fold my arms across the chest-high counter. “I’m hoping for some help. We’d love to head up the chairlift. Is it running? How do I buy passes?”
Damien shakes his head. “No need, it’s all-inclusive. For you, always, but for our general guests, once they’ve booked and paid, almost everything we offer is all included. Something your parents brought in the seventies. A bit before my time.” Bryce doesn’t hide his eye roll, and gives me a knowing smile, as if he assumes I'll disapprove too. What’s up with this guy? He’s so rude.
Damien fiddles with something behind the desk and produces five wristbands.
“These will get you anywhere with swipe card access, anywhere you use your key card. You can use your key card as well, but guests tend to find these simpler. They’re programmed to each of your rooms, too.” Damien points out the tiny room numbers written on the back of each bracelet. “The best way to get to the chairlifts is—”
Bryce smoothly cuts Damien off. “No problem, Damien. How about I walk Ms—Mia down and point it out for her?”
“Of course,” Damien says, forehead crinkling. I get the impression Bryce isn’t his favorite person.
Bryce walks me through various open doors, pointing out another bar I hadn’t noticed when we came in last night, the gym, and the way to the heated outdoor pool and spa.
“I’d love for you to join me for dinner.” Bryce turns to look directly at me, his hand gently resting on my elbow to guide me down a windowed corridor. Ah, so that’s why he wanted to be the one to show me the chairlifts.
Noticing my hesitation, he adds quietly, “I’d like to talk about what your plan is for the resorts, considering your brother’s condition. Given you didn’t grow up with the Hillcrests, I understand if you haven’t considered a lifetime of running the resorts as your future.” A lifetime of running the resorts? Me, run the resorts?
I hadn't considered there might be an expectation I would be involved in running them. I assume there was a board, or…something. Gerrard had told me each resort had a manager. When Craig recovers, he’ll return to his job. I hadn't even thought about what’s happening in the meantime.
He must see my hesitation, because he adds, “Of course, I’d be happy to continue my role, and even take it on permanently. We can confirm the details over dinner.”
“Dinner?” I force myself to focus on one thing at a time.
“Yes, tonight? How about seven thirty, down in the restaurant?”
It isn’t until I’m mid-way through explaining the tag on bracelets to my friends that I realize I have completely forgotten we already have plans tonight. I’m sure they’ll understand, but I hate cancelling plans, especially when I’m the one who encouraged them all to come here. I don’t want them to question my motives in bringing them. I’ll have to find a way to cancel on Bryce.
Will and I are the last to get onto the chairlift. Matt rushes off first, onto a chair alone, then Chloe and Steph share the next one. Chloe winks at me as she lifts away, not at all subtly. She interrogated me on the plane about me and Will again, and she hasn’t accepted that despite the pictures in France, nothing is going on between us. Though, since that kiss, I’m not sure whether it’s true there’s nothing going on. But I simply can’t deal with worrying about another thing right now.
The second I sit next to him, the memory of him bursting into my room this morning comes crashing back. From there, it’s just a short leap to the memory of our kiss a few weeks ago. Suddenly, despite the chill, I’m far too warm under all my layers.
“You alright?” Will has a slight frown as he carefully pulls down the safety bar. I shuffle back and grip the bar.
“I’m fine.” After a second’s silence, I say, “Actually, a guy asked me to dinner tonight.”
The faintest flicker of a frown passes over Will’s face for a split second, then his forehead smooths so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.
“That’s nice,” he says, voice even. It’s the deliberate kind of even that tells me he’s uncomfortable.
I wave my gloved hand. “Not like that. He works here. He’s a partial owner? The only thing I know is he’s filling in for Craig. I think he wants to talk about what I want to do with this place.”
It’s impossible to miss the relief that floods across his face. Does he think I was asked out on a proper date?
“He gave me a weird vibe. I can’t place it. It was like he wanted to push me into letting him run the place, or something.” I shrug. “Maybe I should meet with him, figure out what he wants.”
“You should meet with him, talk about stuff…” Clearly, like me, he’s not sure what ‘stuff’ is. “But Mia, I don’t think you should make any decisions about the future of the resorts. Not until you’ve had some time to think about it.”
“Can you imagine how furious Steph would be if I cancelled going into town?’
Will rolls his eyes. “Give her a little credit, Mia. She loves you. They’ll understand.” I shake my head, and Will sighs, rubbing my thigh. He knows better than to try to convince me otherwise. “Didn’t you look a little peaky earlier? Maybe you’re feeling too sick to come to dinner.” He looks at me, nodding grimly. He presses his bare palm to my forehead. My stomach clenches at the intimacy of it. “Just like I thought. You need a bath and an early night. We’ll still go, and you can sneak out for dinner.”
It’s an elegant solution, I have to admit. No risk of being spotted so long as I get the timing right. It’s gross, lying to my friends like this, but a white lie? At least it will mean I have another opportunity to get a vibe from Bryce and see what he wants.
I agree to think about it. Every opportunity Will gets throughout the afternoon, he makes a big show of inquiring about how I’m feeling, pushing my hair back from my face and feeling my forehead at every opportunity he gets. I try to tell myself it’s just a gesture meant to trick the others, but the lingering, that one time he ran his hand down my face and cupped my cheek…I’m not so sure.
I can’t deny the flash of desire that coursed through me when I felt his breath soft on my cheek. I’m almost convinced that when Will leans closer, he’s going to kiss me.
I have to shake this desperate want for him. How he can be so unfazed sitting next to me in a chairlift, bumping up against me when we walked, getting close enough to smell my soap just like I’m close enough to smell his, I don’t know.
When I tell the group that I’m not feeling great, and I wonder whether I picked something up off the plane, Chloe wrinkles her nose as she edges away from me as if she can catch whatever it is I have.
Steph is a lot more sympathetic. “You poor thing! Are you sure you’re okay staying here while we head to town? I could come with you back to the room? Do you need anything?”
I convince them I’ll be fine, that they shouldn’t stop everything on my behalf. “I’ll just take it easy this afternoon and I’m sure I’ll be back to full speed in the morning after a bath and an early night.”
I packed two nice dresses for this trip, in case the resort was fancier than I anticipated. Despite having dinner in jeans last night, tonight I want to make more of an effort. With Bryce, it feels like I need to put my best foot forward. In some ways, I’m grateful to be meeting with Bryce, even if he did come across as a bit of a jerk. Maybe this is an opportunity to learn more about the resorts, like I hoped when I came here. If nothing else, it’s a good distraction from my feelings about Will. I’d promised myself I wont think about him as more than a friend right now, but seeing him this morning—that’s enough to change any woman’s mind.
I flip through the outfits I brought with me, dismissing jeans and more casual clothes. I end up in an emerald green dress that is flatteringly ruched at my waist, giving me a fabulous silhouette. I pop the blazer I wore to work yesterday over top, grateful it’s not creased.
I keep my make-up simple—a touch of concealer, cream blush, red lipstick that is flattering with my dress and hair, then the tiniest bit of smudged brown eyeliner and some mascara finishes off the look.
As promised, Bryce is waiting at reception when I arrive. He’s wearing a different suit from this morning, freshly pressed, which makes me grateful I picked the dress. The casual way he is leaning on the reception desk helps him look more approachable than this morning. He approaches me confidently, kissing me on both cheeks while holding one hand on my arm, and the other on my waist. He leads me through to a table in the restaurant near the window, well away from the three other tables of guests dining. Bryce pulls my chair out for me then takes his seat, leaning back and spreading his legs like he owns the place.
We sit in silence for a few long seconds, Bryce looking out the window then toward me, as if waiting for me to begin. My instinct is to say nothing. I deal with plenty of assholes at work who underestimate women in the workplace, so I’m well practiced at sitting in uncomfortable silence. I make a point to never be the first to talk when I’m the one who was invited to something in a business context. I’ve found it can be a power play for someone to invite you, then expect you to kick off first, and there’s something about Bryce which gives me a strong impression that he’s doing exactly that.
My wait pays off. “Stunning view, isn’t it? I spent time at Montagne étoilée as a child. I have a lot of fond memories of this place.” He looks around the interior, then focuses his gaze out the window.
I follow his lead and look out across the mountains. “It must have been a wonderful place to come as a child.”
“Yes, it was. A pity you missed out on it.”
I quell my instinct to screw up my nose. I’m not certain that he means to come across as cruel as he did. Is he trying to be empathetic? He doesn’t sound empathetic.
“I grew up in a wonderful family, and we did many things that were just as fabulous—we’re simply not a skiing family.” I try to keep the defensiveness out of my voice. I don’t need to defend them. We continue sitting in increasingly uncomfortable silence until a waiter comes to take our order, saving me from the awkwardness. The waiter is the same man who served us last night, but he seems almost frantic today, scurrying away as soon as he has our order memorized. There’s none of the banter we got yesterday.
Bryce orders bread and dips, and wine for the table, without asking what I want, exuding the confidence of a man who wines and dines often.
The dinner conversation quickly turns to the true reason Bryce invited me tonight; to talk about my potential role—and the ‘improvements’ he has made to the resorts.
“Since Craig was so tragically injured, I’ve had the opportunity to see where improvements can be made within the resorts.” His voice drips with empathy, but I can tell from his detached expression that it’s fake. “It turns out, an incredible amount of money has been wasted by having too many staff. Even things like the ski classes are much smaller than industry average—most classes in the rest of the industry have ten or more people. For some reason, Starlight Resorts seems to have between four and six guests in each class. It simply doesn’t add up.”
I keep my face perfectly impassive. I don’t know much about how the resorts are run, but I’m sure there is a good reason the class sizes have been set the way they have.
“And you think there’s cost savings to be made by changing things like that?”
He nods confidently. “Absolutely. These resorts yield a much lower profit than other, similar resorts in the industry. They could be much more profitable with some tweaks.”
My skin crawls. I’ve seen the Starlight Resorts accounts. When I’d finally got my head around them, it certainly hadn’t looked like they were struggling—in fact, all the resorts seem to be bringing in significant profits. Rather than take Bryce’s word for what he is doing at the resorts, I need to see it with my own eyes.
Over dessert (a delectable, creamy salted caramel and chocolate mousse with crunchy toffee drizzle for me, and a baked New York-style cheesecake for Bryce), Bryce asks whether I have an update on Craig’s prognosis. I place my spoon on the saucer with a clink. I’m not sure how much he knows about Craig’s injury, or what I should share. For some reason, it doesn’t feel right to tell him much at all.
“Unfortunately, while he’s stable, it seems like Craig is going to have a long recovery.” I keep it simple.
Bryce lays down his spoon. “And I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to consider what you’ll do with the day-to-day running, while Craig’s recovering? If Craig recovers?” Bryce asks, sipping his glass of port. “You are the only family, after all.”
All at once, the enormity of what Bryce said crashes over me. What if Craig doesn’t recover? A list flashes through my head. Who is supposed to be making medical decisions for Craig? How does the ownership structure of the resorts actually work? Who is supposed to be running them? Who decides that? Is there anyone else who can make these decisions?
“My assumption is the operations managers like Damien have everything under control?” I pick up my spoon again and take another mouthful of mousse, trying to look unbothered. “Is that not correct?”
Something about Bryce’s approach rubs me the wrong way. He nods, and opens his mouth to speak, but I plough on, “Surely the parent company could put a person in place with general oversight responsibilities?”
“I’m doing that role at the moment. You may be surprised at the amount of work that goes into ensuring the different resorts are pitched so they’re not directly competing,” he says, gesturing to the waiter for another drink. I cringe. I hate when people finger-click to get the waiter’s attention. There’s no polite way to do it.
“So the resorts are each pitched to different markets to avoid stealing each other's guests? Makes sense.”
“That’s right, Mia.” I avoid rolling my eyes, but I don’t need the condescension. “You can see why it’s been crucial to make sure someone has excellent general oversight.”
I nod, but truthfully, I’m not sure whether what Bryce has been describing is ‘excellent’ anything. “And you mentioned you’re comfortable continuing, if needed?” Something is off here. I watch Bryce’s face.
“Yes, of course,” he answers. It’s too quick, and the fleeting smile of satisfaction crossing his face raises alarm bells. Things definitely don’t feel right. It’s almost as if he invited me to get my endorsement to continue.
“I’ll need to consider that, of course,” I say, internally cursing. I want to stay as far away from running these damn resorts as I can. I already have a job I love; one I’m good at, and someone is already running the resorts. No need for me to get involved. “I’ll let you know in a few weeks. In the meantime, I suppose there’s no harm in you continuing on.”