Snowed in with Her Boss(6)

By: Maisey Yates


“So touching.”

She whipped her phone out of her purse and opened up one of her flash sale shopping apps, scrolling through the daily deals.

“See? You do shop at work.”

“It’s early!” she protested. “And we went back in time.”

“You’re still on the clock until five.”

“You’re harsh,” she said, touching a picture of a pair of candy-apple-red shoes.

“You have shoes that look just like that,” he said.

“No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t!”

“You wore them yesterday.”

She rolled her eyes. “Those are cranberry. These are more of a true red.”

“And today you have on Muk Luks.”

She looked down at her knee-high furry boots, with the leather laces and fuzzy balls. “Yes. I do. It’s cold here out west. It’s snowing.”

“Which is what you want with a ski resort,” he said. “At least we have that.”

“Yeah, otherwise it’s just a bunch of rich idiots scooting down a mud hill.”

“Yes, well, you don’t want that.”

“Mmm.”

The limo wound up the side of a mountain, on a freshly plowed two-lane road lined with snow-covered evergreens.

In Manhattan, there were places on the streets where your vision was walled in by buildings. Beyond the gray steel in front of you was the glass and metal beyond it, and above, there was a small pocket of yellow-coal sky.

But here...here it was trees. Trees along the roadway, over the mountains and, beyond that, more trees, with a shocking blue sky streaked with white clouds.

It was like being thrust into Oz after the black-and-white haze of Kansas.

The road ended on the mountaintop at a large lodge, constructed of heavy wooden beams and a green sheet metal roof, covered in patches of bright snow.

“Sold. Can I live here forever?” she asked.

“There are very few shops,” he said.

“Online shopping.”

“Are you still online shopping?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Because as someone pointed out, I do have very similar shoes.”

“You should have brought ski boots.”

“We’re only going to be here a day.”

“Yes, and we’re due at breakfast now.”

“Now? I am in Muk Luks, Luc, as you pointed out.”

He made a very dismissive French sound that rippled through her, not like the sexy electricity from before, but like annoying, static electricity. “They’ll do fine. You’re in the mountains, after all. And you look as beautiful as ever.”

Don’t blush. Don’t blush. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Oh, wow. What in the world was that? How needy could she get? Asking if he thought she was beautiful.

Though, considering the beating her ego had taken recently...she did feel in need.

He looked her over, his dark gaze assessing. “Yes. Because you are beautiful, and I can see.”

“Oh, well. That’s nice.”

“I am nice.”

“Pah!”

Luc got out of the limo and walked around to her side, opening the door for her. “Look,” he said, “nice.”

“Well, you aren’t horrible.”

“Damned with faint praise.”

“I bet that doesn’t happen often.”

A smile curved his lips. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not they’re mad that I didn’t stay around for the morning after.”

“Ah,” she said, getting out of the limo, her head a little swimmy. She really didn’t need to think of Luc in that context. Not so near her...thinking about him in that context. “Well, that has nothing to do with this.”

“Of course not. Ready for breakfast?”

“Obviously I expect a Denver omelet.”

“We’re not in Denver.”

“But we’re a lot closer than usual. So I assume it will be superior to the New York Denver omelet.”

“One hopes,” he said.

They walked across the paved drive and through the front doors into the expansive lobby. An older man dressed in a suit, with black hair that looked as though it might have been dusted in snow, stood there with a woman at his side. She was near his age, Amelia guessed, and perfectly put together in a blue pantsuit that Amelia herself would never be caught dead in, but could respect.

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