The little boy scratched his head. “Um…”
The clock ticked down: twenty-five seconds, fifteen seconds.
“He’s got to know it! If anyone would know this, it would be him,” Brennen said.
Abby grabbed Brennen’s hand and squeezed.
“Abby,” he whispered.
She glanced over. “What?”
“Hand,” he said on a pained breath.
“Oh!” She relaxed her grip, but only a little, then gazed back at the stage.
Adelaide’s face lit up. The little fact monster knew the answer.
Ten seconds.
Five seconds.
Porter raised his hands above his head. “Just kidding, I know the answer. It’s…THIRTY-EIGHT!”
“That’s correct!” the principal exclaimed as balloons rained from the ceiling. “Porter Boyd from Miss Quinn’s first-grade classroom is our Colorado Fact Champion! Miss Quinn, please join us on the stage!” the woman added over the crowd’s cheers.
Abby turned to Brennen. “He did it! Porter really did it!”
Brennen held her gaze, and she froze. The warmth of his hand engulfing hers and the excitement of this moment took over. She leaned in and nearly kissed him when he put a hand on her shoulder.
“Everybody’s watching. I think you need to get to the stage.”
She glanced around. Yep, the lighting crew—that’s right, Whitmore had a lighting crew—had found her with the spotlight.
He grinned. “Go, Abby. You earned this.”
She nodded. “Okay! Okay!”
She released her grip on his hand and slid out of her seat. She turned to head down the aisle when Mrs. Mackendorfer stopped her.
“Well done, Miss Quinn.”
“Thank you,” Abby answered, trying to hide her shock. She extended her hand and the Mack Attack actually shook it.
“Go on,” the woman said, expression softening. “You and your class worked very hard. You all deserve this victory.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, still floored.
Was this the Twilight Zone? Did Mrs. Mackendorfer just compliment her?
“Miss Quinn! Miss Quinn!” her students chanted from the stage.
She hurried down the aisle and skipped up the steps to the stage. The children greeted her with hugs and squeals of excitement. She ruffled Porter’s hair. “Way to go, buddy!”
“Quiet down, please,” Principal Ramos said over the microphone. The auditorium quieted, and the principal gestured for her to come to the podium. “Miss Quinn, please, come say a few words.”
She hadn’t prepared anything!
Time to wing it!
She nodded, and Mrs. Ramos stepped aside.
Abby stared out into the audience, feeling tipsy from the energy, and was met with hundreds of pairs of expectant gazes. She took a breath and tried to steady herself, eyes darting around the auditorium until she found…him. Brennen. He nodded to her, and her nerves calmed.
“First, I’d like to congratulate Mrs. Mackendorfer’s class. You all worked so hard and should be so proud of yourselves. Go on, kiddos! Take a bow,” she added as the audience clapped.
“And to my class, we haven’t been together very long, but it has been such a privilege being your teacher. You are all so very important to me. Thank you for working so hard this week. But I think you all would agree that we have someone very special to thank for helping us prepare for the competition.”
“Mr. Bergen!” Porter exclaimed!
The children chanted his name, and Abby waited for them to settle down. “As many of you know, I’m new to Whitmore and to Denver. I, along with the children, owe a debt of gratitude to our Whitmore Community Partnership Volunteer, Brennen Bergen. He was instrumental in teaching the children Colorado facts. We wouldn’t be here without him. Mr. Bergen, we’d be honored to have you join us on stage.”
The spotlight cast him in a golden glow. Her heart nearly stopped beating watching this man, this kind and absolutely stunning man, stride down the aisle. He joined them on stage, high fived all the kids, then stood next to her at the podium.
She looked up at him. What was the appropriate thing to do in front of an auditorium teeming with Whitmore staff and families? Should she hug him? High five him? She took the professional route and extended her hand. He glanced at it, a slight twist to his lips, then shook it, fingertips trailing across her wrist and sending the butterflies in her stomach into flight.
He released her hand and turned toward the audience. “As the President of the Bergen Foundation and a Whitmore Community Partnership Volunteer, I’d like to congratulate all the first graders on their hard work.”
Brennen continued speaking, and Abby glanced over and saw Principal Ramos standing next to Brennen’s grandmother and a man who looked like Brennen’s clean-shaven twin.
Did Brennen know they were here? She certainly didn’t know they were coming!
Brennen finished his remarks, and the principal joined them at the podium.
“Porter, this belongs to you,” she said, holding a giant trophy.
Abby chuckled as the little boy wiggled between her and Brennen.
“On behalf of Whitmore Country Day, I’d like to present Porter Boyd from Miss Quinn’s class with the first-place prize.” She handed the gleaming, golden trophy to the boy, and he held it up to another round of applause as the bell rang.
“And perfect timing,” the principal continued. “Children, you are dismissed. Please find your parents and everyone have a lovely weekend,” she added, leaving the podium and taking Porter to greet his parents.
Abby squinted her eyes as the lights illuminating the auditorium dimmed, and the families slowly filed out. She turned to Brennen. “Your grandmother’s here.”
He frowned. “Where?”
“Right here, darling,” Harriet Bergen said, joining them on stage along with the man. “And congratulations, Abby,” she added.
“Thank you! We couldn’t have done it without Brennen.”
Brennen hugged his grandmother. “And a lot of luck. Why didn’t you tell me you two were coming?”
“And miss all this as President of the Bergen Foundation business. You almost sounded like you knew what you were talking about,” the man said.
Brennen gave the guy a sly grin. “Every once in a while, it doesn’t hurt to pretend I’m a contributing member of this family.”
“Boys!” Harriet said, but her eyes were filled with pride.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Jasper Bergen, Brennen’s older and wiser brother. Congratulations, it looks like Whitmore is lucky to have you as a teacher.”
Abby blushed and shook Jasper’s hand. “Truly, it was Brennen who made all this possible, and I’m the lucky one. This is a wonderful school. I’m so happy to be here.”
“Are you new to Denver?”
“Yes. My cousin Elle Reynolds lives here. I’m staying with her until I can get situated.”
Jasper’s brow creased. “Elle Reynolds is your cousin?”
“I had no idea,” Harriet said, smiling. “Our marketing department has been making inquiries with her people to do a project with her. She’s a brilliant travel writer. We’d love to have her write about some of our properties.”
Abby glanced at Jasper. With a pinched expression, he didn’t look onboard with that idea at all.
“I hope you can work something out. And I may be biased, but I agree. Elle is an amazing writer.”
Jasper glanced at his watch. “Gram, we’re expected downtown.”
Harriet nodded and turned to Brennen. “Good work, darling! You know this would have made your mother and father extremely proud.”
He nodded, gaze softening. “It’s a start.”
“It is,” Harriet agreed.
“Thank you for coming. It’s wonderful to see you,” Abby added.
The group exchanged goodbyes, and Harriet and Jasper left the nearly empty auditorium
.
“Miss Quinn, do you mind turning off the lights when you leave? We’re heading out,” came a man’s voice.
It must be one of the lighting guys.
“Sure, I can do that,” she answered, staring up at Brennen in the hazy threads of light as a door somewhere behind the stage clicked shut.
She released a shaky breath. “I feel like I could fly. I feel like I might explode.”
He grinned and took her hands into his. “Me too.”
“We did it!” She was still in a state of disbelief.
“You did it, Abby.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know anything.”
“You knew enough to make a screw-up like me look good,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
His words hung in the grand auditorium. He tightened his grip, and she inhaled sharply. Had she ever wanted to be kissed so badly? Her body thrummed. Her limbs tingled.
“Everybody deserves a chance to make it right,” she replied.
She tilted her head up, and Brennen ran his thumb across the back of her wrist. Surely, he could feel the blood pumping through her pulse point.
He leaned in closer. “Abby Rose?”
“Yes?” she answered, slowly shifting to the balls of her feet, raising herself a fraction closer.
“I—” he began when the door to the auditorium opened.
“Ah, there you two are! I’m so glad I didn’t miss you!” Principal Ramos said, entering the dim room.
Abby took a step back, breaking her connection with Brennen. Luckily, the podium had blocked the principal’s view of their clasped hands.
“I was just making sure the children didn’t leave anything on the risers,” she said, hoping her boss would buy it.
The woman grinned, seemingly oblivious that she’d found one of her teachers and a community volunteer on the brink of…kissing?
Good gravy! What was she doing?
Finally, she’d done something right in this building. Even Mrs. Mackendorfer had acknowledged her achievement. And here she was, about to start making out with her volunteer. Can you spell unprofessional? Inappropriate? And her promise to herself—her man fast! As silly as it sounded, she needed it.
“That’s so thoughtful of you, Miss Quinn,” the woman said, joining them on the stage. “I have something to discuss that involves both of you.”
She caught Brennen’s eye, and he gave her a minute shake of his head. He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about either.
The woman pressed on. “I was speaking with your grandmother and your brother, Mr. Bergen. Such lovely people and such supporters of the Whitmore Community.”
Brennen nodded, looking like a kid who wasn’t sure if he’d gotten caught raiding the cookie jar.
“She suggested that you and Miss Quinn plan the Whitmore ski trip to Bergen Mountain this year. She’s always handled everything in the past but just informed me that you would be involved this year as the president of the Bergen Foundation. I also volunteered you, Miss Quinn, to work with Mr. Bergen to make sure everything runs smoothly.”
Abby swallowed hard. Just when she’d thought she had her head above the water around here, another task she had absolutely no familiarity with was thrown her way.
“A ski trip,” she said, trying to infuse excitement into her words. “Is this for the first graders?”
Principal Ramos pursed her lips. “No! The entire school, kindergarten through fifth grade—and their families.”
“How nice! And when is this happening?” Abby asked, doing her best to keep her voice steady.
The principal narrowed her gaze. “In two weeks, like it does every year. Did you not see this on the Whitmore staff calendar?”
“Right, right! It must be all the excitement from the fact competition that made me temporarily forget.”
“It’s a very important event for our school. I’m sure with how well you did with the fact competition, you’ll be able to work with Mr. Bergen to ensure it’s a success,” Principal Ramos added.
“Absolutely!” Abby pasted a smile to her lips, hoping she didn’t look as overwhelmed as she felt.
“And I hope you’ve been thinking about your auction item, too, Miss Quinn.”
Abby blinked. “Auction?”
“Yes, every year we hold the Whitmore Gala before spring break. Each class auctions off an item to raise money to fund our Whitmore scholarships and to make a donation to the public schools in the area. It’s an extremely important event.”
“Of course! I’ll get right on it!”
Just add that to the stack!
“Excellent! And Mr. Bergen, thank you for working so diligently with our students and helping Miss Quinn. It really does take a village!” Principal Ramos said then headed toward the exit.
Abby walked the length of the stage, kicking balloons along the way. She couldn’t worry about the auction. That was several weeks away. She had to focus on the ski trip.
She chewed her lip. “The only thing I know about skiing is that people stand on thin pieces of wood or plastic or maybe a combination of the two.”
“Those would be skis,” Brennen said from behind her.
“They hold those sticks!”
“Poles,” he chimed.
“And somehow, they get from the top of the mountain to the bottom.”
“That’s just the act of skiing, Abby.”
She turned to find him staring at his phone. Great! They were back to this! Brennen glued to his phone while she suffered a panic attack.
Her thoughts spiraled. “I’ve never even been to a mountain, let alone skied on one. And planning a trip for the entire school? I don’t even think I’ve seen the entire Whitmore building yet!”
He glanced at her. “Do you have anything planned for tonight?”
His phone chimed. He glanced down at it then bit back a grin.
She kicked another balloon. “Only grading papers and apparently, researching how to plan a ski trip for hundreds of people.”
“You’ll have to put the grading on hold.”
She stopped mid-kick. “Why?”
He pocketed his phone. “I’m taking you on another field trip.”
8
Brennen
Brennen felt like a kid on Christmas—and that’s saying something. He was a Bergen, and Christmas is pretty flipping phenomenal when your family owns a mountain and a recreational sports empire. He glanced over at Abby, sitting in the passenger seat of his G550. Luckily, he’d driven her to Whitmore today. Turns out, her Volvo from the dark ages didn’t like the cold and wouldn’t start this morning.
“How are you doing?” he asked, holding back a grin.
She glanced between her phone and a little notebook she’d pulled from her purse. “I’m just sorting some things out. There are several condo and resort buildings on the mountain. I think there should be enough space for every family from Whitmore to get a room. I don’t know what Après Ski is, but it seems important. There’s also a bunch of information about the sticks and the wood rentals.”
“Skis and poles,” he offered, literally about to lose it.
She knew his family owned the mountain resort. She knew he’d grown up skiing in Colorado. Still, this woman thought she had to figure it all out on her own.
She was in for one hell—heck—of a surprise.
He turned into the Bergen Building’s parking garage. “Abby, we’re here.”
She looked up. “Where is here?”
“The Bergen Building.”
“This is the field trip location?”
He weighed the question. “Yep.”
“Is there stuff inside that will help us plan the ski trip?”
“There is. But it’s way up on the top floor.”
“Okay, let’s go,” she said, barely glancing out the window.
He’d decided against going with the valet. He was pretty sure they weren’t going to be back by close of business. He glanced at Abby. In her Bergen M
ountain Sports coat, boots, and hat, not only did she look ready for whatever Mother Nature threw at her, she looked fucking—flipping—amazing. With tights and a sweater dress capping off the outfit, all he could think about was sliding his hand up her thigh.
Flip! Focus!
He got out of the car and went to open her door. She usually gave him crap about this, but she was still engrossed with her ski resort research. He guided her over to the elevator and swiped his Bergen Enterprises keycard to gain access to the top floor.
The doors closed, and she glanced up at him. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Like what?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m a little stressed. I’ve never really planned a vacation. I haven’t really gone on one since I was a kid—and those were just trips to Maine.”
“You haven’t gone on a vacation? Like ever?” he asked.
“No, after my mom passed, money was really tight. I worked my way through high school and college. Then after that, I worked to help my boyfriend…” she trailed off.
No wonder she was on a man fast! Up until this point, it sounded like she’d taken care of all the men in her life.
Who had taken care of her?
He clenched his jaw. He wanted to throttle this ex of hers. He steadied himself then glanced at Abby, his expression softening. If it weren’t for that selfish fucker—flipper—whatever, she wouldn’t be standing next to him. His muscles relaxed, and he pushed aside thoughts of the creep ex.
“Where would you go if you could go anywhere?” he asked.
She chewed on her lip and glanced down at her coat and boots. “Well, I do look pretty Colorado fabulous.”
“Somewhere in the state?”
“Yeah, I think so. Especially, since I know the state bird, and the state flower, and the state amphibian.”
His brow creased. “You could go anywhere in the world, and you want to see a Western Tiger Salamander?”
She shrugged. “Why not?”
“You are not like any woman I have ever met, Abby Rose.”
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, her cheeks turning pink. “I’m going to try and take that as a compliment.”
“It is a compliment,” he said as the lock of hair fell free. He took a step toward her and tucked the hair back in place, then allowed his thumb to linger beneath her earlobe.
Man Fast: Bergen Brothers: Book One Page 10