I should have known from the smirk Cookie gave me on the plane that something unpleasant lay in store. This, I’m sure, is her way of reminding me that my money can only buy so much. Or her way of keeping me from Adam, who she guards with the ferocity of a bullmastiff. Not that it’s been a problem this week. With Adam away in New York, I never got closer than the occasional Skype conference.
My phone chimes in my purse, and I dig it out—hoping it’ll be Adam letting me know he’s here. But it’s just a text from my father.
Dad: Text when you arrive, and let’s make a plan of attack.
Sighing, I text back.
Ali: I’m here. Let me do things my way. Trust me.
I slip my phone into my purse and zip it closed, like I can zip away my anxiety and my father’s pestering.
“Cozy,” Philippe says. Thank God he’s here too—my touchstone.
“I guess you’re sleeping with the boys.” I heft my bags and bring them over to the available bunk, where I bounce on the flat mattress a couple of times to get a feel for it. At least, my dad is still letting me bring Philippe along as my assistant, though he’s spent a lot more time chatting up Paolo lately than he has in assisting me.
He arches one perfectly tended eyebrow. “Any chance we can sneak off to the Four Seasons?”
I shake my head, though I’d happily trade team-building for room service and a gold-filled sunset over Rendezvous Mountain.
To be fair, it’s only the sleeping accommodations that are sparse. The central area of the lodge includes an elegant modern kitchen and a sunken living room with burnished wood rafters, a stone fireplace, plush leather sectionals covered in faux fur blankets, and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out at the mountains and miles of already well-carved ski trails.
“Of course, Cookie has a hot tub suite all to herself,” Philippe says. He waggles his eyebrows at me and says, “I bet Adam does too. Maybe you can trade up.”
Instantly, I imagine Adam in a hot tub, water pooling against his lean, muscled body. Then the two of us, slick bodies twined together.
I tamp down those thoughts and remind myself he’s not who I think he is, or he’s not all that I think he is, and I’m afraid to drag those shadowy parts of his past into the light.
Only, I promised my father I’d do just that.
“I wonder who your roomies are,” Philippe remarks.
As if summoned, Pippa and Sadie come giggling into the room, pushing by Philippe to launch themselves at the bunk bed opposite me.
“Hey, Roomie!” Sadie says, flopping onto the bed and using her tapestry carpet bag as a pillow. Her long black hair fans out in all directions and spills off the edge of the bed like a waterfall of ink. “What do you think of the accommodations?”
“They’re fine,” I say. And they really are. I’ve mucked out horse stalls, picked pebbles out of hooves, and scraped barnacles off the Ali Cat. I’ll be fine. Just uneasy. And uneasy won’t kill me.
“Aren’t the mountains glorious?” Pippa asks, sitting on the lower bunk with her legs drawn up and her arms around her knees. She’s wearing a long skirt over long johns, and the effect is adorable. She looks like a little girl, all huge blue eyes and delicate limbs, but she’s got a savant’s talent at visual arts and those eyes take in everything.
“They really are,” I say. “My family has a place in Aspen, and it’s beautiful there, but Jackson Hole is amazing.”
“Are you a big skier?” Sadie asks.
I nod. “Yes, I love it.” Next to horseback riding, it’s my favorite outdoor thrill. I love the feeling of flying over the snow, everything white and glittering and soaring past.
The thought of indoor thrills brings Adam to mind again, and I busy myself with my bags for a moment, trying to hide the blush I feel rise to my cheeks. It’s so strange to feel rooted in two places at once. Part of me is in the stable, locked together with Adam, and part of me stands at a distance from all of that, measuring, trying to establish for myself what’s real and what’s not.
Philippe says, “Not me. Going downhill, fast, on ice, while strapped into metal blades is not my idea of a good time. But I’ll keep the lodge cozy for you all.”
“I’ll definitely keep you company,” says a voice behind him, and Mia slips beside him into the room. She’s wearing fitted jeans and purple suede boots with a chunky high heel—totally impractical for the snow but somehow so suited to her. “I’d just be a hazard to myself and everyone else if I got on skis.”
She climbs up the bunk to the top. “Sorry if my stuff kind of exploded around the room.”
“It’s all right.”
“Where’s Adam?” Philippe asks, supplying the question he knows I’m dying to ask.
“He got here early,” says Sadie. “I think he went for a ski, but he should be here soon.”
I wish I could go out and join him on the slopes. I’m sure he conquers a mountain the same way he conquers everything else—like nothing else is possible.
“He’d never miss Jasmine,” Pippa says.
“Who’s Jasmine?” asks Mia.
“Newbies!” Sadie says. “She’s the camaraderie expert.”
“What’s a camaraderie expert?” I ask.
“Do you know Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter?”
I nod.
“Imagine that but, like, old,” says Pippa. “Like fifty.”
“Wow,” Mia says, her tone amused. “Ancient. But what does she do exactly?”
“She conducts the team-building sessions,” Sadie replies. “And dude, she’s tough. It’s like if a pixie and Arnold Schwarzenegger got married.”
Pippa giggles. “Oh my God, it is just like that! Except if they had a baby.”
“What?” Sadie asks.
“If they had a baby. If they just got married, it would still just be a pixie and Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
“Right. If they had a baby. And that baby was in charge of making you climb trees and fall on top of each other.”
“Falling on top of each other is a team-building exercise?”
“Well, like a trust exercise. Like stage-diving, only into a group of your coworkers.”
The thought horrifies me.
“Shit,” Mia cries. “My purse!”
A torrent of objects spills down in front of me: a cosmetic case, wallet, various papers, birth control pills, and her phone, which strikes me on the knee and bounces on the floor in front of me.
I bend to retrieve it and see that of course the wallpaper image is of her and Ethan, dressed in their Halloween costumes. They’re standing in front of a window with a blazing sunset creating a tangerine halo around them, highlighting Mia’s blond Marilyn wig, her smooth olive skin. Ethan’s behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His mouth is close to her ear, and I imagine he’s whispering something to her—something to make her laugh, to make her whole face brighten with joy.
They’re beautiful together, and the sight creates an ache in me. For Adam. For that night. For endless hours in that car and garage doors that never open.
Everything’s a flurry of activity as we help Mia reassemble her possessions. Then we’re quiet for a moment.
My phone rings in my purse again, but I ignore it.
“Hey,” I say to Mia and the others. “Let’s go make a fire in the living room and have a drink or something.”
I want to be there when Adam comes in, I decide. I just need to see him. My father laid out my mission, and it’s one I plan to carry out if I can, but more than that, my own need drives me. I have to know him. I have to know his secret, yes, but more than that I have to know him. Know his heart. Know what beats there beneath his bravado and his beautiful smile.
“A drink sounds like a brilliant idea,” says Philippe.
“I make a mean Irish coffee,” Mia offers.
I look at her and smile. “Let’s go,” I say.
Chapter 28
Adam
Between a quick shower and emails I couldn’t
ignore from Brooks on potential screenwriters for Blackwood Entertainment’s first feature, followed by a call from Grey trying to convince me to let him drive the Bugatti while I’m out of town, it’s seven before I head downstairs for our traditional retreat kick-off dinner.
I hear Jasmine Star, our camaraderie specialist, before I see her.
“We’re going to be working a lot on our vibrational frequencies this week, lovelies!” she says in a singsong lilt. “Each one of you is a sacred entity, made up of millions of molecules that are connected energetically. What is your energy, Marvelous Mia? And yours, Perfect Paolo? What about you, Caring Cookie?”
As I round the corner, she points a ringed finger at me, and her hazel eyes light up. “What is yours, my darling Adam?”
I move right to her. “Hi, Jazz.”
She frames my face and looks at me. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“Younger every year, Jazzy,” I say, smiling. She’s one of those older women who—to use her term—has very youthful vibrational energy. Her face is plump and wrinkled, but she still manages to seem girlish and playful.
The smell of incense and natural soap floats up from her jeweled top. Jasmine zeroed in on my eye-contact thing within five minutes of when I met her a few years ago. She keeps trying. But I have the same trick I use on Alison. Jazz wears about seventy-two million necklaces. Beads and feathers and, I swear, bones, hang around her neck.
“You wonderful flirt,” she says affectionately, then she smacks her lips against mine—something she does to everyone. “Get an apron on. We’ve already gotten started!”
Alison’s standing behind an expansive kitchen island, between Philippe and Mia. She’s wearing an apron with the words Mmm, good! across the front, and I couldn’t agree more. Her hair is up and there’s a dusting of flour on her chin and along her neck. In front of her, I see a number of bowls and spoons, measuring cups, and glasses of wine.
She looks amazing—I’ve been waiting for this moment for over a week—but seeing her in the kitchen makes me smile. She looks nowhere near as comfortable as she does in scuba gear or with a horse lead in her hands.
“Where do you want me?” I’m speaking to Jazz, but Ali looks down at her hands, and I see her blush. Philippe—who’s in a Hot Cook apron—gives her an elbow nudge.
“Well, dinner’s almost done,” Jasmine says. Rhett and Mia stand over a huge pot, having a small argument about how much salt to add to the boiling water. Rhett looks up, catching my eye. There’s still a trace of the worry I saw on his face earlier at the bar, but he seems to be relaxing. Paolo, Sadie, and Pippa are chopping salad ingredients, and Cookie, in an Eat Meat apron, is finishing up setting the table. “Why don’t you open some wine?”
“Sure,” I say, and get us set up with white and red on both sides of the table.
I keep looking at Ali. I’m glad she seems to be having fun with the team, but I’m starting to realize that finding some time alone with her these next few days might not be easy to pull off. But I need that. I need to touch her. I need to talk to her. I need to explain to her that we can see each other. We’ll talk to her father. I’ll do it with her, if she wants. But Graham has to come around.
The food is set out on the table, family style, but Jasmine stops us before we take our seats and makes us stand around the table, holding hands.
She does this every year so I’m ready, and I’ve put myself right next to Ali.
It feels like a victory, just getting to hold her hand. And when I glance at her, her face softened by the candlelight, I see something warm in her blue eyes. Heat blazes through me, and I entertain a quick fantasy of making a break for my room and locking the door for the next few days.
“Now, everyone close your eyes,” Jazz says. “It’s safer for most of us to be honest this way.” That feels like it’s meant for me, but everyone follows along. “Good. Now I want us to take a moment and check in with our intentions for the next few days,” she continues. “Say them out loud in your thoughts. Think of sending those thoughts to the people around you. Energy loves energy. Do it now. Send forth your energetic wishes.”
I want to make you quiver. I want you naked and clinging to me and saying my name.
I glance at Rhett and hope I sent my energetic wish in the right direction.
“Good. Okay, everyone open your eyes, but please don’t sit down yet.” Jazz picks up a glass jar in front of her. Everyone’s hands come down, but I linger, holding as long as I can to Ali’s.
“Usually, we don’t get started until morning,” Jazz says, “but I thought we’d do something different this year. I’m going to put you in trust partner pairs right now, and we’re going to jump right in with an exercise. Sound good?”
Everyone looks terrified except Rhett, who nods excitedly. “Awesome, yes!” he says. “Let’s rock it.”
“Very good.” Jasmine smiles, and reaches into the glass jar, removing two strips of paper. “Our first pair is Rhett,” she says, opening one strip. “And Pippa,” she adds, opening the other. “You two will be trust partners for the duration of the retreat. That means you’ll be working closely together, even during group events. You’re a team. Start thinking about that. Please take a seat next to each other, but don’t speak to one another. I’ll explain why in a moment.”
Interesting. The silence thing is new.
Pippa and Rhett sit down and Jazz moves on, selecting the next trust teams.
Sadie and Paolo high-five when they get each other, which makes the extreme stillness that follows the announcement of the Cookie/Philippe team even more pronounced.
Then Mia gets Jazz, which is surprising, but we have an odd number. I feel a little bad for her, but mostly I’m fucking flying because Ali and I are together.
“Trust partner,” I say, pulling her chair out for her.
“Ah, ah,” Jazz says. “Remember, no talking—and that’s because we’re going to do our very first trust exercise right now.” She sits to a jingle of bells and beads. “It’s very simple, actually. You will be speaking for each other for the rest of the night. So, you may whisper anything you wish to say to your trust partner, and that person will be conveying your thoughts on your behalf. It’s an exercise that will show you the power of speech. Words are gifts, and gifts must be chosen with care. You are representing the interests of someone other than yourselves. It’s going to be fabulous, lovelies. Trust is just waiting for you to—”
Jasmine stops speaking as Paolo leans over to Sadie and whispers.
“Paolo is starving,” Sadie says. “He wants to know if he can eat while you explain the rest of the exercise.”
Jasmine smiles. She leans over and pushes Mia’s curls out of the way, whispering.
Mia’s lips twist a little as she listens. “Jasmine says, go ahead and eat.”
The exercise is entertaining for a while.
Sadie whispers to Paolo, then Paolo says, “Sadie wants to know if she’ll get any time at the spa because she’s a huge diva that way.”
Sadie whispers again, and Paolo delivers another message from her: “She just told me I’m an even bigger diva.”
Then Philippe speaks for Cookie: “Cookie thinks you’re both imbeciles.”
It goes on like this, controlled chaos, as we dig into ravioli and salad.
Ali hasn’t whispered anything in my ear yet, and I haven’t said anything to her. I’m more than satisfied, for now, just to sit next to her and enjoy my marketing team’s antics. I’ll be spending a lot of time with her over the coming days—exactly what I wanted.
When the conversation’s at a dull roar and the rules about who’s speaking for who have relaxed a little, I lean toward Alison. Her winter smell surrounds me, a clean elegant scent that takes me back to Halloween night, and it’s all I can do not to brush my lips against the soft skin in front of her ear.
“You look incredible, Ali,” I say. There’s been a lot of whispering at this table tonight, so no one notices us. We’re invisible, right
here in front of everyone. No one even sees the small shiver Ali gives at the sound of my voice, or the way she leans closer to me. “I can’t take my eyes off you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I settle back into my chair. Sparkling blue eyes regard me for a moment before she leans by my ear. “Is that just for me, trust partner, or would you like me to share that with the group?”
I don’t bother whispering this time. “Tell anyone you want,” I say to her as the conversation swirls around us. “It’s happening, Ali. We are. Trust me.”
Chapter 29
Alison
The air is crisp and carries that fresh mountain smell, like linen and pine, as our team tramps across a snow-packed hillside. It’s too early—just past dawn—for the two full-scale snowball fights that have already broken out among the others, though Philippe’s wild pitch, which knocked Cookie’s ear muffs right off her head, almost makes it worth it.
I’m bleary, wooden-limbed, and it feels like there’s not enough coffee in the world to prepare me for the day ahead. I couldn’t sleep all night, thinking about Adam whispering to me at the table, his breath warm in my ear, just the nearness of him turning my body warm and liquid.
I can’t stop thinking about you, he said. And even though I deflected that, I can’t stop thinking about him, either. I can’t stop thinking about his brilliance and ambition, his gorgeous tapered fingers wrapped around a wine glass, his appraising gray eyes taking everything in, the faint shadowing of lines at the corner of his lids that speak of days out in the sun, in the bracing salt air.
His face gives so much, I think, as I watch him chat easily with Philippe beside me. His body even more so. But then there’s that shadow, too, that wall I can never breach, the place where deep inside he’s locked away pieces of himself, locked away his own history.
On that front, my father’s campaign to drive me insane has reached new heights. Eight texts before I went to bed last night. I tried to placate him, to tell him that Adam and I had been paired for the weekend, that I’d have plenty of opportunity to find out what he wanted to know. But he just kept firing at me.
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