“No, should I recognize the name?”
“He’s a former Olympic gold medalist. He’s our new ski school director and head instructor. He’s great. Especially with the younger skiers and he’s really boosted our bookings, too. But the biggest problem is that Jean-Paul, our long-time, trustworthy guest relations manager…or concierge, as he preferred to call himself, quit yesterday. Lured away by a Hyatt Regency in Utah. I need a new concierge now.”
“That’s a bummer. Call an employment agency.”
“Not so easy. I’ve tried. No one I approve of is remotely interested. I’ve got to find someone I can absolutely trust. Not just some stranger to come in and play the role. You know?”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Well, I was thinking. Skylar…”
“What?” Skylar interrupted, suspicious of the ingratiating tone her sister was now using.
“I was hoping that you might consider coming up to Scenic Ridge to help me out. Just until I can hire someone else?”
“Me? A concierge? I don’t think so, Deena. I’m a paralegal, remember? Guest relations are not remotely related to my chosen field of work, and I know zilch about the Aspen area. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Think about it, Skylar. Please. You’ve worked in hotels before.”
“Front desk duties while I was in college.”
“So? You can do it. I’ve got to have someone I can absolutely trust,” Deena pressed the issue. “Information on local entertainment, attractions, restaurants and transportation is prepackaged and ready to hand out to anyone who wants it. Not being from this area won’t be an issue. What I need is a personal link to the hotel. You know…a discreet person to take care of sticky issues and unusual requests.”
Skylar flinched. “Do you get a lot of those?”
“Well, you never know what can come up when people are on vacation and out of their usual element. My motto is ‘Give the guests whatever they want.’ It’ll be easy, trust me. You’ll be out of Tampa and away from Lewis. He may have been fine as hell, but he was also a dog. Trust me, Skylar, you can do better.”
“Girl, you know I hate cold weather and I don’t even ski,” Skylar said. “It’s January and it’s seventy-nine degrees here in Tampa today. I’m very happy right here, thank you very much. I’d rather spend my days at the beach than freeze my ass off in a lodge in the mountains…even though I know your place is as gorgeous as any five star hotel. However, I don’t think it’s where I ought to be.”
“Skylar. Help me out. We haven’t spent any real time together in years. When I was there after your accident, you were too sick for us to do anything together. I’d like to have you here with me for a nice long visit.”
“Visit? Sounds like work to me!”
“Okay, but you know what I mean,” Deena pressed her case. “You always said you enjoyed working front desk duties while you were in college.”
“It was a motel near the campus and I got to meet a lot of guys who came there to party.”
“Well, for your information, Aspen is going to be the site for this year’s Black Winter Sports Reunion. Starts at the end of the month. There’ll be brothers…and sisters from ski clubs all over the country here for the fun—ice skaters, snowboarders and skiers. I’m already booked solid for the entire ten days.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Skylar’s arched brows slowly began to settle lower above her smoky black eyes as she mulled Deena’s comment. The Black Winter Sports Reunion was going to be in Aspen? While confined to her bed, she’d been flipping through cable channels one day and had come across last year’s reunion, filmed at Steamboat Springs, on Black Entertainment Showcase. She had been impressed with the crowd and knew what kind of people were about to descend on the area. Fine, well-toned brothers who were about something. Fashion conscious sisters who looked good on and off the slopes. Solid professionals who enjoyed the finer things of life. The change might be exactly what she needed in order to move on.
I’ve played it safe for so long. Why not take a risk on this? Might be just what I need to take my mind off my troubles and get Lewis out of my system. Plus, I can help Deena out and maybe have a little fun, too, she told herself, looking forward to being around people who knew nothing about her past or her wealth. “Okay, Deena. Only for you and Jerome. I’ll do it. On one condition.”
“Just name it.”
“Absolutely no one knows that I’m newly rich,” Skylar requested.
“You know, I think that’s a very good idea,” Deena agreed. “Attractive, single women with money can be magnets for shady men looking for meal tickets and scam artists on the hunt. They’ve been known to hang around places like Aspen. And you’ll fit in better with the staff if they think you’re simply my sister, in need of a job. Your secret will be safe with me,” Deena promised. “Now go pack your bags and get on a plane.”
“Pack what? I don’t exactly have the kind of clothes I’m gonna need up there.”
“No problem. You can go shopping when you get here. The salespeople in town are friendly and will be very happy to help you pick out everything you need.”
And I’m gonna need all the help I can get, Skylar thought, hoping this unexpected adventure would not turn into an absolute disaster.
Chapter 3
“Okay. Let’s try this again. Find your balance. Stand still and concentrate,” Mark Jorgen patiently instructed as he gently placed one gloved hand on Goldie Lamar’s left shoulder.
“I’m trying, really I am,” Goldie whined in exasperation. She sucked in a loud breath and lifted her chin. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
“You’re doing fine. Stand tall in your boots until the pressure from the tongue of the boot feels equally distributed from shin to calf. Most of your weight should be felt between the heel and the arch of the foot.”
With a shrug, Goldie pulled back her shoulders, pressed her bright red lips together in a hard pucker and stared out across the snow-covered slope. “All right. All right. I think I feel it.”
“Good, now gently slide your right ski ahead of your left,” Mark told his student before letting go. He stepped back to watch Goldie try, for the fifth time, to push off the hill and head down the beginners’ slope, praying she would be successful. She was a terrible student with no sense of balance, but she was also the mega-wealthy daughter of one of Colorado’s finest jewelers and had paid quite a premium for the deluxe ski package. He had to make sure she got her money’s worth.
He had been working with Goldie for two days without much progress at all, and was beginning to wonder if she had signed up for lessons only to spend time alone with him. That was not unusual, especially among the women he recruited while hanging out at the Ridge Rover bar in Woody Creek, where he often went to mix and mingle with the locals and guests from nearby resorts. His “impromptu” appearances always generated lots of excitement, leading to talk about his Olympic career, his worldwide travels and his methods of training. By the end of the evening, if he was lucky, he might have five or six new students lined up for classes at Scenic Ridge.
Now, with a jerk, Goldie moved one leg forward, hesitated and then let out an ice-shattering scream. Swaying unsteadily, she toppled to the left, clutched Mark, and collapsed against him, pulling them both to the ground.
“I can’t do this, Mark!” Goldie loudly complained. “I’ll never learn to ski!” She snatched off her goggles and hurled them across the snow where they shattered against a shaggy pine tree. Next, she yanked off her red knit cap and pressed her head hard to Mark’s chest, slumping dramatically against him. “I guess I’m not cut out to be a skier,” she groaned.
“Don’t give up so easily,” Mark encouraged, starting to push her away.
Quickly, Goldie leaned back and smiled up at him, shaking out her hair to release a cascade of tangled platinum curls that framed a startling, beautiful face. Her alabaster skin was flushed pink from th
e cold and her eyes were a cool aquamarine, now narrowed to half-mast in mock-anger. “And I wanted so much to have a successful lesson today. Maybe this whole ski vacation idea was not so great, huh? Maybe I ought to go home before I break something.”
Mark shrugged, and then sat in the snow to calmly listen while Goldie continued to whine about her clumsiness, her disappointment in herself and the cold weather. He knew she was putting on an act, and that she was picking up the tab for three deluxe ski packages for herself, her sister and her mother-in-law, dropping a bundle of cash for their one-week stay at Scenic Ridge. There was no way he was going to encourage her to cancel her plans and leave. After all, he was more than a ski instructor at Scenic Ridge: he was part of the team, and as such, he had to make sure that each guest was a satisfied customer, which sometimes took some doing.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ll get there. It takes time,” he reassured Goldie, taking in the scent of her perfume, which he recognized right away—Electric Orchid—two-hundred-fifty dollars an ounce. He also recognized a bored, rich, spoiled young woman eager for an affair with her ski instructor when he saw one. How many women like her had he dealt with over the years? Too damn many to count.
“Come on. Let’s try again,” Mark urged as he began to untangle himself from Goldie’s clutch, convinced that she was much more interested in holding on to him than her two ski poles, which lay scattered in the snow a few feet away.
“No. Not now,” Goldie decided, snuggling deeper into her instructor’s arms, as if settling in for a chat. She zeroed in on Mark, adopting an expression that told him she was not going anywhere, anytime soon. She grabbed hold of the front of his jacket and pushed her face even closer to his. “Can’t we just sit here and talk?”
Holding his breath, and desperate to mask his growing irritation, Mark eased her fingers off the zipper of his jacket. “No, I don’t think so. It’s getting late and I’m already way behind schedule.” Somehow, he managed to stand and then help Goldie to her feet. Luckily her skis were still intact. “Okay. Assume the same position as before. Take your time.”
Goldie started to do as Mark asked, but then suddenly stopped and whirled around. “My goggles!” she shouted, pointing to the broken glasses at the base of the pine tree in the distance. “I can’t see a thing without them. I won’t do this without my wrap goggles. I’ll ruin my eyes.”
Mark shot Goldie a dagger of exasperation, fully aware that her designer goggles had cost at least three hundred dollars and he knew she would not settle for a generic pair that he could pull from his equipment bag. “You’re right,” he acquiesced, scanning the bright, white blanket of snow spread across the gentle slopes and glazing the tall mountainsides. “You need to protect your eyes. Let’s quit for today. We’ll start again tomorrow. Ten o’clock.”
“Thank God,” Goldie agreed. “But what will I do about goggles? Mine cost…”
“I know,” Mark interrupted. He certainly didn’t need her to tell him what high end ski accessories cost. He’d bought and worn only the best goggles, jackets, boots and sports clothing—purchased from the most fashion conscious retailers in the world—throughout his entire career. If there was one thing Mark Jorgen knew, besides how to ski, it was how to dress to impress on the slopes. “I’m going into Aspen in the morning to pick up a package at the post office,” he went on. “I’ll be happy to get you another pair while I’m in town. I know Gorsuch carries them and they’ll be compliments of Scenic Ridge. How’s that? We’ll try again tomorrow afternoon.”
“Fine with me,” Goldie decided, her annoyance quickly fading. “And if you’re going into town anyway, I’d love to tag along. There’s this gorgeous set of hand-carved….”
Mark tuned Goldie Lamar out as she rattled on and on about some trinket she had seen in a quaint shop on Cooper Avenue, knowing he would probably have to take her with him tomorrow. Anything to satisfy a big-spending guest.
After escorting Goldie back to the lift, Mark waved her off and finished his classes for the day. As pale shadows began to form on the snow-covered slopes, he shouldered his skis and hopped a lift to head back to his private lodgings at the foot of the mountain, jumping off as soon as the car swung close to the ground. The crunch of hard-packed snow crackled under his fur-lined boots.
Mark lived in the Snow King Suite, the largest of four cabins, situated far from the main lodge, among the tall Aspen trees. Though referred to as suites, the cabins were especially designed for special guests who required privacy, luxury and who were willing to pay a handsome sum for it. Each cabin/suite featured handcrafted furnishings, carefully selected accessories, peaked pine ceilings, wood-burning fireplaces, full kitchen facilities and an outdoor hot tub.
As the head of the ski school at Scenic Ridge, he knew he was being treated more like a guest than an employee, and understood why: his competitive days might be over, but his name still had drawing power among serious ski aficionados. Why shouldn’t Scenic Ridge benefit from their association with him if it could bring in more money for the resort and keep him on the slopes?
Drawing in a deep breath, Mark slowed his pace and filled his lungs with crisp mountain air, in no real hurry to get home. He loved to walk home when he had finished working for the day, when the silence of winter calmed him down and muted the lingering echoes of all the shouting, complaining and chatter that he had to endure on the mountaintop.
Coming to work at Scenic Ridge was one of the best decisions he had ever made and he was very appreciative of Deena’s efforts to make him feel at home. She had insisted he move into private quarters at the lodge, which she could have rented for a thousand dollars a week. All of his meals were covered in his contract, and though his finances were not nearly as flush as they used to be, he was able to live in comfort while maintaining the illusion of success that befitted an Olympian.
Mark looked around. In the fading light, Scenic Ridge resembled a perfect luminous pearl nestled in the most beautiful section of the Roaring Fork River Valley. It was quaint, yet luxurious. Far enough away from the glitz and shine of Aspen to maintain its rustic ambiance, yet near enough to get to Buttermilk, Snowmass and the fancy shops and restaurants within an hour’s drive. The resort was small, but not cramped. Isolated, yet accessible. Exactly where he wanted to be.
He shrugged, a cynical smile touching his lips as he realized how content he actually was. It had not always been like this. Only a few years ago, he would have balked at living so far from the celebrity-filled world he had moved in. Then, he would have been staying in the most lavish suite in the most expensive hotel in Aspen, eating personally prepared meals in the most posh of restaurants and being entertained by the most beautiful girls within a five mile radius.
For most of Mark’s adult life he had lived the high-life as a celebrated Olympian, as the most famous black skier in the world—a title that had both plagued him and made him proud. As a world class competitive skier throughout Europe and the U.S., he had spent much of life either training under the keen eye of his manager-mother, Virina, or partying with a nouveau riche crowd. Oh, the times he had had while traveling the world and making love to any woman who turned his head: black, brown or white. European, African, Asian or Hispanic. Tall or short. At the height of his career it had not mattered to him what country a woman came from as long as she was gorgeous, belonged to the exclusive world of money and social standing that he moved in, enjoyed partying and loved lots of good sex.
But now, things were very different. He moved more slowly, was less concerned with money and social status, and was aware of how little it took to make him happy. He viewed the future as a clear sheet of ice on which he hoped to carve a beautiful future with the right woman, and until he found her, he was going to steer clear of women like Goldie Lamar, who in his opinion were shallow, self-absorbed snobs.
He was thirty-eight years old and knew he wanted children, stability, a wife and a home—preferably a rustic pine-log cabin high on a hill with a ski
slope at his back door. Yes, it was time to find the right woman to settle down with, one with values, charm, a real work ethic and one who would not flaunt money in his face. He’d had enough of those bored, rich types to last him a lifetime. He might have to put up with them on the slopes, but he didn’t have to share his private time with them. In his opinion, having too much money could do more harm than good.
Chapter 4
Gorsuch, Ltd. was crowded and buzzing with conversation as men, women and a scattering of children oohed and aahed over the glamorous items on display in the upscale resort shop. Nestled beneath the towering Aspen Mountains, the store was an explosion of exquisite leather, fur and suede outerwear; fashion forward clothing in a fantasy of designs by world famous designers; unique home décor items for the ultrabeautiful homes of discriminating shoppers; and of course, skiwear of the highest order.
Skylar felt overwhelmed by the choices and the prices of the items surrounding her. Cautiously, she checked out the price tag on a pair of alligator boots—$4,250, and the matching handbag was only a few hundred dollars less.
“Ouch,” she murmured, setting aside the unusual footwear. Even though she could have afforded them, she had no intention of spending that kind of money on a pair of boots. She had always been a conservative shopper, and her approach to shopping wasn’t about to catch up with her bank account. Going crazy now would certainly undermine her desire to keep her wealth a secret while she was in Aspen.
Moving on, she picked out two fluffy blue sweatshirts off a clearance rack, and even though they were on sale, they still cost four times what she would have paid for similar items in Tampa. Next, she selected matching sweatpants, a red sweater and two fleece vests from another rack, and with a flip of her wrist, added two pairs of thick socks and a flannel nightgown to the pile. Unsure about what else she might need, she glanced around, spotted a salesclerk and signaled for help.
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