“Not literally how you get around, but what kind of car would you be?” he asked.
“Oh, man, I don’t know. I’d like to be something classic but not boring.”
“I got it. You’re a VW Bug. One of the old ones. Timeless, but fun and quirky.”
“Yes! A Slug Bug! But in a crazy color!”
“But of course,” he agreed. “Lime green or something.”
“I always wanted a Bug!” She clapped her hands with delight. “Okay. Trees.”
He shot her a skeptical glance as he navigated onto the highway. “And after we decide what kind of trees we are, will we hold hands and sing Kumbaya?”
“You would be a birch tree,” she said decisively. “Tall, straight, strong, yet, with the white bark, apart from all the other trees.”
The back of his throat tightened at the truth of the image she conjured. “Okay, uh, you would be…” He ran through his admittedly limited mental catalog of trees. “I think you’d have to be some kind of coniferous tree.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “You’re just saying that because it’s Christmas, and they’re top of mind.”
“I am not. It fits. Resolutely green year-round, no matter the weather. Striking. You’d be one of those tall pine trees in the forest, with the long needles. The kind that has a long trunk before the branches with needles start. I’m sure they have a proper name I don’t know.”
And so it went. They laughed and assigned each other animals, colors, and cities. It occurred to Jack, as the kilometers slipped by, that this wasn’t the best way to keep a professional distance between them. This wasn’t something he would have done with Carl or Amy, for instance. But it did make for an amusing trip. And keeping his mind occupied with something other than what was under Cassie’s parka could only be good.
Their game was derailed when Cassie’s phone rang. “Sorry, I have to take this.” He waved away her apology, thinking about where they might stop for a meal. They were approaching Gravenhurst, which would be the last town before they reached the island.
Whoever was on the line had obviously launched into a flurry of talking because Cassie kept saying “yeah” and trying to interrupt. When she was finally able to get a full sentence in, she said, “I told you. Lake Muskoka.” Some more silence from her was followed by, “An island. I don’t know which one. Danny! I’ll be fine!”
“I’m not sure if there’s cell service there,” he offered, realizing that wouldn’t go any way toward placating her obviously agitated best friend.
“He doesn’t know if there’s cell service,” she parroted. Silence. “He is not an ax murderer.” More silence. “Because I just know!”
Jack chuckled. He liked that she had a friend who looked after her like this. After this trip, when they were done…well, it was good to know she had Danny.
She held the phone away from her ear in parody as Danny talked on.
“Put him on speaker.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Just do it,” he said.
She obeyed and he said, “Danny, hi. This is Jack. The not-ax-murderer.”
“Isn’t that what they all say?” came the droll reply.
“Listen, I’ll give you my phone number. Then when I murder Cassie, you can at least give that to the cops.” He was joking, but Danny was right. He should have a way to contact Jack—and vice versa—in case something happened. Danny was pretty much Cassie’s next of kin from what Jack could tell. Especially given that her actual next of kin was so completely useless. He rattled off his digits. “And do me a favor. Send me a text, and then I’ll have your number, too. I promise to call if anything happens.”
Danny gave him a hard time for another minute, issuing a couple of melodramatic threats that made Cassie roll her eyes and Jack struggle to hold in laughter.
“It’s so pretty here,” said Cassie after they’d hung up, watching the snowcapped trees pass as they zoomed along the nearly empty highway. “You kind of forget how pretty snow can be. You get so used to the ugly gray urban variety.”
“Do you ski? No time on this trip, but we’re not too far beyond Blue Mountain.” Then he realized it sounded like he was suggesting they ski together. “You should come back sometime,” he added lamely.
She shook her head and laughed, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief that she hadn’t misinterpreted what he’d said. “To ski you have to get out of the city.”
“And you don’t do that much, I take it?”
“Nope.”
She worked too hard. People said that about him, but at least his work necessarily sent him to other locations, forced a change of scenery on him every now and then. “When was the last time you got away?”
“Never.”
“You mean like literally never?” Was that even possible?
“Yup.”
“You’ve never been out of Toronto.”
“Well, I did go to Niagara Falls on a class trip when I was twelve. And I’ve been to Danny’s mom’s farm, which is an hour north of Peterborough,” she said, naming a town a couple hours east of Toronto. She crinkled her nose. “I’m not planning to repeat that mistake, though.”
He was shocked. Though why should he be? She didn’t have any money, thanks to her mother. Between school and Edward’s, she worked nearly constantly. How was she supposed to get away? Too bad he hadn’t known—they could have tacked on a couple non-business days to this trip. His mind began cataloguing all Winter Enterprises’ properties, trying to figure out which she would like best.
No. He checked himself—he was doing it again. There was no “after this trip.” What came next was that they shook hands and parted ways, he having gained a company and an island, her fifty grand richer. Maybe, though, he would send her and Danny on a trip to one of his sites. It could be the bonus he’d promised if the deal went through.
He slowed as they pulled into Gravenhurst. “I thought we’d have a meal here—late breakfast, early lunch, whatever you want to call it. It’s about another hour to the spot where we set out for the island.”
Cassie smiled. “Great. I’m starving.”
The image of Cassie devouring pizza on her bed flashed through his mind. She ate, like everything else she did, with gusto and delight.
He shifted in his seat. God damn, it was going to be a long trip—and it had barely even started.
…
Everything was so pretty. Gravenhurst seemed to Cassie like a pretend town. Something out of a Lifetime Television movie, all quaint and decorated for Christmas. They’d had amazing homemade pancakes at a diner, served by a sweet older woman who called them both “hon.” The snow squeaked under her feet, white and pristine. She was glad she’d sprung for a serious pair of boots. She’d figured with fifty grand coming her way, she could afford to outfit herself sensibly for the trip.
Even the air seemed different. Colder, yes, but also fresher. Jack had rented a Jeep Grand Cherokee in town, having arranged to leave his own car at the rental office. She’d teased him at the time that he was not a “Jeep” person, but she was glad now he’d made the switch. The Aston Martin would never have made it through the icy, rutted lanes that Jack was expertly navigating. And, in truth, she was enjoying the ride. The bumping and vrooming of the engine felt kind of like a carnival ride.
She had to remind herself, as they turned from a small road onto an even smaller one, that she was on a business trip. It was tempting to get sucked into the fantasy that this was her life—that she had a rich, handsome, Jeep-driving boyfriend who could make her feel all squishy just by looking at her with his signature brand of intensity.
Dang. She needed to get this whole insane attraction thing under control. That was exactly what she’d intended when she suggested they part ways last night. Some physical distance to presage the emotional distance that had to come between them on this trip.
But clearly she’d been an idiot to think anything would work. The only way to get Jack Winter out of her syste
m was to get him out of her life. And that wasn’t happening for a few days yet, so she just had to grin and bear it—“it” being the maddening and constant state of low-grade arousal his presence triggered.
She sighed and looked out the window. The trees grew thicker and the road narrower. Just when it seemed there was no way they could continue to press onward, Jack turned off the road next to a little clearing that had been shoveled out. The big expanse of treeless snow beyond must be the frozen lake.
He shut off the ignition. “This is the end of the line.”
It occurred to Cassie that she hadn’t bothered to think through the part where their destination was an island, and it was the middle of winter. “We walk from here?” she asked.
“Nope. Snow’s too deep. We snowmobile.” He gestured to his side of the Jeep, and when she leaned across him to look, sure enough, there was a snowmobile parked next to them. It was much bigger than she’d always imagined one would be, with its two seats and side compartments that looked like larger versions of panniers on a bicycle.
He hopped out of the car and came around to her side. “I’ll take you over first, then I’ll come back for our bags.”
She pulled out her phone. “Hang on just a sec. I have to text Danny that you didn’t murder me.”
“How do you know I’m not going to drive you into the woods and murder you there?” He flashed her a grin. “That would be a lot more sensible than murdering you in the rental car.”
“Good point.” She clicked off the phone and climbed out. Jack emerged from digging around in the back of the Jeep and handed her a helmet.
“Right.” She reached for the helmet even as her mind flipped through all the reasons this wasn’t a good idea—death chief among them. “So you own the land we’re on?” she said, glancing around as if she could find something to discuss that would stall their departure.
“Yep.” He nodded at their immediate surroundings. “I own this.” Then he pointed out toward the island. “But I want that.” He slung a leg over the machine, looking for all the world like James Dean from Rebel Without a Cause, the Winter Edition rather than a titan of industry.
She cleared her throat. “All right then.” Fifty thousand dollars. That was her mantra.
“Wrap your arms all the way around and clasp your hands together,” he instructed when her first lame attempt to hold on to him and still maintain a decent amount of distance between them did not meet with his approval. He revved the engine, and she instinctively tightened her grip.
Fifty thousand dollars.
She couldn’t help shrieking as he hit the gas and they started off across the snowy expanse.
Fifty thousand dollars.
After half a minute they’d reached a steady pace and he was no longer accelerating. Her heart slowed enough to allow her to take in her surroundings. The sky was almost painfully blue, even through her helmet’s tinted visor. The cold air was sharp, a cauterizing knife that felt like it cut out all the useless emotions she was battling, leaving her lean and honed and…alive.
It was a little bit scary and a lot exhilarating. Kind of like everything with Jack.
When they arrived on the island, Cassie was ready to play her role. The ride over had turned out to be the perfect demarcation line between her personal self and her business self. Between the bartender and the senior executive director of finance. Between Jack’s lover and his employee.
After some kind of person—she wanted to say servant, but did people still have those?—opened the door and settled them into a stunning great room with a giant, two-story fireplace, the Wexlers appeared.
David Wexler, nicknamed Wexler Senior by Jack, did not look at all like the shark Cassie expected. “Head of an empire” was the last thing that came to mind when the lean, flannel-shirt-wearing man arrived. He looked like a kindly grandpa. A clean-shaven, skinny Santa. Wexler Junior—aka Brian—was probably in his mid-thirties, but he dressed as if he were a decade and a half younger. His crew cut and slightly saggy jeans made him look like an overgrown skater boy forced inside because of the snow.
“Jack!” said the older man. “Glad to have you on the island.”
“Glad to be here, sir. Your house is beautiful.” It was odd to see Jack the cutthroat CEO act deferential. “May I introduce Cassie James, my senior exec director of finance? Cassie, this is David Wexler.”
Cassie smiled and shook hands, and everyone was friendly as can be, but Senior eventually asked the question she’d been waiting for. “Where’s Carl?”
Jack didn’t miss a beat. “Carl is in Mexico. He sends his regrets. Cassie is up to speed on the file, though.”
Just then a woman who looked to be older than Junior but younger than Senior glided in. She wore drapey cream clothing Cassie associated with rich women.
“Ah,” said Senior. “This is my friend Tania.”
Jack had given Cassie the lowdown on the Wexlers, including the fact that Senior had been widowed five years ago and was currently seeing an art dealer-slash-society lady.
Wexler Senior turned to his son. “Brian, you know Jack. This is his finance person, Cassie James.”
Junior did not speak, just raised his eyebrows and looked Cassie fully up and down. A little shocked, she looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but the others were moving farther into the great room to a sitting area on one end. “Well,” he drawled, “this meeting just got a little more interesting, didn’t it?”
If he meant what she thought he meant? Gross. She offered him a vague smile and followed the others farther into the room. Jack had coached Cassie to expect the trip to start out social. Wexler was old money and hospitality was bred in him. He would also want to show off the “cottage.” Cassie had to bite her lip to keep from scoffing every time she heard the place referred to as a cottage. It was made of logs, she supposed, so there was that. But she’d never seen a log cabin like it. Warm, exposed wood on every surface inside—well, every surface that wasn’t covered with enormous paintings and fine Persian rugs. And centered in front of the window at the rear of the great room was a spectacular Christmas tree at least twenty feet high.
Coffee was rung for; a tour was given. Cassie let her guard down a little as her nerves settled. Wexler Senior was formal but cordial. Tania may have been a trophy girlfriend, but she was funny and friendly. The only wild card was Brian, aka Junior. He didn’t talk much, but he stared openly at Cassie in a way that made her want to squirm and do up the top button of her blouse. Still, she’d been led to expect he was a loser. And if he was always like this, there did seem to be an opening for Jack to convince Senior to sell to him rather than hand the company over to his son.
“Why don’t you young people go snowshoeing?” said Wexler Senior. “Then you can wash up and rest, and we can talk some shop after dinner. Brian, you can show them the north face of the island, hear some of Jack’s ideas. He’s only ever looked at a map of the island. It will be good for him to see it in person.”
Junior rolled his eyes behind his father’s back, which Cassie thought inordinately rude, but he rose and gestured for Cassie and Jack to follow him. They suited up, and once outside, he led them to another pair of snowmobiles, sighing a little as he loaded the snowshoes onto the back of one of them.
“Not a fan of winter?” Cassie asked, wanting to fill the silence.
“Snowboarding, yes, or skiing,” he said. “But clomping around a deserted island on snowshoes? No thanks.” Brian really did sound like a disgruntled teenager, forced to endure the agony of a family vacation. “You know how to snowmobile?” Junior asked, eyeing her up and down again, though this time she was dressed in snow pants and a parka, so there wasn’t much to see.
“No. I can ride with Jack, though,” she said.
“No, you’re with me. Mine’s the two-seater.”
Cassie could see in Jack’s face that he was going to object—his own two-seater was parked on the other side of the house—so she shook her head slightly
at him and said to Junior, “Great.”
He insisted she take the front seat, and once they started, she realized her error. Brian was effectively wrapped around her, his front against her back, his arms around her body.
“How does it feel to have a 130 horsepower engine between your legs, Cassie?”
Gah. She pretended not to hear him over the motor. She might have to negotiate hazard pay with Jack, in compensation for being sexually harassed by this ingrate. Now, more than ever, she wanted Jack to walk away with this deal done.
The afternoon was salvaged, though, because the island really was stunning. It possessed a stark winter beauty, bare trees outlined against blue sky, the low sun bathing everything in yellow light.
“I bet the stars are amazing out here,” she said as they trudged along, still trying, perhaps futilely, to engage Junior in civilized conversation.
He only shrugged. She listened as Jack laid out his vision for an eco-lodge, luxurious yet respecting the natural setting of the site. He described architect-designed cabins situated so they blended into the landscape, hiking trails that preserved the old-growth woods, a natural beach stocked with canoes since no motorized vehicles would be allowed on the island.
She snuck a glance at him as he talked. His eyes were bright, his cheeks pink from the cold. Her heart squeezed. He was almost unbearably handsome in his winter gear, all bundled up yet still radiating heat.
Then she looked at Junior. His eyes were glazed over. He must have felt her attention, though, because he snapped to and did a weird smile-leer thing at her.
Okay. Jack was getting this island. End of story.
…
Jack knocked on Cassie’s door a bit before the five o’clock cocktails they’d been instructed to attend. She was housed on the top floor of the building, and he was a floor below on the second. He couldn’t have asked for better arrangements. He needed as much separation as possible between them. Because the sight of her clomping around with her dark hair spilling out of her green parka hood, all color and curves against the white snowy backdrop—well, let’s just say it was a good thing it had been cold out there today. The last thing he needed was for this fragile deal to go south because he was caught creeping into his senior executive director of finance’s room at night. She already faced an uphill battle convincing Senior that she was credible. Being the boss’s piece wasn’t going to help.
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