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Chapter 1
Raylene
What's a city girl like me doing in the mountains?
The bright light of my phone couldn’t compete with the way the sun reflected off the piles of snow outside the Colchester Mountain Resort bar’s windows. I found myself having to shield my vision from the left, the side of me facing the window, and when my hand wasn’t cutting it anymore, I positioned a menu between me and the glass.
My plan was simple enough—hang around the resort for a little while, learn the ins and outs, and take a skiing lesson. It wasn’t necessarily in the budget, but if I managed to sell myself well in the interview and land the job, it wouldn’t matter. I’d be making more than enough to cover this and Mom’s expenses.
Glasses clinked, people mingled, and the fire raging in the massive fireplace popped and crackled as I read through every little page hidden on the Colchester Ski Resort’s website. The name of the owner and CEO, Wade Colchester, had flashed up numerous times throughout my research. If I’d read the job description properly—and knowing me, I absolutely did—then he would be my direct boss. I’d be his assistant. Executive Assistant, at that. That would mean a lot of time spent here and likely wherever else he roamed.
So I needed to learn all that I could about the place but, more importantly, I needed to learn about him, connect with him, and make a good impression.
“Afternoon, ma’am.”
My head snapped to the right. A twenty-something man stood at the edge of my table, a black dress shirt tucked into black slacks, a short apron tied around his waist, and at least twenty pens hanging on for dear life.
“Can I get anything started for you?”
Shit. I wasn’t a guest, per se, so this wasn’t exactly a hang-out spot. This isn’t Starbucks, I reminded myself. I’d entirely forgotten that I’d need to order something. “Uh,” I started, fumbling for the menu I’d stuck against the window. I turned it rapidly in my hands, eyes searching for the beverages section. “Do you have oat milk?”
“Yes ma’am.” The man shifted on his feet, his blue eyes looking between me and the menu with speculation.
“What brand?”
“Silk.”
I couldn’t help the grunt of irritation that slipped from me. “Do you have any Oatly?”
“I don’t believe so, ma’am.”
“Fine. I’ll just have an oat hot chocolate, not too hot but not lukewarm. No foam, no cream, no marshmallows,” I sighed. I slid the menu toward him and he nodded. “Oh, and definitely no sprinkles unless you have cinnamon.”
“Yes ma’am.”
His apron fluttered as he spun, taking off toward the island in the center of the room where the espresso machine sat. I cursed myself for being so picky—it wasn’t necessarily something I did on purpose. It was more of an impulse, but if he and everyone else who works here eventually became my coworkers and the people I’d be around frequently, I should get myself on good terms with them.
I sighed as I turned my attention back to my phone. Wade Colchester. I typed his name into the search bar for the third time, fooling myself into thinking I’d maybe, somehow, find more information on him. As far as I could tell, the only thing public online was his LinkedIn, but all that gave me was a photo of the resort I was currently sitting in as well as a few photos of trophies he’d won in the past.
I couldn’t help but picture him in my head, though—this mystery man I’d meet tomorrow. Older, probably; maybe in his fifties or sixties considering he didn’t post photos of himself online. Maybe he didn’t know how and his previous assistant had to help him set up his online accounts.
I imagine him lounging back in his office, a fireplace as large as the one in here taking up half the space. A sizable oak desk, log-cabin walls, dim lighting. Scotch in hand. A generous window to watch people ski or fall down the mountain. Gray or graying hair, a bit of a belly, and a pair of bifocal, wireframe glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.
I might as well put him in a red velvet suit with white fur trim.
“Your oat hot chocolate, not too hot, no foam, with cinnamon,” the waiter chirped as he slid the mug across the table. “Do you need anything else?”
I picked up the spoon from the saucer, pushing the back of it through the top of the hot chocolate. “Do you know anything about the owner?” I asked, batting my eyelashes to the best of my ability as I looked up at him. Be friendly, Ray. Don’t fucking flirt.
He laughed lightly. “Mr. Colchester? I haven’t actually met him yet. I only started a few days ago.”
I sighed and lifted the mug to my lips. “Shame.”
————
Skiing has never been my cup of tea.
The instructor I’d hired for the day had done his absolute best with me on the bunny hill, but I think I ate more snow than I skied on. I knew no more than the absolute basics from the one time I’d had the nerve to do this before but honestly, I’d much rather be in a pair of ice skates than the uncomfortable boots I was strapped into.
