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NINA

To say I’m impressed when I arrive at the mountain house would be a vast understatement. I’m astounded when I step out of my car and stand in the winding driveway, staring at the lavish mountain retreat.

I mean, I’d assumed there would be wealth on display, considering these guys’ careers.

After doing a little digging this morning, I found that Zander Jenson is an entrepreneur and founder of some of the most successful tech and hospitality companies in the country. Pascal Beaumont is the heir and newly appointed CEO of his family’s global luxury business. And Jarek Eriksen is, well, the A-list actor I “sort of” know the way the entire world knows him, thanks to his face being plastered on movie screens across the globe.

But this house, nestled into the side of a mountain that struggles to dwarf it, is beyond wealth. This is an over-the-top fantasy.

My phone chimes with the alarm I set to make sure I arrive right on time, and I reach into the backseat for my bags. When I close the car door, I pause at my reflection in the window and smooth my hand over the side of my skirt, pressing my fingers against the fabric as if trying to smooth out my curves too. I don’t mind having a voluptuous frame, but I do mind the attention it sometimes garners from the opposite sex.

My mother always told me, “Attention is currency. Use it or lose it.” I think that was something a lot of middle-class mothers in stable households said to sugarcoat the misogyny of the real world. I wish I’d known how men could really be before trusting Reid.

Brushing thoughts of my ex aside, I head for the front door. Even the entryway is luxurious, with a rounded, stained-glass window at the top and a doorknocker that looks like it was restored from the Victorian era.

I smile to myself as I reach up to knock. Not a bad way to start the first day of December.

As soon as the knocker touches the wood, the door slowly opens. For a moment, I expect to see Jarek standing there, since the whole thing feels almost cinematic. Instead, I’m met with the same intense gray eyes that stared back at me through my laptop last night. Except this time, it’s not just the eyes that make my words catch in my throat.

“Zander Jenson?” I manage to squeak, trying not to get distracted by his tall, powerful build and the way his muscles press an outline into his expensive but understated clothes.

He nods and runs his hand through his dark hair, then reaches out for a handshake.

“Yes, I’m Zander,” he says. “Welcome, Nina. Right on time; that’s a good start. Please come in.”

When I take his hand, he sets a small, polite kiss on my knuckles instead of shaking it, and it sends a tremor through my entire body. There’s no reason to read into the gesture.

He’s just being polite.

Still, it’s hard not to feel an almost instant chemistry.

“Thank you.” I reach back down for my bags as soon as Zander lets go of my fingers.

Before I can lift a single bag, the other two men appear in the doorway beside him, each taking one to carry for me as their eyes seem to burn into my skin. I remind myself that my entire purpose here is to keep my head down and do my job perfectly, to be indispensable and not get sidetracked by the abundance of attractiveness meeting me at the door.

That, however, is easier said than done. Especially once I step inside and meet the other two.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. Your references are impeccable.” Pascal’s cerulean blue eyes study me carefully. “We’re looking forward to having you assist us during our vacation here.”

Vacation—that reminds me these are simply three best friends spending December in Colorado. This is a temporary job, not a Christmas fantasy.

I nod, forcing myself to snap out of it and act like a professional. “I’ll do my very best to ensure your time here is perfect.”

Status and wealth aside, they’re still just men. Like Reid.

I’ve already lost enough to that scandal. This job is exactly what I need to rebuild my career, and I refuse to let anything deter me.

Beside me, Jarek lets out a small chuckle, as if amused by the awkward interaction in the doorway.

“First meetings are always like this,” he teases. His light-brown hair falls in tousled waves, accentuating his bright green eyes as an easy smile spreads across his face.

“Like what?” I ask, feeling his playfulness bounce off me like a palpable energy.

“Awkward, full of unnecessary formalities, and almost always better off written by a scriptwriter than attempted in real life.”

I can’t help but giggle at his industry joke.

Zander rolls his eyes slightly at his friend as we walk further into the house, and I follow their lead up the massive staircase and down the second-level hallway. When we stop in front of an open door, he motions toward the room.