“Thank you for meeting with me.” Micky knew asking for a job change would be risky, but what choice did she have?
Working in housekeeping made her sick. Unless they wanted to change their products, she had to switch.
The HR woman gave her a dull look. Yeah, yeah, she’d clearly heard every story in the book. Micky got it. She knew how hard it was to get people to show up and meet their responsibilities.
But still, it had to be done. She couldn’t keep going on like this. “I’m very grateful to have this job, but I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to the cleaning supplies. They’re making me light-headed.”
The woman smirked like she’d heard this excuse many times before. Who wanted to clean toilets? Change filthy sheets? Getting a glimpse of the luxury life had to make it harder to clean up after wealthy guests.
But Micky worked her ass off. She was never late. No matter how sluggish she’d been feeling, she showed up to work on time and never left early. Plenty of the housekeeping staff stole things—a single bottle of booze while restocking the minibar, a jar of the spa essential oils that smelled like a bouquet of wildflowers—but Micky didn’t. So, if she had a legitimate problem, she’d damn well ask for a change.
“I’m sure you’ve heard it all. Honestly, my mom owns a hair salon, and I’ve worked in event planning for ten years, so I know all about the excuses people make. I can promise you, though, this is real. I don’t know what it is about the products, but they’re making me sick.”
The woman perked up. “You’ve catered?” Turning to her computer, she clicked with intense focus on the screen. “Events, Inc.” She frowned. “Why was this not flagged?”
Flagged? Did that mean something was wrong? No, that doesn’t make sense. “Anyhow, if you speak with my bosses, I’m sure they’ll confirm I’ve got a good work ethic. I’m never late, and I don’t normally complain, but I’ve been here six weeks, and I keep thinking it’s going to get better, and it’s just not. If you don’t have any other openings, if you need me to stay in housekeeping, I’ll absolutely do that. But if anything comes up, if someone leaves, or you find you need help in another department, I can literally do anything. My boyfriend did landscaping, and I helped him all the time. I’m not afraid to get dirty, and I can haul bags of mulch with the best of them.”
The woman clicked away, not listening.
Should she wait? Nah, she’d made her pitch. Just go. “All right, well, thank you for your time.” She stood. “Please keep me in mind if—”
“Hang on.” A moment later, the printer started up. Once it spit out the papers, the woman grabbed a pen. “I’ll need you to sign a new contract and, since you won’t be in the lodge anymore, you’ll need another NDA.”
“Oh, I’m not working here anymore?” She didn’t understand.
“You are. Just a different department.”
Micky stood there uneasily. She’d gotten what she wanted, but what if the new job didn’t include room and board? Had she just screwed herself over? “Not to be difficult, but can you give me some more details?”
“The Wolff family owns the entire village, and they’ve divided the management of it into three departments. Real estate, which includes restaurants, bars, and shops—the buildings are leased. Grounds, which not only includes landscaping but outdoor activities. And Resort Management. Anything to do with the lodge itself falls under that umbrella.”
“I had no idea a single family owned all this.”
She nodded. “They were some of the original homesteaders in the late eighteen-hundreds. With such harsh conditions, they couldn’t make a living off the land, so they turned it into a dude ranch. And then, about twenty years ago, Mr. and Mrs. Wolff turned it into a five-star resort.”
“That’s a pretty interesting history.”
“They’ve been training their children to take over. The oldest handles real estate, one of the brothers oversees outdoor operations, and the youngest will eventually run the resort and hospitality.” She peered at her over the rim of her glasses. “That’s where you’ll be.”
“So, nothing changes as far as my benefits package?”
“The only thing that changes is your work location. Instead of the guest rooms, you’ll be working in the events office.” She shook her head with disgust. “I don’t know why my team didn’t flag your resume. You should never have gone into housekeeping. Such a waste this time of year. We’ve got events all through December, and anyone with experience is invaluable to us.” She gestured to the documents. “Go ahead and sign. The sooner we get you on board, the sooner you can start helping.”
Events? Oh, hell, yes.
Micky expected a big, bustling office filled with artistic types, desks covered in tape and staplers, swatches and random tools. Instead, she walked up to the lone receptionist and said, “Hi, I’m McKayla Lewis. I hope I’m in the right place. Margaret Simmons from HR assigned me here?”
A few cubicles made up the center, with larger offices framing the room. Not a single person in sight.
The man set down his breakfast sandwich, and the smell of bacon and fried egg filled her senses. Her stomach churned. Not again, dammit.
“Oh, thank God. Opening day was two weeks ago, and if you’ve ever been here before, you know that’s like the starting bell. It’s total mayhem here till January.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Conference room. But we’re slammed right now because five of the temps were from Australia and couldn’t get out because of the fires.”
“That’s terrible.” She set her papers down. “Well, just point me in a direction, and I’ll get busy.”
The young man smiled. “I like you already.” He stood up and pointed to the back of the office. “See those desks right outside the conference room? You can have your pick.”
“Thanks so much.”
“You’re welcome. Oh, and jump right in. It’s all-hands-on-deck around here.”
As she made her way across the office, she wished she’d had some time to get briefed on the activities they hosted so she wasn’t going in blind. She didn’t want to just sit there in the meeting like a lump. She wanted to participate.
With a light knock on the door, she walked right into the conference room and came to an abrupt stop. Three men and two women stared at her like she was an intruder. Which, she supposed, she was. “Hi. I’m Micky. Margaret Simmons in HR sent me to help.”
When no one said anything, when they looked at her in shock, her body went hot, and the back of her neck prickled. She knew she’d done something wrong, but she didn’t know what. So, she ran with her go-to response and smiled, pulling out a chair. “Please, carry on. I’ll catch up.”
“Okay.” The door on the other side of the room burst open and…Rhys walked in.
What the hell? The world pitched, and she grabbed the table to keep from tipping over. What in the world is he doing here?
She worked to unscramble her thoughts—had they talked about their jobs? She hadn’t seen him since their hookup three weeks ago, and she didn’t remember much more than his daughter walking in on them having sex.
The memory engulfed her like a flash fire.
The asshole had a two-bedroom unit in the lodge because he had a kid. Is he married?
Fucking fucker.
Except…hadn’t the little girl asked if Micky was her new mommy?
Ugh. I have no idea.
“Micky?” Rhys looked floored. “What’re you doing here?” When she didn’t respond, he turned to the others for an explanation.
Well, fuck him. He wasn’t going to ruin this new job for her. Straightening, she smiled tightly and said, “I’ve been assigned to events, and I see I’ve interrupted. I’ll just sit here quietly and listen in. Just know, I’m ready to roll up my sleeves and work.”
Everyone’s attention turned back to Rhys, so she sat down. It only took a moment to notice the three empty seats between her and the nearest person. Should she move closer? She didn’t want to make herself an outsider.
Oh, for goodness’ sake. Pull yourself together. Don’t let that cheating bastard fluster you.
Focus, so you can contribute.
In the tense silence, Rhys gazed down at the papers in his hand before shaking his head and transforming into a leader. “Right. So, back to the market. We’ve got seventy-five vendors this year and…” He glanced at Micky. “Ah.” He strode over to her and set one of the papers down. “This is the schedule of events for the holiday season.”
She didn’t want to look at him. If she did, he’d see how badly she wanted to punch him in the balls. She wanted this job too much to jeopardize it, so she just said, “Thank you.” And with all eyes on her, she had no choice but to look up at him.
Big mistake. He watched her with a world of regret and remorse and a whole lot of other emotions she was absolutely not going to acknowledge. Not when she could feel herself softening, remembering…
Hushed voices, caressing hands, squeezing, groaning…ecstasy.
Nope. Not going there. As they continued their conversation, Micky read the list. Parade of Lights, cooking classes, concerts, ice skating shows, night skiing, Night with the Stars at the Observatory, gingerbread contest. Oh, this sounds fun.
She pulled out her phone and looked up Wild Wolff Village events to get a little more detail on each event. Oh, wow, Olympic figure skaters came for the shows. And holy shit, Blue Fire was playing here New Year’s Eve?
You’ve got to be kidding me.
She was all over this. Except…the more she read, the more confused she became. Sure, they had celebrity guests, but the events themselves weren’t all that exciting. Who wanted to see local chefs compete in a gingerbread contest?
“Excuse me.” She’d taken advantage of a break in the conversation, so she didn’t know why they acted like she was an annoying child. “Just looking for some clarity here. You’ve got great performers and fun ideas, but it doesn’t look like there’s anything interactive. Are there liability issues I should know about?”
“What do you mean?” the woman nearest her asked.
“Well, people watch the tree lighting, they watch a concert and the Olympic skaters…but is there anything for them to actually do?”
“Of course,” one of the suits said. “The cooking classes, the winter market…” His tone said, What’s your problem?
The woman took in Micky’s choppy hair and inked arms. “This is an exclusive resort. Our guests don’t want face-painting and cookie decorating.” She didn’t say it meanly, just stated it as fact.
“Well, their children might. But that’s not what I meant. How many people come to watch chefs make gingerbread houses?” Micky asked.
“It’s a fundraiser,” one of the men said. “The money goes to the Women’s and Children’s shelter in Calamity.” He turned to Rhys. “Can we get back to the marketplace? I’ve got another meeting to get to. If you’re looking for more funds, I can probably come up with another twenty K.”
“What’re you thinking?” Rhys focused on her.
“It might be fun to turn the grand ballroom into a gingerbread house-making event. We could set it up by age groups. And then, since it’s a fundraiser, we could sell the finished products. People will buy if they know where the money’s going, and the kids will want something like that as a decoration in their rooms. Right? I mean, they’re choosing to spend their holidays in your village, so the more you let them participate, the more it’ll feel like home”—she cut a look to the woman closest to her—“yet in the context of a luxury getaway.”
“I like that.” Rhys looked impressed, and that made her feel good. “What do you think, Elena?”
“It’s too late to change things now,” the woman said. “We can talk about this for next season.”
“No, hang on. I think we can pull this off.” Rhys scrolled through his iPad. “We can get the ballroom, that’s no problem. But is it too late to get people to sign-up for it? Can we get the supplies?”
“That’s the easiest part,” Micky said. “We’re not talking chef-quality gingerbread. I can order everything we need and have it overnighted it here. The only thing we’d need is the royal icing, and if your chefs can handle that—”
“Yes. The kitchen can make as much as we need.” He tipped his chin to her. “What else have you got?”
The others in the room looked irritated, and Elena was clearly put-out, but Micky just ran with it. “Well, what about opening up the rink after the ice skating show? Have some instructors out there to teach.”
“They want to free skate,” the suit said. “That’s what we’ve always done.”
“Right, well, I only know how I felt as a kid after watching the winter Olympics, and how I begged my mom for ice skating lessons. It might be fun to get people out on the ice right away, have the instructors dressed as elves or something cute like that so no one’s expecting real lessons. They can give them tips, have some fun with it. I’m assuming all these events have hot cocoa and mulled cider and things like that?”
“Of course.” Elena sounded affronted.
Micky backed off. She was the newcomer, and she’d offered enough.
“All right, I’ve got to go.” Once the suit stood up, the others followed.
No one addressed Micky, so she figured she’d just plop herself down at an empty desk. If someone wanted her to order supplies, they’d let her know.
Before leaving, she glanced at Rhys. Elena was over there, talking to him, so she could only assume he was the events manager.
Which made him her boss?
Fucking hell. She had to get over her issues with him, put the past behind her, because she was absolutely keeping this job. Anything was better than picking used condoms off the floor of guest suites.
Go talk to him. The moment he’d sprung out of bed to take care of his daughter, she’d dressed and booked it out of there. Hadn’t talked to him since. She’d tell him she was glad to be on the team and that she’d consider the past the past.
Finished talking, Elena gathered her phone and tablet and then, just as Micky started to move past her, the woman said, “It’s not your fault. Lance, the receptionist, should have explained that your job is to sit at your desk and wait for me to give you instructions. Your job has nothing to do with the executive suite.”
A rush of mortification sped through her. “Oh, my God.”
Elena’s features softened. “Like I said, it’s not your fault. But in the future, run your ideas by me first.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry. I was told I was on the events team. I thought that meant…”
Elena shook her head. “We’re the permanent staff, and every year we have a stable of seasonal employees to help execute our ideas.”
“I’ve never worked in a resort before. I didn’t know. At home, we’re such a small operation that we all pitch in equally. We’re all—” She stopped herself before she said equals, because this place had a clear hierarchy. Here, she was just the help. “Sorry. Got it.”
“Let me get myself organized,” Elena said. “And then I’ll get you going on some projects.”
“Perfect. Thank you. Again, I’m very sorry.”
When Micky didn’t leave the conference room, the woman gestured for the door.
“Oh, I want to talk to Rhys first.”
“Rhys?”
What, lowly employees weren’t allowed to speak to the manager? “Yes, I want to apologize for breaking in on the meeting.”
The woman let out a sigh of frustration. “I will handle Rhys, okay? You sit at your desk and wait for me to give you instructions. That’s it. Are we clear?”
“Of course.” And this is why I could never work in the corporate world. Just as she started out the door, she heard a deep voice—the same one she’d heard in her ear saying, “Fuck,” as he came hard inside her.
“Micky. Hang on.”
And it rang like a bell throughout her body.
Pissed, Elena stormed out of the room, leaving Micky alone with her one and only hookup.
Standing so close, he seemed taller and even more shockingly handsome in the light of day. His short blond hair was perfectly groomed, his jaw clean shaven, and those eyes—God, those hazel eyes had a way of looking into her depths. Whatever she’d intended to say went up in a puff of smoke.
“Thank you for your suggestions.” He seemed uncomfortable, with so much still unspoken between them.
“You’re welcome. Though, I apologize for barging in on your meeting. I misunderstood what was expected of me.”
Plus, you might a cheating asshole. So, there’s that.
“I’m glad you did.” In the awkward silence, he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I’d like to get going on the gingerbread contest.”
“Uh.” She pointed to the door. “I’m supposed to wait for instructions from Elena.”
“Here’s the thing. We’re short five support people in this office right now. So, you’re going to be working with me. Not Elena.”
“I don’t think that’s going to go over well.” Not for Elena, and definitely not for me.
“Elena will be fine. The higher priority is keeping things fresh for our visitors and, frankly we’ve been rolling out the same events for years. Which is good because our returning guests count on them, but not good when they’ve grown stale. We need some new ideas. And I like yours.” He gave her a smile she could interpret as shy, and while a tiny part of her started to thaw, another part remembered that she’d slept with a little girl’s dad.
And she wanted no part in cheating.
But she wanted this job, so she had to behave. “I’d like to start out on the right foot, so I think it’s best if I go sit at my desk like Elena told me to. And then one of you can just give me instructions on what you’d like me to do.”
He cocked his head. “I’m not sure you understand. I run this department. Elena works for me.”
“Maybe you’ve never been the lowest person in the hierarchy, but I have, and I can tell you that if I bypass Elena and work for you, she’s going to make my life hell.”
“Elena’s going to send you on errands. She’s going to have you print out flyers and upload images. I want to hear your ideas and have you implement them.” He pulled out his phone and typed something. “There, you’ve just been given a raise.”
She didn’t know why her skin prickled like a creepy man had just grazed her ass with his hand, but she was having a hard time tamping down her anger. “Do you want to check with your baby mama first? Before you hire the hookup to work with you?”
“What?” He took a step back. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
“I met your daughter, remember?”
“I’m raising her on my own. And she was supposed to be sleeping at my parent’s house that night. She’s very strong-willed and took off in the middle of the night. Fortunately, security found her right away and brought her to me.” He softened, looking genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry about that. It was awful for me, so I can’t imagine what it was like for you.”
Talk about letting the wind out of her sails. “Doesn’t sound like it was your fault. I guess I had a lot of things wrong.”
“What else?”
“I thought you were the tennis pro here.”
“Tennis? Where’d you get that idea?”
“I met you in a bar full of seasonal workers, so I just assumed you were one of us. And given your whole…” She waved a hand down the length of his body. “Clean-cut, athletic ‘vibe,’ I assumed maybe tennis pro. In a million years, I wouldn’t have put you in events.”
“It’s temporary.” He lowered his voice, as if someone could hear them. “And, frankly, the better I do, the sooner I can move onto the next job.”
“Okay.”
He seemed happy. “Come to my office and let’s get started.”
“I need to talk to Elena first.”
“Let me do that. The most important thing is getting the supplies ordered so they get here in time, so while you’re doing that, I’ll meet with her.”
He led her across the conference room to a door that opened to a whole other suite of offices. With the high-end desks and fancy, padded chairs, the plush carpet and dark wood paneling, these were a whole other level of elegance.
They passed a staff room that smelled of rich coffee and warm, baked goods.
“Hey, Rhys, there’s only one cheese danish left,” a gorgeous woman called.
“Yeah?” He stopped, peering in.
“And it’s mine.” Laughing, she pulled it from a pink bakery box and set it on a plate. “You snooze you lose.”
“Dick,” he called after her.
“Dork,” she said right back.
He turned to Micky “Can I get you some coffee? A muffin?”
“Uh, sure. Thanks.” The moment she came into the room, though, the scents grew so pronounced her stomach roiled.
His back to her, he grabbed two mugs. Scents wafted from the pink box, and nausea wrenched her stomach.
Breathe through it.
That’s what she’d been doing, breathing through it. But, Jesus, this reaction was so much stronger than the one she got from the lavender she sprayed on the linens.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Cream? Sugar?” And then he reached for a croissant, and saliva spilled into her mouth.
There was no stopping it this time, no calming exercises would quell it.
Micky ran for the garbage bin and threw up.