Page 82 of It Happened After Hours
A gust of wind rattled the big front windows. Outside, snow piled up. The storm had a nickname, too, given its epic size.
“Snowzilla” rolled straight for Steele Valley, and the forecasts were unanimous: this would not be a gentle and sweet Hallmark-esque snow. This was a shut-down-the-roads, batten-down-the-hatches, and hope-your-generator-works type of snow.
Usually, packed power was a great thing for a ski lodge. Not this much though. My best hope was to be dug out by the plows before opening day.
I snorted. Leave it to me to choose New Year’s Day for the Grand Opening, but it would be my 40th birthday. I always loved having an enormous party to celebrate.
I’d sent the staff home hours ago. Everyone had families, cozy Christmas traditions, kids waiting for Santa. All I had was the lodge.
I poured a fortune into it for the past three years. Crews completely gutted and rebuilt it. We added five floors above it. Tonight, I’d spend my holiday alone in it.
I’d probably call my brothers who were in various countries, maybe get drunk on good bourbon, and sleep like a baby in my suite. I’d use the chance to rest up. In a day or two, when plowsdug me out, the staff would return, and it’d be nonstop from there preparing for opening day. Unless anything else blocked opening day from happening. But I was determined to beat this challenge head-on.
I ran a cloth over the edge of the frame and the glass one more time, hoping touching it would make magic happen. I wished for success, just in case.
“Wow.”
The voice came from behind me, dry and unimpressed. I turned, startled to findherstanding there.
Lilah Childs… my head chef, and apparently, my unexpected Christmas guest.
As if we were doing dinner service at seven, her chef’s jacket hung buttoned up on her frame. My eyes swept over the culinary prodigy. None other than the granddaughter of the late great Julian Freaking Childs, one of the most beloved famous chefs in culinary history.
“Stare much?” She arched her brow, sleeves rolled up, folded arms, hair pinned up, and sassy mouth. I’d like to pluck that pin right out and let the flowing dark locks free.
When I hired her, I never expected a white chef’s uniform like she wore would play a major role in my fantasies. But there she was when the lights turned out. Every night, she’d straddle me and take it off, revealing one helluva body underneath, swelled breasts, soft stomach, curvy hips, a landing strip peeking out too.
I had a healthy imagination when it came to Lilah. My fantasies were always fun-fueled romps.
In reality, about the only fun she gave off was the candy cane tucked behind her ear like a pencil.
A few years ago, after tasting one of Lilah’s meals at an exclusive resort in the Mediterranean, I had to have her. I mean tohireher. I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse; surprisingly,she took it. Left the Med behind to come all the way to Steele Valley.
We both saw the vision: going after Michelin stars for my new restaurant opening here at the lodge. It would mean big things for her career, and another notch in my ego.
What I hadn’t anticipated was her absolute disdain for me, palpable in every interaction of ours. But I didn’t fire her, because of—my ego. My gut told me her perfectionistic ways would earn us those stars.
By the way she saw right through me, her gut probably said I was nothing but a rich playboy who knew very little about running a ski lodge.
Unfortunately, she’d be right.
