much,” Hadley said. “It’s perfect.”
Afternoon tea was set up in the semicircular conservatory that arched off the lobby, a fantasy of white wicker and greenery. Hadley poured a cup of Earl Grey and picked up a pair of the pretty little tea sandwiches. Gorgonzola and pear on rye, watercress on white, no crusts. Balancing plates, she settled in a chair near one of the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. The view was breathtaking, the snow-topped mountains across the valley practically sitting in her lap.
A burst of laughter had her glancing over at a couple settled side by side on a wicker love seat. And for a sudden, lost moment, she imagined herself as the pretty young blonde, sitting next to the handsome man who looked at her with love.
Hadley’s pleasure fizzled as her imagination suddenly failed her. She stared at the couple as though they were exotic creatures at the zoo. Were they really happy? How long would it last? “You have too much money,” her father reminded her often. “You have to be cautious.” Which was an easy thing to do with the men she ran into, who either feared her or pursued her for the thrill of getting near Robert Stone.
Anyway, what was she really missing? An icy détente like her parents’ marriage? Any of the countless paths to divorce that she’d seen her relatives and acquaintances follow? Acquaintances, because she hadn’t become friends with anyone since she’d left school, her classmates scattered to whatever ports of luxury or business they or their families fancied. There had never been time. It was hard to hook up for dinner when you were always on a plane somewhere or staying in the office late for a telecon with the Tokyo office.
It was easy to fall into the trap of wishing for love, here in a place outfitted like a movie set. For wasn’t that what love was—a movie fantasy? Among real people, infatuation waned and affection was always conditional; she’d learned that lesson long ago. It depended on what you could do for people. Far safer to remain on her own.
Even though she always had had a soft spot for the movies…
Setting aside her teacup, Hadley rose. It was just the demotion, that was all. A walk would get her out of this funk. A walk and a chance for some fresh air would make her stop taking stock of her life and coming up wanting.
Gabe pulled the truck into its parking place at the side of the hotel and turned off the engine, rolling his shoulders to relax them. He hadn’t really meant the part about driving the laundry himself, but who’d have figured that he didn’t have anyone in the place with a Class A truck license? He definitely wasn’t crazy about being away from the hotel for several hours in the middle of the day. Cell phone reception was so bad in the mountains that he could hardly connect most of the time.
If he had to be away, at least he had the staff for it. He’d never understood managers who preferred to surround themselves with ineffectual subordinates. He wanted people who knew how to think, who could act without direction when necessary. Management held challenges enough without setting up a brainless ant colony that fell apart when you weren’t around.
As a result, he’d been able to mostly enjoy what was a gorgeous day, with a sky so brilliantly blue it hurt the eyes, and a snow-covered landscape still new enough to be charming. It had felt kind of like playing hooky. The brightly clad figures whizzing down the slopes of the ski area opposite the hotel reminded him that working Saturday wasn’t normal for everybody. One of these days he needed to find time for the slopes.
For now, he climbed down out of the truck, slipping on his bomber jacket to ward off the outside chill. A quick stop at the manager’s house to put his suit on again and he’d be back in business. Gabe skirted the rear of the hotel, heading toward the path that led to the three-story farmhouse that predated the hotel. Free on-site housing in very plush digs, one of the bennies of the job. Of course, it worked for the ownership, given that he was around 24/7 in case of crisis.
Ownership, he thought, and felt the familiar tug of regret.
It wasn’t going to be the same without Whit Stone. Lost friends, new challenges. Still, the hotel was a constant. He turned to look at it in all its palatial whiteness.
It wasn’t the view of the hotel that made his footsteps slow then, but the figure on the little loading dock outside the employee entrance. A woman, standing with her arms wrapped around herself in the winter cold, strands of her pale hair shifting in the breeze. She wasn’t staff. He knew the face and name of every person who worked for him. It was a point of pride. This woman he’d never seen before.
He’d have remembered.
She gazed at the sweep of the Presidential Range behind him, her face angled a little away. She looked like a faerie come down from the mountain, all silvery-blond hair and pale skin, wrapped about in a cape of dark green. There was a magic there that drew him, something compelling in the tilt of her eyes, the temptation of her lips.
Then she turned her head a bit and he saw the faint air of wistfulness that hovered around her mouth and shadowed her eyes.
Without conscious decision, he headed toward her.
She probably wasn’t supposed to be in this area of the hotel, but it was the only place Hadley had found that had the view she wanted and an absence of people. She’d get over her funk as soon as she started working. It was just the unfamiliar experience of having time to herself that was throwing her off.
The air was crisp and cold enough that her breath created a white plume each time she exhaled. So beautiful, the sweep of valley, the rise of the mountains, the snow-iced trees. She stared out at the panorama, wishing she knew how to draw, to capture that sweeping vista, that soaring openness in practiced, flowing strokes.
“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” a voice said.
Hadley jumped and stared at the man who approached her on the flagstone path. Beautiful view? Beautiful man, more like it. It was almost bad form to be that gorgeous outside of a movie or a magazine. Tall, dark and handsome was such a cliché, she wanted to tell him. Maybe she would.
If she could get her tongue to work.
“Sorry I startled you.”
She moved her head, the desire to avoid attention immediate. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people. It isn’t polite.” Which was a good thing; after all, there had to be something wrong with anyone who was that perfect looking, all cheekbones and honed jaw, dark hair flopping down over his forehead.
The humor in his eyes only made him more attractive. “Well, I can’t have that said of me. Please accept my apologies.”
“Maybe.” She hadn’t heard him approach; he’d just been there, long and lean in his charcoal crewneck and expensive leather jacket. Not a staff member, not with that kind of clothing. She recognized designer quality when she saw it.
“So are you blowing off the Employees Only sign?”
“I wanted to see the mountains.”
“I don’t blame you. But I’m betting there are better places to do it here. Places where the heat’s on, for example.” His feet crunched on the flagstone path as he crossed it and came to a stop before the railing behind which she stood.
“You’re outside.”
He looked up at her, one corner of his mouth turning up. “Only for as long as it takes me to find a door.”
If he’d stepped just a bit closer she could
