I jolt upright, coffee sloshing over my fingers and I hiss at the contact. Dark spots fleck the navy comforter over my legs. “What the fuck, Pen? How do you know?”
I have to hold myself back from saying that, after last night, I don’t think it’s really all that fake, but explaining what happened in the hot tub to my little sister is the last thing I want to do. Ever.
“The internet?” she says and then looks at me like I’m an idiot. “I saw the damn article, Liam. It was hard not too, it was everywhere. And you might not talk about your work with us, but it was pretty easy to figure it out when a journalist has the same first initial and last name. There are also pictures of you two together at theSpitfireparty.”
“So you’re blackmailing me before I even get out of bed?”
“If I have to. But also it’s kind of a shame. She’s hot and nice.” She pats my knee and all but jumps from the bed back to thedoor. “Now, get up. I’m not above using a spray bottle to get you out of bed.”
“Fine. Fine. I’m moving.” I kick off my covers. “Happy now?”
“Extremely.” She nods and takes her miasma of chaos with her. “And the shift starts at seven-thirty! Thanks, you’re the best.”
I tug on socks and throw on a hoodie, knowing that if I don’t hurry, she’ll be back. Across the hall, a door creaks, and Henri steps out. Her blonde hair is fluffy from sleep, and red crease marks from her pillow are pressed into one cheek. When she yawns, she stretches her arms over her head, revealing a strip of pale skin.
Fuck. She’s amazing.
The memory of her panting against my shoulder, fingers digging into me, making indentations in my flesh, floods me, and I have to rein in the memory so I don’t risk walking downstairs with an erection.
“Like the view? I can do some yoga if you need to keep watching. I’ve got a killer downward dog, and my ass isn’t bad either.” Her voice is scratchy from sleep. Does she know how her humor steadies me? Keeps me from sinking into a corner and hiding away?
“I wouldn’t mind. But I think we might get yelled at if we don’t join everyone downstairs.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting a complimentary wake-up call, but who am I to complain about an added luxury?”
“Pen asked me to cover a shift for her at the lodge—the cafe we have in the lobby. So after this, if you wanted to go back to bed, feel free to.”
“You’ve been back less than a day. How’d that happen?”
“Blackmail.”
“Makes the world go round. But, seriously. How?”
“I’m not joking. She knows about us.” I stop as we reach the top of the steps and lower my voice. Jazz renditions of Christmas songs are playing loud enough I’m sure no one will hear us. “Yes, Pen figured us out because she knows who I am. And it made me realize how publishing that article put you at risk. Say the word and I’ll write a check to cover all of your losses.”
“Don’t.” She puts a hand up. “Not if you want to keep doing what we started last night. It would be uncomfortable for me. It would feel like you’re paying me to be here.”
“I get it. I just still feel like shit.”
“Ease up on yourself. Let’s go have fun decorating a tree.”
We’re the last ones in the living room. Everyone else is clutching coffee mugs, curled up under blankets. A fire blazes in the fireplace, crackling through the silence. Plates of burnt bacon and blackened toast sit on the table, untouched.
The couch dips under me as I take a seat, leaving enough room for Henri next to me, but instead, she sits on my lap, looping an arm around my neck.
“Greedy,” I whisper into her ear, echoing her from the night before even as I hold her closer.
Six days. That’s all I have left and damn if I won’t do my best to stretch them as far as I can.
Something about that timeline seems to have flipped a switch in her too. She has an easy out at the end of this now, which is something she seems to need. A runner—that’s what Jasmine called her.
“Liam, if you have time later, I’d like you to come by my office. It’s the busy season now and it would be good for you to get a look at the basics of what we’ve got going on, especially leading up to the gala,” Dad says. He’s the only one, other than Pen, who manages to look alive this early. I bet he’s already cleared his email inbox and put out a few fires.
This place is his life. It gives him meaning, years after his retirement from skiing. Old clippings of his wins hang in the office, as well as pictures of Mom and him holding June and I as he waved a camera with a metal around his neck.
“We have plans; Liam was going to show me around the lodge,” Henri says.
“And he’s going to take my café shift,” Pen chimes in.
