“Is that... normal?”
“Depending on conditions, sometimes they do an extra run if the snow is good,” Stephen said, his voice practiced and soothing.“Or they might have stopped for lunch at the base. I wouldn’t worry.”
“Right. Okay. Thank you.”
I hung up, the receiver slippery in my hand. Lunch. They stopped for lunch. Marco had said he would be back for lunch.
I paced the room again. The suite’s luxury suddenly felt like a prison.
Two o’clock.
I couldn’t stay in the room. I needed to see people. I needed noise.
I grabbed my coat and headed down to the lobby. The Ritz was buzzing with afternoon activity—skiers returning from the lifts, guests checking in, the clink of glasses from the bar. I found a seat near the massive stone fireplace in the center of the lobby, a spot with a clear view of the main entrance.
I sat there, hands clasped in my lap, watching the revolving door spin.
Face after face. Strangers. Laughing, tired, sunburned. None of them him.
“Theresa?”
I jumped, my heart hammering against my ribs. I looked up to see Arthur Vance standing over me. He was wearing a thick wool sweater that looked itchy, holding a leather briefcase.
“Arthur,” I breathed, willing my pulse to slow. “I didn’t know you were still here.”
“Flight canceled,” he said, his mouth thinning into a grim line. “De-icing equipment failure at the airport. I’m stuck until tomorrow.” He looked at me closely, his eyes narrow behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “You look... unwell.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, smoothing my skirt. “Just waiting for Marco. He went heli-skiing this morning.”
“And he’s not back yet?” Arthur checked his watch, a gold Rolex that seemed too big for his wrist. “It’s past two.”
“He probably just lost track of time,” I said, defensiveness rising in my throat. “You know how he gets.”
“Yes,” Arthur murmured. He sat in the armchair opposite me, placing the briefcase on the floor. “I do know. Marco has never been one for strict schedules. Or limits.”
“He’s enjoying himself. He deserves it after last night.”
“Does he?” Arthur leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Listen, Theresa. About Tuesday. The Ashley meeting.”
“What about it?”
“I need to know that Marco is going to be... focused,” Arthur said slowly. “Ashley is a serious man. He doesn’t like surprises. He doesn’t like volatility. If Marco walks in there looking like he’s been partying for three days, or if he starts freestyling on the numbers...”
“Marco knows the stakes, Arthur.”
“Does he?” Arthur pressed. “Because frankly, his behavior worries me. This heli-skiing stunt? The day we fly back to prep for our biggest meeting ever? It’s reckless. If something happens to him—even a broken leg—the optics are terrible. Investorswant stability. They want a CEO who is in the office, not risking his neck on a mountain.”
I stared at him. The coldness of his assessment, the way he reduced my husband to a liability, made my skin crawl.
“Marco is the visionary,” I said icily. “Without him, there is no company. No investment. Ashley is investing inhim, Arthur. In his passion. Not in your spreadsheets.”
Arthur sat back, a tick of annoyance crossing his face. “I just hope he’s ready. If Marco fucks it up when we’re this close?—”
“He’ll be ready.”
Arthur stood up, picking up his briefcase. “We’ll see. I’m going to the business center. If he shows his face, let me know.”
He walked away without a backward glance. I watched him go with a sour taste in my mouth. Marco was right. Arthur was a despicable shark. A necessary one, perhaps, but a shark, nonetheless.
