If his text of encouragement were painted on my panties, I’d set them on fire and roast marshmallows.
"Actually," Sierra pipes up, still hovering in the doorway, "If you're free later, Chance, I could use your expertise on some security upgrades Everett is trying to push through for the lodge. Maybe you can suggest a better way that’s less destructive,” her mouth pinches with irritation.
Of course, she could.
On her, irritation looks charming.
On me, I look like I’m one step away from leveling a tall building.
Something hot and unwelcome curls in my stomach. I refuse to call it jealousy because that would be ridiculous. This is Chance. GI Jackass. The bane of my childhood existence.
The man who held my hand in the dark when I trusted him with my secret, when I trusted him with my fears and dreams and—No.
Not going there.
"I’m going to hit the slopes before those spreadsheets hit me up for some quality time," I announce, pushing back from the table. "Black diamonds to slay. Numbers to crunch. Empires to build. Voodoo dolls to drive nails into."
As I pass Sierra in the doorway, I definitely don't notice how her height puts her at perfect eye level with Chance.
Or how her blonde hair catches the morning light.
Or how she probably knows all about his marriage because apparently, they’re still friends if she is comfortable asking for his help—with security, maybe changing her oil, diddling her bean—whatever.
I definitely don't care about any of that.
Just like I definitely don't care that Chance's gaze follows me out of the room.
Or that when I glance back, Sierra's already sliding into my vacated seat.
None of it matters.
I've got work to do and a point to prove.
Let them have their traditions and their perfect blondes and their secret ex-wives.
I've got bigger plans.
Even if my chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with professional ambition, and everything to do with the man who's apparently been married and divorced without me even knowing.
The man whose knee pressed against mine like a promise. Until he snatched it back.
The man who's probably about to reconnect with Sierra over "security upgrades."
Chapter Eleven
Chance
The snow crunchesunder my skis, every glide pounding the same thought into my skull:I can’t outrun this.
No matter how fast, how far, I’ll never escape the single biggest screw-up of my life.
Six months of marriage.
Six months of pretending to be someone I’m not.
A lifetime of regret neatly gift-wrapped in shame.
I grip my poles tighter, trying to ground myself in the bite of cold metal against my palms.
