All I can think about is Brennan Shaw's infuriating smile and the challenge in his voice:Can you handle a little adventure?
I'm a litigator. I've handled hostile witnesses, jury trials, opposing counsel who'd sell their souls to win.
Of course, I can handle one snowmobile tour with an unprofessional guide who thinks I'm an Ice Queen.
Right?
Chapter 2
Brennan
The Ice Queen is already at the snowmobile staging area when I arrive at 9:45, which means she was there at 9:30 because God forbid she be anything less than fifteen minutes early.
She's wearing expensive snow gear that looks like it came straight from an REI catalog—designer, fitted, in coordinated shades of navy and gray. With her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail and minimal but flawless makeup, she studies the snowmobiles like she’s about to take the bar exam on Arctic Cat specifications.
I should not find this attractive.
But I do, which pisses me off.
Ten years ago, I was her. High-strung, over-achieving, burning myself out in a Seattle finance job that paid well and killed my soul. It took a full breakdown at twenty-eight to realize I was living someone else's definition of success.
So I moved to Evergreen Lakes, became a snowmobile guide, and built a life around not caring too much. Not investing too deeply. Not letting intensity back in.
Which is why Avery Montgomery bothers me. She reminds me of everything I left behind. Everything I don't want to become again.
"Morning, counselor," I call out. "Sleep well? Or were you up late researching avalanche safety protocols?"
She turns, and for a second I see something vulnerable flash across her face before the Ice Queen mask snaps back into place. "Good morning, Mr. Shaw. I slept fine. And yes, I reviewed the safety protocols. They're adequate, though I have some questions about—"
"Of course you do. And call me Brennan."
Her jaw tightens. "Is there a problem with guests being informed, Brennan?"
"No problem at all. I love when people show up on my tours having already decided they know better than the guide with ten years of experience."
"That's not what I—" She stops, takes a visible breath. "I'm trying to be prepared. That's not a character flaw."
"Never said it was."
"You implied it."
"I implied you might have more fun if you let someone else be in control for a few hours."
The air between us goes electric for a second. Her cheeks flush, and I realize how that sounded.
Before I can clarify, the other retreat women arrive in a chattering group, and the moment breaks.
I run through the safety briefing with practiced efficiency, demonstrating controls, reviewing hand signals, establishing our route. Avery asks three technical questions, all of which are smart, which irritates me further.
Time for partner assignments. The resort policy is to pair guests with guides on lead sleds for safety.
"Avery, you're with me," I announce, watching her stiffen.
"I'd prefer—"
"You'd prefer to ride with someone else? Unfortunately, I'm the lead guide, and you signed up for the advanced route. So unless you want to switch to the beginner tour..." I let the challenge hang.
She meets my eyes, and I see the exact moment she decides she'd rather endure my company than admit defeat. "Fine. Let's go."
