The presumption that he thinks he can get rid of me that easily makes my blood simmer. I’m not leaving until we work this out and come up with a solution to the Olympic committee issue, which means I have until the airport opens back up to get him to agree to let me help.
I see how I’m an inconvenience to him—why he wants me gone. I showed up uninvited, tracked him across an ocean, and forced myself into his space when he made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with me or the mess waiting for him back at home.
And now he's trying to erase the problem by sending me away.
My gaze drifts to the window, where snow is still blowing sideways, but visibility is better than last night. The storm is supposed to last all day, if the weather report is to be believed. Possibly tomorrow as well. I lift my phone into the air and walk in a circle, hoping to find better cell service, but nothing seems to make it better. Beyond the glass, the Alps rise in stark white peaks against a pale sky, beautiful in the way dangerous things often are.
Somewhere out there, Luka is skiing.
I peel the sticky note off the counter, crumple it in my fist, and toss it into the trash on my way out. Not that it matters. Even if I wanted to call the airport, I have zero cell service up here, which means, for the moment, I’m stranded in Switzerland with him.
He might not want me here, but I have a job to do, and whether he likes it or not, this benefits him too.
The storm is still trying to bang down the door as I walk through, but thankfully, the path to the resort has been recently cleared and visibility is good enough that I can make out the resort a few hundred feet away from me.
I attempt to shake off the snowflakes still clinging to my hair, jacket, and eyelashes the moment I walk into the hotel's lobby. The scene inside is a little different now than it was last night. There are still people everywhere, but I smell hot coffee and the aroma of breakfast food from the resort's restaurant wafts through the large space. People probably gave up standing and waiting for a room in order to get some food this morning.
I make a beeline for guest services, checking my phone as I walk. One bar. Pathetic, but usable. Now I just need Wi-Fi that doesn’t cut out every five seconds, because Luka’s reputation isn’t going to manage itself while I’m stranded here.
"Hi. I’m checking on the status of my room. Natalia Kovac."
The woman types quickly. Her smile stays professional, but I can already see it in her eyes.
"I’m sorry, Ms. Kovac. Your room is still occupied. The current guests are stranded until the airport reopens."
"I can’t continue staying where I am," I say.
Her fingers pause. "Are you unsafe?"
My eyes close for half a second. That came out wrong.
"No, I’m not in danger. If anyone is, it’s him. I’m the one who might suffocate him with a pillow in the middle of the night."
Her brows lift.
"I’m kidding," I add quickly. "Mostly."
She resumes typing, still watching me carefully. "If you feel safe where you are, we strongly recommend staying put. Many guests are sleeping in common areas. We’re short on linens."
Well then, that settles that. I’m stuck with him until the airport reopens.
"I guess I don’t have a choice then…"
"If you tell me where you’re staying, I will have someone from guest services bring you your room key once it’s available for your convenience."
Oh, wonderful… They’ll conveniently bring me the key I should have gotten yesterday.I think, but I don’t say it out loud as I don’t want her to ‘conveniently’ lose my reservation for insulting her.
I blow out a breath instead, "I’m in Chalet 5308."
Her hands stop and she looks up. "Five-three-zero-eight?" she repeats carefully.
"Yes."
A flicker passes between her and the other receptionist. "You’re staying with Mr. Popovich?"
And there it is. A glitter in their eyes I’ve seen before—women eager about their proximity to Luka Popovich.
"Yes," I say.
