"Thanks," I tell him, and I mean it.
Then I peel out of my ski gear, change into something warmer and more civilized, and decide I’ve earned exactly one thing:
A burger and I want it now.
A text comes through from Carey as I walk into the restaurant:
How’s it coming with Luka?
I shot off a text in response:
I’m working on him. I just need more time.
She responded immediately:
Don’t forget what’s at stake here. You only have three more weeks.
As if I could forget. It’s my career on the line.
I walk into the bar with the confidence of a woman who did not die today and intends to celebrate that fact with grease and sugar.
Then I see Luka sitting at the bar. He’s alone, which might be the most confusing thing of all. There’s no Annabella in sight. Only an empty plate where his lunch once sat and a half-drunk glass of ice water.
My body reacts before my brain can catch up—one step back, instinct already choosing escape. I can go to the little café that the guest services woman told me about yesterday. Some soup, a sandwich, and peace and quiet. Somewhere he isn’t.
I take another half-step back… and then he looks up. Those stormy gray-blue eyes lock onto mine like a hook catching skin. Like he can feel me trying to disappear.
"Hey," he says, voice carrying just enough to make it feel like a dare. "How did it go, Bunny Hill?"
So I guess the nickname stays. That’s just perfect.
I let out an annoyed groan, then make the decision I always make when I don’t have the luxury of pride. I commit.
If he’s here, if he’s alone, if he’s sitting still long enough to have ordered food, I can’t afford not to take the opening.
I approach the bar, careful not to limp like my legs aren’t secretly plotting revenge.
"I’m surprised to see you here," I say, sliding onto the stool one seat away. "Didn’t you have a massage you were headed to the last time I saw you? Annabella must be worried sick."
Luka shrugs like that entire situation means nothing. "I wasn’t interested."
"In a free massage?" I arch a brow. "That’s almost un-American of you."
His gaze flicks to mine. "That’s because I’m Russian. Either way, I’m not interested in anything she’s offering."
I don’t reply to that. He told me in the shower earlier today that he didn’t go back to her hotel last night, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Though none of this makes sense.
What am I supposed to say?Sorry, the beautiful woman chasing you isn’t enough to distract you from harassing me on the bunny hill?
Because that’s what it felt like. He was trying to lose her. He was more interested in me and Zack than in whatever happy-ending fantasy she was clearly advertising.
It doesn’t fit the "playboy" label everyone keeps slapping on him. And that… annoys me.
"I don’t care who you flirt with," I say, though I can’t ignore the fact that hearing Annabella offer him a massage had my stomach turn. "I care that you’re hiding out in Switzerland while your name is trending for all the wrong reasons. I wish you’d just…"
His mouth tilts slightly into a sly smirk. "You wish I’d just… what?"
"Get on a flight back to Seattle," I say. "And into a conference room with me to fix this."
