An admission that he’s given in a little to me. Like he knows he gave me something he doesn’t give anyone else. Maybe I’m finally growing on him and he’s letting down his walls, even if it’s just a fraction. I can use that.
I press my lips together and nod once. "Fine."
Then my phone buzzes.
I don’t even realize it’s ringing until the screen lights up on the bar.
A name flashes bright against the dim wood.
Carey calling…
Luka’s gaze drops to it.
"Who’s Carey?" he asks.
My brain stutters.
"Who—" I start, then it all rushes back like a wave crashing. "Oh. Shoot. I need to take this. It’s my boss… sort of."
I grab my phone too fast, nearly knocking over my drink, and slide off the stool.
"I’ll see you later," I say, voice too quick as I head for the exit. "Thanks for lunch."
I take the call outside, the cold night air biting through my sweater as if Switzerland itself disapproves of everything happening inside my chest.
"Natalia," Carey says, an edge to her voice that she always has, especially with me. "Where are we?"
Relief and irritation hit at the same time.
She asks if the trip is productive, if I think we can get ahead of the Olympic committee before the narrative hardens, if I’ve been handling the gossip columns to kill stories.
I answer all of her questions and she seemed to ease a bit. It has me wondering if the promotion she mentioned is now starting to become more important to her than getting me fired.
"Yes, he’s cooperating." I lied, though lunch felt like a small breakthrough.
"Yes, the resort's isolation is helping." I say without mentioning how much he’d like to get rid of me.
"No, I don’t anticipate complications." As long as I don’t end up headfirst into a tree at tomorrow’s lesson.
I do not mention the bunny hill. Or the fact that Luka keeps showing up to save me like I’m the most annoying damsel in distress. Or the way Luka looked at me when I asked him what he wanted, like no one ever bothers to ask him that.
Carey hums, satisfied. "Good. Keep him close, Natalia. Don’t let him spin out of control."
I swallow.
"I won’t," I say, though I’m the one who can’t seem to keep my feet on the ground.
If Luka isn’t going to help me, I’ll have to help myself. I head back to the chalet, grab my laptop, and then make a beeline for the café. I need to find a way out of this for Luka, even if he won’t help me.
Hours later, and a dozen or so emails back to news outlets killing their story by promising to offer something bigger, I head back to the chalet after dark.
The path is mostly quiet. Other people walking to and from their chalets to the village or back again. Soft chatter and laughter filled the night sky. The paths are lit by lanterns casting warm pools of light across the glittery snow, my boots crunching with each step. The night feels too still.
Inside the chalet, warmth greets me immediately in the subtle creaking of the heating vents and the faint scent of burnt wood from last night's fire. I pause just inside the door, scanning the space without being honest with myself about what I'm looking for and why.
No jacket slung over the chair.
No boots were kicked off near the entryway.
