I wait.
Outside, in the cold, watching and waiting for the lights. Counting the minutes until the room goes dark—because I don’t trust myself if I don’t.
Tonight, the waiting feels heavier.
I tell myself the truth I live by. This is why you don’t get close. This is why you don’t stay.
But the feel of her lips from yesterday, the need to understand how it feels different with her than with anyone I’ve ever met….
I already know that none of that is going to fade because I’m falling for my PR agent, and I have no idea what to do about it.
Chapter Seventeen
NATALIA
It’s been two days since I twisted my ankle.
It’s healed enough that I can walk on it without wincing, and I don’t need a couch barricade of pillows and ice packs anymore.
I spent most of the last two days in the chalet, working on strategies for Luka, icing my ankle, and keeping Carey and Randolph off my ass as I tried to figure out a solution for Luka’s dilemma that both he and the Olympic Committee will agree to.
By six-thirty in the evening, I’m restless, and I remember that I agreed to meet Zack at the café for live music before my accident on the slopes.
The café is only a few minutes away. I move slowly so that I don’t slip on any leftover ice. It’s worth the risk because not only do I need to get out of this chalet before I go insane, butalso because I’ve been looking forward to this. Zack’s invitation to listen to some live music at the café. Something normal. Something that doesn’t involve injury reports or Olympic committees or a man who keeps barging into my life and then disappears just as quickly.
I assume Luka will be out tonight.
That’s what he does. That’s what I told myself he was doing every night—bar hopping, shooting pool, and whatever else he does after the bar closes is none of my concern.
I pull on a sweater, and then my phone buzzes just as I’m pulling on my boots.
Carey calling…
I stare at it a beat too long, then answer. "Carey."
"You need to listen," she says immediately. No greeting. No pleasantries. "Gabriella knows."
My stomach drops. "Gabriella knows what?"
"That you took the Popovich account and that you’re out in Switzerland. She’s not happy that she’s had zero direct visibility besides whatever you’ve filtered through Molly."
"Wait, a second… ‘that I took the Popovich account’? You gave it to me."
"You’re getting stuck in the weeds. The point is, she knows, and now she’s expecting you to deliver. Both of our asses are on the line now, do you understand what I am saying?"
I grip my phone tighter. "Yes, I do."
"Where are you with this? What’s the plan? What’s the timeline? And why is my consultant report still showing ‘pending’ on the high-profile case in the building?" she asks.
My cheeks heat up, but I swallow it down. I will not let her hear me crack.
"I’m close," I say. "I have traction."
Carey makes a soft sound that is not a laugh, but also not far from one. "Define traction."
I glance out the window, as if the falling snow can offer me an answer. "We had lunch, and he agreed to cooperate."
"Cooperate how?" she pushes. "Has he agreed to a statement? An apology? A sit-down? A press blackout? A sponsor call?"
