Snowed In

1. Cheyenne

1

CHEYENNE

What a predicament. My boss, Dr. Darren Grace, is leaning on my desk, his charcoal and gray suit straining deliciously across his sculpted back, one hard buttock hitched up on the heavy wood—close enough to touch. He’s oblivious, of course, as he always is but at least with his back to me I can look at him as much as I want.

“Yes, Crystal. Of course, Crystal. No, I’ll be back in Boston as soon as I close the deal.” He sounds strained behind the false cheer. No wonder; he’s talking to the worst woman in the world.

Crystal Hiltman is a genuine b***h. But not in that “I’m assertive and strong and men can’t handle it” way. That, I could respect.

She’s the kind of b***h who can watch her father a***e his servants without so much as blinking. She’s the kind of b***h who wears her wealth, and the wealth of her beleaguered fiancé, and who sneers and sniffs her way through every interaction. And worst of all...

...She’s the kind of b***h who, three months from now, will make Darren the unhappiest man in the world.

If I can’t pardon her attitude, I’m sure not going to forgive her for marrying him. Not when he would be happier with me.

I can’t give him money, though. Crystal definitely can. She’s wealthy. Her father is Darren’s biggest rival in the American pharmaceutical industry.

Their marriage is like an alliance of two powerful nations, and she’s the princess on offer. An ice princess with a raisin-sized heart and apparently, the s*x drive of a lizard in winter. The only thing she can give him is money—but I could give him everything else.

If only.

My eyes trace from the thick, rippling mane of his blond hair, down his shoulder, and along the powerful arm bracing against my desktop. The desk is a boat—solid oak that probably outweighs him—so there’s plenty of room for him to lean and me to work. Although who could work with a view like this?

“...What? No, I’m just bringing my assistant. It will probably take the afternoon to hash out the deal. After that I’ll drive back, drop off my paperwork, and join you.” His voice is warm and reasonable but his annoyance at having to constantly reassure her is there.

Of course, she’s paranoid and controlling on top of everything else. In her heart, she probably acknowledges she doesn’t deserve Darren—not one bit.

He’s gone quiet. He turned his head partway in my direction, and I catch a glimpse of a scowl. She’s bad-mouthing me again.

“Crystal, there’s no need to be concerned.” He winces as her voice snaps faintly. “No. Yes, of course, I’ll be home in time for supper. It’s only nine in the morning, we have plenty of time to get things done.” She gave you a curfew? It’s impossible to tell what gnaws on me harder: my pity for a man who deserves so much better letting himself be drawn to heel by a golden leash, or my frustration of having no chance with him at all.

I tap away at the keyboard, reviewing the day’s itinerary while pretending not to be distracted. We’re spending the day in the mountains to close a deal on a few pharmaceutical patents developed by a Dr. Abrams, one of his dad’s old partners. The man is as eccentric as he is brilliant, and he refuses to come into the city, so we’re meeting him near his home, at Darren’s hunting lodge.

The idea of spending an entire day with Darren away from the office had my fantasies running wild for almost a week. I was lying awake nights, restless and tingling, my skin unsatisfied by the imaginary caresses of his powerful hands. It’s ridiculous, of course; he’s promised to another, and he never treated me as anything besides his assistant and confidant.

But a girl can still dream. Or not dream. This frustrated desire has given me insomnia. I stifle a yawn, re-examining the specifics of the patents.

Dr. James Abrams is very ill and refusing treatment. He has cancer—the same disease he spent his career developing new chemotherapy drugs for. He shocked everyone, including Darren, by insisting on staying up on his mountain instead of seeking treatment.

So up onto the mountain we go, to make a transaction before he dies, and the patents become up for grabs. Darren already explained that one of his rivals—maybe even Hiltman—will buy them and sit on them if we don’t. I can’t imagine anyone unprincipled enough to pull needed medicines from the market because it’s more lucrative to sell other options. Apparently, a move like that is common in Darren’s world. He’s the only billionaire who is different; he has a problem with keeping medicine from the sick. As a result, I have no problem heading up the mountain with him in late October to back his play.

Darren hangs up on Crystal with a grunt of disgust and turns to me, his beautifully curved lips twisting wryly. His eyes are an arresting deep gray, like the sky before a storm. “Come on, let’s pack up and get out of here before she decides to tag along!”

I laugh politely, shutting down my desktop and scooping up my briefcase. “Ready when you are, boss.”

Underneath, I sadly wonder why in the world you are marrying her for the hundredth time. He’s about to spend the rest of his years living in spite of his wife instead of because of her: stealing scraps of happiness, friendships, and intimacy behind her back, and starving for them the rest of the time.

I want to grab and shake him! Is this really necessary? Money isn’t the best answer, not when he is already prosperous. He noticeably doesn’t love that atrocious woman, or her predatory pus-ball father.

This just isn’t typical, I think, putting my coat on. October has been unseasonably cold this year, and there is no way I’ll go by Mount Greylock without an extra layer on. “Darren, don’t forget your coat, okay?”

He lets out a laugh. “Yes, Mom.” His tone teases me gently.

I chuckle. “If you get pneumonia and die, I’ll lose my amazing job and a good friend. Come on now.”

He grins as he puts on his leather coat and belts it around his lean waist. “Good thing I put the liner in. What is with all this crazy weather the last few weeks?”

“Weird jet stream. It dipped again and Boston got Canadian weather.” I smooth the forest-green wool swing coat in front and pull my matching hat on over my auburn braid, hoping that will be enough protection. It’s forty degrees and dropping instead of rising, and the wind’s picking up.

“Good thing I’ve got the SUV.” He gives my cap a playful tug as he walks past. “Let’s get going.”

I follow him, ignoring the hint of his spicy cologne riding the air. My fingers flex, itching to touch him, but I keep them firmly at my sides.