Abby shook her head and laughed.
“You think I’m kidding? I’m not! It’s like single guy central around here, and they’re all crazy buff from hiking and skiing and mountain biking. Just wait until everyone gets back into town. It’s like living in a mountain man reverse harem fantasy.”
Now it was Abby’s turn to cock her head to the side. “Have you dated any of these guys?”
Elle’s breezy expression darkened. “I’m barely here long enough to say hello to my vibrator, let alone hook up.”
Abby crossed her arms. “I don’t think I’m ready, Elle. I can’t jump into anything. I’ve spent the better part of my adulthood in a relationship with a total creep.” She shook her head. “No dating. I’m going on a man fast.”
Elle eyed a loaf of sourdough bread on the counter. “I wish I could go on a carb fast.”
“I’m serious, Elle! No dating of any kind for…. seventy-four days.”
“Why seventy-four days? Why that number?” her cousin asked, her expression growing pensive.
“I don’t know. It’s the first number that popped into my head,” Abby said, a determined buzz humming through her body.
Elle nodded. “Okay, so you’re doing a seventy-four-day man fast.”
The buzz amped up a notch. “Yes! A man fast is exactly what I need. I’ve got this new job, and I really want to make it work. I want a classroom that’s all my own. My own calendar. My own hall passes. My own name plate with my name on it. I want students to say, ‘Miss Quinn is my teacher.’”
“And she’s the best damn teacher in the building,” Elle added.
Abby’s buzz morphed into a full-blown rush. Everything seemed possible. She slapped her hand on the counter, resolve coursing through her veins. “I’m going to do it, Elle. I’m going to do whatever it takes to knock their socks off at this school,” she said as a beeping sound came from somewhere inside the apartment.
Elle’s eyes went wide. “OMG, did we trigger the smoke alarm? Harvey is going to be pissed.”
Abby gasped. “No, that’s my phone! That’s my alarm! It’s already ten. I need to go to bed. I need to get enough sleep, so I’m well-rested for tomorrow.”
Elle leaned against the counter and gave her a wide grin. “Don’t let me hold you back. Sweet dreams, Miss Man Fast.”
“Crap, crap, crap!” Abby exclaimed, digging through a box of her teaching supplies.
“What?” Elle asked, walking into the living room with a sleep mask still covering one of her eyes.
“I don’t want to be late on my first day, and I can’t find my monkey.”
“Monkey? Holy shit! Teaching has changed a lot since I was in school,” Elle said, heading for the coffee pot.
Abby pulled out two binders. “Not a live monkey. Murray the Monkey. He’s a stuffed animal. He’ll be our class mascot. The kids I’ve taught always loved Murray.”
Abby pulled out a few textbooks then let out a relieved sigh. There, staring up at her with button eyes and a smile made of pink thread, was Murray the Monkey.
“Got him!” she said, holding up the plush animal.
Elle gave her a groggy wave.
Abby grabbed her purse and her giant teacher’s tote then headed out the door. “Love you, Elle!”
She looked at her watch.
Double crap!
She didn’t have any time to lose. She hadn’t actually been to the school. After she’d spoken with the principal, she’d gotten right to work, planning her first day with the children of Whitmore Country Day Elementary. She’d looked at Whitmore’s website and mapped the route to get from Elle’s apartment to the private school nestled in a Denver neighborhood fifteen minutes away.
She shifted her bag and tucked Murray into the tote when the elevator pinged.
Thank you, teaching gods!
She rounded the corner just as the doors began to close.
“Hey, hold the elevator, please!” she called to the man in the elevator who was staring down at his phone. He didn’t even look up, oblivious to her pleas.
“Hey!” she said even louder.
Nothing.
The guy, all broad shoulders and dark hair, kept his gaze trained on his phone as the doors closed.
“Jerk!” She jammed her finger against the down button, but she didn’t have time to wait. She glanced at Murray the Monkey, his button eyes agreeing with her assessment. “Stairs,” she said, not sure if she was waiting for Murray to disagree.
Abby hurried down the hall, entered the stairwell, and started down eleven flights. Her mind flashed to the man in the elevator. Elle wasn’t kidding. If this guy was a representation of the guys in the building, it was teeming with hotties.
“Man fast,” she murmured, chastising herself for even considering this creep and doubled her pace.
There was no time for guys.
Her entire life must center around work.
Ninja focus. That’s what she needed.
Abby burst through the doors and into the parking garage just as a sleek, black Mercedes SUV sped past her, carrying—you guessed it—her elevator jerk.
She reared back as the vehicle zoomed by, tires squealing.
“Good gravy!” she gasped.
She’d have to watch out for that one.
She sprinted to her old Volvo wagon, threw her stuff into the backseat, and settled herself behind the wheel.
The image of the handsome elevator jerk flashed in her mind.
She shook her head.
“Ninja focus. Man fast,” she repeated as she pulled out of the garage and onto the street.
She pressed her phone’s navigation app and followed along as the robotic voice guided her past charming Tudor and bungalow style homes and into an area dotted with gated drives and sprawling estates.
Despite it being January in Colorado, it was a beautiful day. With snow-capped mountains to the west, she’d never lived anywhere like this. Joggers crisscrossed the wide boulevard as she passed the sign for Whitmore Country Day and headed toward a red brick building.
Butterflies erupted in her belly. She’d never taught at a private school. Most of her teaching had been in public, inner city settings.
“Kids are kids,” she whispered.
High income. Low income. It didn’t matter. All children need a safe, encouraging place to learn and grow, and her job was to make sure that she provided that experience to all her students.
Abby pulled into a parking spot and checked her watch.
One minute to go. She was cutting it close, but she wasn’t late.
She grabbed her purse and large teacher’s tote and headed for the door. She pressed the call button.
“Yes?”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Hello, I’m Abigail Quinn the new first-grade teacher. Principal Ramos hired me yesterday.”
“I’ll buzz you in,” came a cheerful voice.
So far so good! She found the school. She’d gotten in the door. Children’s artwork covered the walls, and smiling pictures of stick-people families drawn in bold primary colors helped tamp down her frayed nerves.
She entered the main office. “Hi, I’m—”
“Late.”
Abby’s pulse kicked up a notch, and the butterflies exploded as she met the gaze of a woman sitting behind a desk with a regretful expression.
She glanced at her watch. “No, I’m on time.”
“On time is five minutes early at Whitmore Country Day,” the woman answered.
Abby’s mouth went dry. “Oh no! I didn’t know!”
The woman rose from her desk and opened a drawer. “Take a breath. Here’s the key to your classroom. It’s room 104. The staff’s meeting in the library now. Leave the office and take a right at the first hallway. You can’t miss it.”
Abby nodded. The principal didn’t say anything about starting five minutes early. She wiped her wrist across her top lip where a sheen of panic sweat had materialized. “Thank you, Mrs….”
“Holland,” the woman said with a warm smile.
“Thank you, Mrs. Holland,” Abby said over her shoulder.
“Crap, crap, crap!” she whispered, tearing down the empty hallway until she came upon the library. She opened the door and slid inside the room.
“Ah, this is her now.”
Abby looked up to see at least two dozen pairs of eyes trained directly on her. “I apologize. I must have written down the meeting time incorrectly.”
A woman with an icy glare held her gaze. “No, you didn’t. I wanted to see if you would arrive early.”
From the school website, Abby knew this was the woman who had hired her over the phone. This was her boss, Principal Ramos.
Abby parted her lips to reply, but nothing came out.
The principal turned her attention to the staff. “Everyone, this is Abigail Quinn. She’s taking over Roberta’s class for the rest of the year.”
Abby’s heart sank. For the rest of the year? Had the women already deemed her unworthy?
Principal Ramos gestured to the tables. “Take a seat, Miss Quinn.”
Abby scanned the room and was met with a sea of gray hair until she saw an open chair next to a woman who looked closer to her age. She settled in, and the young woman turned to her. “I’m Cadence Lowry,” she whispered with a warm smile. “I teach second grade here at Whitmore.”
Abby’s rapid pulse slowed a fraction.
This woman seemed nice.
Cadence tapped her arm. “And that’s the other first-grade teacher, Mrs. Mackendorfer. She goes by Mrs. Mack.”
Abby glanced up to see a woman with a hawkish face and a tight bun staring at her.
“She’s the queen bee around here,” Cadence whispered. “Word to the wise, tread carefully with her.”
Abby gave the woman a weak smile before the principal singled her out. “Now, Miss Quinn, this is very important.”
Late and caught whispering, Abby cringed and met the woman’s gaze, heat rising to her cheeks. “Of course.”
The principal clasped her hands together. “Today, every teacher will receive information regarding their Whitmore Partnership Volunteer. As you all know, it’s imperative that we foster and maintain this relationship. Our volunteers come from some of Denver’s oldest and most reputable families. They honor us with their time.”
Abby pulled a piece of paper from her bag and started scribbling down notes.
Cadence tapped her arm again and leaned in. “It’s mostly rich old ladies who volunteer in the classroom.”
“Okay, thanks,” Abby whispered back.
“Excuse me, Principal Ramos?” came a voice from the door.
Abby looked over to see the school secretary she’d just met in the office.
“Yes, Mrs. Holland?”
“The Dudleys are here. They’d like a word with Miss Quinn.”
“Me,” Abby exclaimed, the word coming out as a strained squeak.
“Thank you, Mrs. Holland.” Principal Ramos shifted her gaze. “Miss Quinn, you’re excused from the rest of the faculty meeting. I’ll come to visit your classroom this morning to see how you’re doing.”
“Hang in there!” Cadence whispered as Abby collected her things. “The first day here is the trickiest. But you’ll get the hang of it. I’ll come to your room for lunch, and I’ll bring you up to speed then.”
Abby nodded, her pulse kicking up again. If things kept up at this rate, she’d need a pacemaker by recess! She hadn’t been in the building three minutes, and she’d already been late to her first faculty meeting, done something to anger Mrs. Mackendorfer, and had parents wanting to meet with her.
She hurried into the hall.
“Mr. and Mrs. Dudley are waiting to speak to you in your classroom,” the secretary said, trailing behind her.
Abby glanced around, trying to get her bearings. “Where is my classroom?”
Mrs. Holland gave her a sympathetic smile. “Two doors down on the left.”
Abby nodded and continued down the hall. “Got it.”
“Miss Quinn,” the woman called.
Abby turned.
“Good luck.”
Abby focused on the woman’s kind hazel eyes and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Thank you. I think I’m going to need it.”
2
Brennen
Ping! Ping! Ping!
Brennen Bergen gripped the steering wheel of his brand-new Mercedes G550 SUV and glanced down at his phone, resting on the console.
Ping! Ping! Ping!
Text after text rolled in as he pulled up to the Bergen Mountain Sports headquarters located in the heart of downtown Denver. Amid skyscrapers, high-rise apartment buildings, and the Rocky Mountains gracing the blue sky to the west, the Bergen Mountain Sports building was situated on the edge of the South Platte River right next to the first Bergen Mountain Sport retail store. Once barely large enough to hold a handful of people, the now ninety-nine thousand square foot behemoth of a store was the world’s largest sporting goods retail outlet in the country. Equipped with an outdoor mountain bike park and kayaks lined up near the river, the Bergen Mountain Sports flagship complex was second to none.
He cut the ignition and tossed his keys to a young parking attendant as he exited the vehicle, his long legs devouring the pavement.
The kid’s eyes went wide. “Wow! A G550! Those things cost—”
“A small fortune,” Brennen supplied, not even glancing up.
“I’ll take good care of her, Mr. Bergen. I’ll park her right up in front.”
The guy had to be nineteen, maybe twenty. Brennen knew the look. The awe. People idolized him. There were fucking fan pages devoted to him.
If they only knew the truth.
Brennen gave a quick nod to the attendant and headed inside the building, gaze locked on his phone.
Ping! Ping! Ping!
It was too fucking early to be awake, let alone to deal with a barrage of texts.
Melanie. Becca. Layla.
Emma. Ashley. Amanda.
One after another, the texts flooded his screen, and he couldn’t put a face to any of these women.
He walked past the security desk. “Was Becca the blonde?” he murmured.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bergen. Is there something I can help you with?”
Brennen looked at the security guard through his mirrored aviators. “No, I’m fine.”
A total lie. He was not fine. Three weeks up at their mountain home, known to his family as the cottage, partying and fucking every ski bunny within a twenty-mile radius had left him exhausted and his phone blowing up with texts from women he didn’t care enough about to remember. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to sort the merry-go-round of pussy.
Some guys might feel remorse or even regret.
He didn’t.
Not one fucking ounce.
It wasn’t like they didn’t get something out of the deal. He was a Bergen. Colorado royalty. If a lady du jour happened to make it into the paper with him by her side or popped up on his Instagram feed, she became a damn social media influencer overnight, raking in six figures or more just for sucking his dick.
They used him, and he used them. He had no choice. Because when the party stopped, that’s when his mind would take over, and he’d remember what a sorry son of a bitch he really was.
Ping!
He got into the elevator and glanced at his phone.
New text, but it wasn’t from another gold digger.
Worse. His older brother.
Jasper: Dump the piece of ass and get to the office.
Brennen smirked and fired back. I left all the ass up at the cottage. Had to remind the maids to wear gloves. Things got a little out of hand.
Not even a second later…
Jasper: You have 5 minutes.
Brennen shook his head. I’m here, bro! Give me a little credit.
Jasper: You’ll get my respect when you earn it.
And�
�there it was. The last ten years of Bergen Brothers’ bullshit wrapped into one succinct text. Maybe his younger brother Camden had it right? He’d taken off for the Alps years ago. Last he’d heard, the youngest Bergen, with a net worth of nearly half a billion dollars, was in Switzerland running a ski lift in Saint Moritz. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d talked, really talked.
The elevator doors opened, and a receptionist straightened in her chair, arched her back, and pushed her tits out. “It’s nice to see you, Mr. Bergen. Your brother’s waiting for you.” She licked her lips.
Fucking women.
It wasn’t all her fault. Six-four. Build like a Greek god. He’d been the total package since he learned what the total package meant. Along with a physique that turned grown women into googly-eyed idiots, he had money and power. The fairer sex had been falling all over this trifecta for the better part of his thirty years.
“Hey…” he trailed off, entirely at a loss for her name.
“Nina,” she supplied, a slight pout to her moistened lips.
Had he fucked her, too? It had been ages since he’d been summoned to the top floor of the Bergen Building. Had this chick always been Jasper’s secretary? Fuck if he knew! He pushed the thought aside and continued toward his brother’s office when this Nina stood and gestured down the hall.
She touched his arm. A friendly enough tap, but he knew what she wanted. He pinned her with his steel-blue gaze, and she dropped her arm to her side.
The woman took a step back. “Your brother’s not here. Everyone is in your grandfather’s office, down the—”
“I know where my grandfather’s office is,” he shot back, striding down the hall without giving the pair of tits a second glance.
The muscles in his body tightened, and he willed himself not to ball his hands into fists.
As a boy, he’d run down this hall thousands of times. He glanced at the walls. Memorabilia from the fifty-year history of Bergen Mountain Sports covered every square inch. Photos of his grandmother cutting the ribbon for the opening of the first ski lift at the Bergen Mountain Resort. He and his brothers, rosy-cheeked and smiling after a day spent chasing each other through the triple black diamond runs, dodging trees at light speed. His father in a tux, skiing with his mother in his arms as he carried her down the hill from where they’d wed at the top of Bergen Mountain.
Man Fast: Bergen Brothers: Book One Page 2
