by Jo Grafford
Great. So the situation you created has to become my personal emergency. Some things never change. “Fine.” His mind raced over the logistics. “I’ll have Bull draw me up a list of championship skiers to interview.” Dash still fully intended to put his executive assistant on the case to make sure there wasn’t something more serious going on with his father than an overzealous construction project.
“Already done,” Gordon Holliday assured quickly. “I’ve narrowed it down to three names: Lindsey Vonn, Anja Pärson, and Jovie Cyrus. All you need to do is pick one.”
Jovie Cyrus? He held in a surprised chuckle. What were the odds? Inviting her to the Holliday Islands Resort would provide the perfect venue for their upcoming encounter. A location well off the beaten path, a highly secure getaway where he could guarantee her safety. There would be no party crashers, no unwanted paparazzi, no mile long line of groupies… If he played his cards right and pitched the place properly, she might very well jump at the opportunity to visit the resort on the merits of the endorsement alone.
“All females on that wishlist of yours, eh?” he teased. “Guess there are no decent male skiers anywhere in the world these days?”
His father made a scoffing sound. “What can I say? I run a honeymooners’ paradise, son. Pictures of hot chicks sell more magazine centerfolds.”
“Jovie Cyrus it is.” His brain churned over the possibilities of how to best stage his unveiling of the Phantom to her. The endorsement gig would buy him a little more time. While she was busy negotiating contracts with his father and planning her trip to Alaska, he could already have boots on the ground designing the perfect meet-up upon her arrival.
“So Jovie Cyrus? You didn’t even have to think about it, did you? She’s young, beautiful…” Gordon Holliday gave a knowing chuckle.
“I’m thirty-eight,” he reminded dryly. “Everyone is young compared to me.”
“Truth!” his sire agreed with a groan. “Let me just hang up already before you make me feel any older.”
“Ha!” he scoffed. “You’re like a bottle of fine whiskey, Pops. The kind that only gets better with age.”
“I’m not sure who you’re trying to make feel better, me or you?” his father sighed.
“Not me,” Dash assured cheerfully. “I feel as fine as that mug of Dark Ivory I have coming up the elevator any second now.” He had zero complaints. He ran a successful ski resort in Aspen, an equally profitable gig as an extreme skier and YouTube entertainer, was wealthy in his own right, but had a billionaire trust fund as a safety net if anything went south. He had the world’s finest cuisine and entertainment at his fingertips, one of the fastest helicopters in which to jet around the country, plenty of beautiful women to wine and dine along the way… Yep, he was doing just fine. There truly wasn’t one thing he wished to change about his life. No emotional strings, no drama, no long-term commitments outside of his investment portfolios…
A snort sounded over the line. “That’s because you’re on the thirty-something end of the spectrum, whereas I’m the one pushing sixty here.”
“Like fine whiskey, Pops.” He drawled out the reminder.
“If you say so,” his elder snapped, though there was a note of affection even in his snapping. “Look, I’m going to have my staff contact Jovie’s business manager today.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Dash grinned across the studio at Bull, who was making no pretense of hiding the fact he was eavesdropping on their conversation. He covered the mouthpiece of his phone “Keep searching for dirt on Laurent,” he commanded at a loud whisper, “but you can hold off on making that call.”
Gordon Holliday ended their conversation, leaving Dash in a whistling mood.
“Let me guess.” Bull rolled his eyes. “You’ve somehow roped Daddy-O into doing all your dirty work for you.”
“Who me?” Dash shot him an innocent look. “Hey, this was all his idea.” Hands in the pockets of his trousers, he paced the teak floor in front of the wall of glass which overlooked the city. “He’s the one who called to summon me home for Christmas. He’s the one asking for help securing a celebrity endorsement for the new set of slopes he just built on my island.”
“A new set of slopes?” Bull threw up his hands with a sound of extreme annoyance. “The stuff you billionaires have to fret about. Most dads buy their sons leather wallets for Christmas. Or video games. Maybe a commemorative ornament for playing a season of soccer or rugby.” He shook his head and snorted. “But, no. You get more ski slopes on a private island named after…oh, yeah. You. Leave it to your dad to one-up the rest of humanity.”
Dash waited until his best friend and business partner simmered down a few degrees. “They’re black diamond and trick slopes,” he offered in a low, suggestive voice.
Bull slowly spun around in his office chair. “You serious?” A grin settled on his hard mouth which slowly widened in gleeful anticipation. “Don’t mess with me, bro.”
“Not this time.” Dash frowned in concern as he replayed the conversation in his head. “It was almost like my father was worried I wouldn’t come home for Christmas, which doesn’t made any sense. I come home every year for the holidays. He knows that. Yet the whole time we were talking I felt like he was dangling the slopes and Jovie’s endorsement over my head to reel me in.”
Bull expelled a noisy breath. “Wish someone would reel me with a new ski slope and a hot woman.” He shook his head. “Some guys have all the luck.”
Dash ignored his top manager’s grousing, knowing the man wasn’t exactly hurting for cash or attention from members of the opposite sex. He paid him well enough to live just about any way he pleased. The fact that Bull chose to remain by his side, despite those facts, meant the world to him.
“I’m genuinely concerned about him, Bull. Something about our whole conversation felt a little off. Like there may be more going on than he’s telling me.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. It was getting late, so his evening shadow was getting more pronounced. “Just hope it’s not his health.” All sorts of less than desirable things could happen to a man nearing sixty. Blood pressure issues, thyroid problems, elevated cholesterol and triglycerides… Even billionaires didn’t get to dodge the natural aging process and all the “fun” things that sometimes accompanied it.
“Aw, shucks!” Bull shot to his feet. “Want me to put Serena on it first thing in the morning? She’s an absolute bloodhound when it comes to ferreting things out.”
“Good idea.” Serena Sajovic was the glue that kept the day-to-day affairs of their office running. A former P.I., she had contacts in places most people wouldn’t dream of having contacts. She would likely know before the end of the day if there was something going on in Alaska that Dash needed to be worried about.
“There’s something else we need to consider.” He faced his operations manager, slapping a fist into his hand. “My father’s a cagey fellow. If he’s not ill, then he’s up to something. Which means we need to have a contingency for our contingencies in our dealings with him.”
The elevator dinged its arrival. He strode across the room just as the doors slid open. “There you are, Dr. Batra.” He reached for his steaming mug of coffee. “Black Ivory, extra black,” he sighed. “I’m afraid I’m going to need it. We all are.”
“Why? What did I miss?” Raj demanded. His dark wavy head spun between Bull and Dash.
Bull jogged across the room to claim his Jamaican Blue. “Some days I’m at a real risk of starting to like you, Raj, especially when you come bearing coffee.”
Their chief IT guru raised his brows. “Thanks, I think. Seriously, though. What did I miss?”
“What you missed,” Dash supplied mildly, “is a belated albeit monumental life lesson.”
“Oh?” Raj’s voice dripped with humor and sarcasm. “Sounds real exciting. Am I the only one jumping up and down inside my head?”
“Yep. You’re the only one.” Bull was so deep in his coffee mug that his voice sounded mu
ffled. And bored.
Dash grinned at them. “If I’ve learned anything in my adult life, it’s that Gordon Holliday is one man I should always strive to stay a step or two ahead of.” He nodded decidedly. “And the only way I can do that this time is by heading to Alaska ahead of schedule. Catch him off guard a little.” He pivoted on the heels of his leather oxford Salvatore Ferragamos to face them. “How do you two chuckleheads feel about going wheels up in the morning?”
“I’m fine with it.” Raj’s rapid-fire agreement came as no great surprise. He was a complete egghead with a nonexistent social life. “But Serena won’t be too thrilled. I think her boyfriend is planning something for their four month anniversary.”
Bull nearly spewed his mouthful of coffee. “Shoot!” He swallowed hard. “The way I see it, we’ll be doing her a favor. That guy is way short of male mojo or something. I mean, who celebrates their four month anniversary, anyways?” He swung his large head from side to side in disgust. “Is that even a thing?”
Dash agreed wholeheartedly with Bull’s assessment of the man their executive assistant was dating, but Raj held up a finger. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and suggest it starts with a relationship that lasts four months. Something you wouldn’t know anything about. Player!” he added in a loud, scathing whisper.
“Hey, now.” Bull swiped a piece of paper from his desk, wadded it, and tossed it in Raj’s direction. “Look who’s talking. That permanent computer glare on your spectacles doesn’t exactly make you chick magnet material.”
“You sure about that?” Raj’s hands flew to his chest in mock innocence. “Last time I checked, I was the only married man in the room.”
“You’re married?” Dash and Bull roared in unison, rounding on him in shock.
“What the—?” Bull’s hazel-green eyes widened as if he was completely gobsmacked.
“No, but the look on your faces just made my day, my month, my year!” Raj chortled. When their shocked expressions didn’t immediately fade, he bristled. “Oh, come on! It’s possible.”
“In your dreams, bro.” Bull gulped down the rest of his coffee. “We’re the singlest single men who’ve ever been single.” He didn’t sound too put out by the notion.
Dash silently agreed. They had a good thing going in Aspen. If any of them became entangled in a serious relationship, it could put everything at risk they’d worked so hard to build together.
Chapter 3: The Encounter
Jovie
Jovie paced the interior of the gorgeous private jet. It boasted creamy Corinthian leather and chrome furnishings, unlimited wifi, two flat screen televisions, a stunning collection of crystal glasses and plates, and a bottomless tap of fine wine. What was even more extravagant was the fact she and Christian had it all to themselves. Gordon Holliday, billionaire owner of the Holliday Islands Resort, had sent the aircraft and all its staff to fetch her and her manager straight from the slopes of the Riksgränsen Resort.
Must be nice to own a fleet of private planes with pilots on the ready to do your bidding.
They’d been airborne for six hours, if she didn’t count their quickie fuel stop in Iceland, and already she felt like a caged animal. Longing to be back on the snowcapped mountains of northern Sweden, she paused in front of one of the wide, curved television screens. Since they weren’t watching a movie at the moment, it was scrolling through scenes of the resort. PR fluff, as Christian liked to call it. Snapshots and rolling footage of the nine islands on the resort which, interestingly enough, were named after Santa’s reindeer.
“What are we doing here, Christian?” The invitation to visit a resort ranked by reviewers as a “honeymooners’ paradise” had come seemingly out of nowhere. “I mean, really?”
“We’re taking a working vacation, cheri, just like you asked me to arrange for you,” he returned smoothly, patting the sumptuous leather recliner next to his. “Now, sit. The hot chocolate our stunning stewardess just served is divine. You should try it.”
“Tell me more about the endorsement.” She waved her hands in frustration at him. “I still don’t understand how I’ll be posing for a commercial without any hounding from the paparazzi.”
“It’s the resort’s private film crew,” he supplied smoothly. “No press. I have it in writing. Your contract specifically states your endorsement of their newly constructed ski slopes cannot and will not go live until after the holidays. Voila! Making it the perfect getaway for my favorite celebrity athlete.” He waved his mug at her. “You really should order one of these for yourself. I can taste Swiss chocolate — dark, if I was a betting man — and real cream with overtones of vanilla and cinnamon.”
She peered into the mug he held out to her. “What’s that on top?”
He chuckled. “It’s a reindeer etched in the cream, or was before I gobbled up half my drink. Nice touch, eh?”
She nodded, grimacing ruefully. Everything related to the Holliday Islands Resort so far had been a nice touch — the fully staffed private jet, the five star menu, the imported Italian wine, not to mention her upcoming all-expense paid vacation to Dasher Island where she would be allowed to stay “as long as she wished.” Mr. Holliday was comping her travel expenses, the cost of her suite (which apparently would be overlooking the new ski slopes), her dining and beverage tab, everything. He was even providing a generous stipend for shopping at his exclusive lineup of boutiques on Donner Island (signature scents, chocolate and tea from around the world, designer labels), and all of that was in addition to the staggering six-figure sum for the endorsement, itself.
“What’s the catch?” she grumbled beneath her breath. In her line of business, there was always a catch… a pro quid quo. Nobody ever gave something for nothing, which was why her gut was waving a dozen red flags over Gordon Holliday’s overly extravagant offer. This was about something more than her endorsement of his new slopes. It had to be. He wanted something else from her. As sure as her name was Jovie Cyrus, he was going to ask a favor before her vacation was over.
Her mind ran over the exhaustive number of possibilities. A charity event, perhaps? Her name would draw plenty of attention to such a project. Or maybe he wanted to make her the face of some new line of athletic clothing or equipment. Both were equally plausible scenarios.
“Why me?” she demanded for the hundredth time that day. “There had to have been other names on Mr. Holliday’s wish list of champions. Athletes much more accomplished than me.” Other than the faint memory of meeting one of his sons a few years back at a cancer charity event, she could claim no connection to the prestigious Hollidays. Had someone recommended her to them? If so, who?
Christian arched one sandy brow at her. “Twenty-nine World Cup podiums are no small thing, cheri.”
“I know, but—”
“You’re also young and beautiful, a rising starlet. If you were a resort owner, who would you prefer posing on your state-of-the-art slopes in your latest ad campaign, mon ami? An aging athlete with reconstructed knees or an equally well-known younger version with killer legs, a complexion that requires no makeup whatsoever, and—”
“Oh, stop already! I get it…I guess.” Jovie flopped into the nearest recliner. Maybe it’s just the stress talking. Maybe I’m overthinking this.
“Relax.” Christian reached across the armrest to brush his fingers across the top of her hand. “I’ve got your back, cheri. Always have. Always will.”
She stiffened at the change in his voice. Oh, no! Not that again. Her manager was growing less and less subtle in his attempts to alter their relationship from all-business to something more intimate. I can’t deal with this right now. I just can’t.
She withdrew her hand, pretending to tighten the tie on her shoulder-length ponytail. “I think I’ll try that hot chocolate, after all,” she announced with false brightness. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Christian’s million-dollar smile slip; but all he did was push the button on his armrest to alert the stewardess that her services
were needed again.
He jovially ordered her beverage for her, ever the suave and perfect gentleman. Guilt tightened her throat, forcing her to set the steaming drink in her cupholder when it arrived. It made her heart ache a little to know that sometime soon she was going to have to clear the air between them, to make it clear she had no intention of dating him. It was too bad, really. They made such a great team, professionally. In addition to that, they were such wonderful friends. It was just that…
He’s not the Phantom. She sat up straighter in her seat. Oh, dear heavens! That can’t be the reason. But it was. The truth smacked her square on the nose. I’m crushing on a guy I’ve never met. On a nameless, faceless creature in a YouTube video. Well, technically he was in lots of YouTube videos. I’ve completely lost my mind. She leaned on the armrest farthest away from Christian and pressed a hand over her eyes, trying to muffle a groan of self-disgust. I have a perfectly decent, wildly intelligent, really good-looking guy sitting to my left — one who’s totally into me — and all I can think about is some thrill seeker wearing a white helmet and issuing challenge after challenge to me in his super sexy voice… I’m so doomed!
“Jovie?” Christian’s voice was anxious. “What is it? Are you having another one of your migraines?”
She nodded to acknowledge the lie, without removing her hand from her eyes. She couldn’t face Christian right now. Her emotions were too raw. She finally understood why she’d been agitated all day. All week, for that matter. It wasn’t just because she was mentally and emotionally exhausted from a brutally competitive season. Nor was it a simple case of cabin fever. It was because she’d not heard back from the Phantom after the brazen challenge she’d issued him days ago on video. The footage had gone viral on several social media sites, but she’d received nothing in return. Nothing but crickets.
“Here. I brought an extra bottle of your pain meds.” It was the one he kept on hand, since she was always forgetting to pack her regular supply. She held out her hand while he rustled around in his briefcase.
