by Jo Grafford
“Thanks,” she mumbled when he dropped the pill in her palm. “Hey, you haven’t heard anything back from the Phantom yet, have you?” Please say yes.
“Not a word, cheri.” The empathy in his voice brought the sting of disappointment to the backs of her eyelids. “You going to be okay, doll? Anything else I can get you?”
“No, thanks. The medicine should kick in soon. If you’ll excuse me, I may go try out that king-sized bed in the back our stewardess was bragging about.” She fled the cabin, hating herself a little for abandoning his company so early in their trip. However, she desperately needed some time alone. To think. To sort through her mental exhaustion and frazzled emotions. To make sense of the discovery that the Phantom had become something more to her in recent days and weeks than the thorn in her side she’d previously considered him to be.
* * *
Unfortunately, the next nine hours of their flight didn’t provide much sleep or many answers. They flew through the night and landed in Anchorage in the early hours of the morning. From there, they were escorted by the same sweet stewardess to an awaiting helicopter. To Jovie’s dismay, Christian was more tenderly concerned and attentive than ever.
“How’s that poor noggin of yours?” He dipped his blonde head to bring them eye level while they angled their bodies into the frigid northern winds.
Her bangs blew across her eyes. He reached out, presumably to brush them away. Without thinking, she whipped her head away from him to avoid making physical contact. Ugh! I really, really need to say something to him soon. “Any news yet from our favorite Phantom?” she asked lightly.
“Negatory.” He sighed and dropped his hand.
They boarded the copter in silence and soon found themselves soaring over the choppy water of the Prince William Sound. A cluster of islands appeared in the distance. As they flew closer, she could see they were drenched in a blanket of whiteness.
Christian leaned around her to point out the window. “Eight of the islands form a nearly perfect circle around Blitzen Island, which rests in the middle. It’s the main island where the Welcome Center is located.”
Sounded like he’d all but swallowed their vacation brochure whole. “What about Dasher Island?” She tried not to think about how close they were sitting nor the way his shoulder was brushing against hers.
“A little to the northeast of Blitzen.”
He didn’t have to identify Dasher Island when they flew over it. The snow-capped peaks spoke for themselves. They were breathtaking, jutting in all their white glory against a morning sky streaked with reds, golds, and dusty purples.
“We’re here,” Jovie couldn’t resist announcing the obvious. What a treat it was to be able to take in the aerial view of the new slopes before landing!
Their pilot’s voice sounded over the PA system. “I’ll give you the nickel tour from the skies and set us down shortly afterwards.” He proceeded to point out the green circle and blue square slopes. Two of the former for beginners and three of the latter for everyday skiers who’d mastered the fundamentals. Most vacationers fell into these two categories.
She pretty much tuned out the rest of the pilot’s monologue until she caught sight of the first black diamond slope. “Oh, Christian! Look,” she breathed. It was huge, and the slope seemed to shoot straight up into the clouds. Excitement rolled in crazy little waves through her belly. If her first glance was anything close to accurate, the resort boasted at least one World Cup sized route for Alpine skiers. Why, this place could host their own competition if the owners wanted!
“To the east is our newly expanded amphitheater that seats 40,000,” their pilot announced.
She turned to Christian and mouthed, “Forty-thousand? Oh. Em. Gee.” Then there were the guest suites — three ultra-mod, high-rise structures that seemed to be comprised mostly of glass walls and spectacular views. The surrounding hillsides were dotted with individual villas of varying sizes and geometric shapes, all of which included edgy and curved glass walls facing the mountains.
“If you look ahead to the northwest, you’ll see our newly constructed black diamond and double black diamond slopes,” their pilot continued. “They’re not yet open to the public. There will be a special unveiling ceremony on Christmas Eve, hosted by none other than Dash Holliday, the son this island is named after. Huh!” The animated voice of their host lapsed into momentary silence. “That’s interesting,” he muttered in a low tone as if speaking to himself. “Well, folks, it looks like they’ve got an expert out there testing the new slopes this morning.”
Jovie frowned and met Christian’s surprised glare. I thought that expert was supposed to be me. I’m the celebrity endorsement. What in heaven’s name was happening to her exclusive getaway? Her working vacation with no paparazzi and no other interferences? Had the Hollidays decided to bring on a second endorser? Would she be forced to share the limelight?
He shook his head slightly at her. “We’ve got an iron-clad contract. I’ll get to the bottom of this as soon as we land, cheri.”
“Whoa! Did you see that?” Their pilot started to turn the helicopter. “I’ve never watched a man make a jump like that before in real life. Only on television. Here. I’ll bank right to give you a better view of the slope he’s on. It’s one of the new double black diamonds.”
Jovie stared in frozen silence as the skier in question approached what appeared to be a second jumping hill. Wait a sec! There were two jumping hills on the same slope? It was virtually unheard of outside the world of extreme skiing where thrill seekers did completely insane things…such as ski down the Grand Teton. Who in the world would deliberately build a route so treacherous in the middle of a honeymooner’s paradise? Why, without an out-run in which to properly slow down between jumps, that would mean the skier would be traveling at an inhuman speed by the time he reached the second jump. It was ill-advised and downright dangerous to build something like that.
The copter hovered lower over the lone skier, and her gaze landed on his unmistakably recognizable white helmet. “No,” she whispered. “It’s not possible.” But it was. Unless she was dreaming or hallucinating, it was the Phantom down there. His skis sliced through the freshly fallen snow, leaving a dusty white over-spray in his wake.
“It’s him, Christian. It’s really him.”
While her manager maintained a frigid silence, she pressed her hands to the glass pane and leaned in just in time to watch the Phantom launch himself from the second ramp. She caught her breath as his body tumbled into a crazy set of spirals. She’d watched many other jumpers before, but she’d never met anybody who could move like that. It was like watching magic in motion. Art in its purest form. Man against terrain in a gravity defying fete of strength and agility.
And engineering, for that matter. She understood the physics involved in building a state-of-the-art ski jump. There was the slope of the initial hill to consider, the length and rise of the ramp, and the landing area followed by the out-run. If built properly, the jumper’s trajectory would be nearly parallel to the landing slope, making it possible for a gentle and safe landing. However, in the case of a hill containing two jumping-off points, the skier would be traveling much faster than normal by the time he launched himself from the second ramp. A whole new set of calculations would’ve been required to construct the second out-run with any level of accuracy. The total hill length would have to be increased, and the out-run would have to be extended considerably to account for the greater speed.
Jovie watched with bated breath as the Phantom somehow managed to land on his skis. It was all she could do to hold in her protests when the helicopter banked left and proceeded onward to their resort building. She craned her neck and squinted to continue watching the Phantom, until he turned into a tiny white speck and faded into the mountainside.
Moments later, they landed on the roof of the second tallest resort building. A trio of bellhops rushed from a glassed-in kiosk to greet them, load their luggage on a gold cart
, and escort them to their suites. All three of the employees, two men and one woman, wore navy uniforms with a resort crest bearing a holly.
To Jovie’s surprise, Christian was placed several floors below her penthouse suite, which comprised the entire top floor. While he followed, grumbling, after one of the bellhops to his room, she explored her palatial accommodations. It boasted an enormous open floor plan with floor-to-ceiling windows and panoramic views. A crystal-encrusted wall in the great room framed a low-lit aquarium bobbing with jellyfish, and a marble topped coffee table overflowed with white roses.
The female bellhop lingered after the second male one departed. She inclined her head at Jovie. “Welcome to the Holliday Islands Resort, Miss Cyrus. My name is Mary.” Her heart-shaped face was wreathed in smiles as she gave a short toss of her curly, dark bob. “I’ll be your attendant during your stay here. I’m more than happy to pack and unpack, handle your dining and entertainment reservations, handle your personal shopping, as well as coordinate your laundry and dry cleaning service. I can also arrange catering for any entertaining you plan to do, that sort of thing.”
An attendant? The list of services she described sounded like a lot more than a maid. Jovie stared at the woman in wonder. As a championship athlete, she was far from poor. Her apartment in New York was worth over three million, and her investment portfolios amounted to twice that. But this! She gazed around her at the uber high-end artwork lining the walls. This was a whole new and different brand of wealth, and it was positively staggering.
“I, ah…thank you, Mary.”
“You’re most welcome, Miss Cyrus.” The attendant bent over the massive bowl of white roses to pluck out a small white envelope nestled there. Jovie had not noticed it hiding among the petals. “Mr. Holliday mentioned he was sending you an invitation for breakfast.” She smiled and extended the envelope to Jovie.
“Which Mr. Holliday?” she inquired cautiously. Apparently, there were ten of them, including the resort owner and his nine sons.
Mary bobbed her head up and down in understanding. “Mr. Warren Dasher Holliday,” she supplied. “He’s the son who owns and operates Dasher Island.”
I see. She tore open the small white envelope, more than a little wowed out by the thought of dining with a billionaire. Or the son of a billionaire, at least…
The note was handwritten in simple, yet elegant black ink.
Please join me for a champagne brunch at ten o’clock on the rooftop of the Baha Royale.
Yours, Dash Holliday
Wow! Jovie read the message a second time. It was direct yet debonaire. Sophisticated yet casually affectionate. “Wow,” she said softly. “He wants me to join him for brunch at the Baha Royale. Where is that?” She raised her puzzled gaze to Mary’s.
The attendant pointed. “It’s the next building over, the flagship building. Mr. Holliday stays there when he’s in town.”
When he’s in town? “You mean he doesn’t live here?” Jovie bit her lip when she realized how forward that sounded. “I apologize. That’s none of my business.”
Mary chuckled. “Not to worry, Miss Cyrus. It’s not a state secret. He and his staff spend most of their time in Aspen, where he owns and operates another ski resort.”
Another one? How did he find the time to do all that? Colorado wasn’t anywhere near Alaska. “What’s it called?” she asked curiously. “His other resort, I mean.”
“Les Trois.”
“You’re kidding!” Jovie wrinkled her nose. “I’ve actually stayed there before.” It was some celebratory event or another that Christian had arranged after winning one of her podiums.
“Small world, Miss Cyrus.” Mary’s tone was politely professional, a gentle reminder that she’d spent the last ten minutes engaging in small talk with the hired staff. “Would you care for me to deliver your RSVP to Mr. Holliday?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Miss Cyrus. Is there anything else I can do for you? I can help you unpack or have your dress pressed.”
A dress. Jovie mentally pounced on that clue. Apparently, I’m expected to wear a dress to this brunch. Good thing she’d brought a couple. One was a ballgown, probably a little too much for a meal like this. The other was a pinstripe business suit with a calf-length pencil skirt. Black silk. Her power suit, as Christian liked to call it. She’d packed a pair of Christian Loubouton peep-toed stilettos to go with it and a Milano silk blouse in the palest of blues.
* * *
Mary piddled around the penthouse while she dressed, fluffing a feather duster over a set of leather-bound volumes on a library shelf to remove the nonexistent dust. Jovie had never stayed in a more cleanly pristine set of rooms. She suspected the real reason Mary was dawdling was to escort her to the Baha Royale. She was correct.
The moment she made her appearance in the foyer, Mary hurried to join her. “We’ll take the skywalk, Miss Cyrus. It’s only one level down. Once I’m sure you know where you’re going, I’ll return to finish your unpacking.”
Jovie smoothed a hand over her flat middle. The skirt felt a little loose in the waistline. Had she lost weight again? “Listen, Mary, that’s really kind of you but completely unnecessary. I usually do my own unpacking. If there’s somewhere else you need to be…”
“No, ma’am,” Mary returned quickly. “I’m completely at your disposal.” She gave a self-deprecatory smile. “You might say, I come with the suite.”
You’re kidding, right? “You mean you’re going to…attend me throughout my entire stay?”
“Absolutely, Miss Cyrus. I promise I won’t get in your way. I can make myself practically invisible.”
Invisible! For some reason, that claim made her sad. “Sorry to disappoint you, Mary, but I’m generally not all that terrifying. You’ll likely find no reason to run and hide from me.” Or so I hope.
Mary’s smile returned. “You’re a very funny lady, Miss Cyrus.”
Jovie winked at her. “I have my moments. Alright, then. If you’ll show me the way…”
She discovered what Mary meant about being invisible the moment she stepped onto the rooftop of the Baha Royale. One moment Mary was at her side in the mirrored elevator, and the next moment she simply vanished.
She found herself standing in a climate controlled glass dome with panoramic views of the entire island. A table for two anchored the space. Covered with a white lace cloth and a tumble of pink and orange roses, it gleamed with crystal goblets and a set of white, gold-rimmed plates.
Jovie caught her breath. According to a florist friend of hers from college, pink roses signified admiration, elegance, and innocence; whereas orange blooms exuded fascination, passion, and desire. A more platonic color would have been yellow, or even peach. Did the colors of the roses mean anything? Did billionaires even recognize conventions like that? Or was a rose just a rose to them?
A movement at the end of the glass dome caught her eye, and a man in a dark charcoal suit appeared. He wore an indigo dress shirt with a silvery tie in a complicated looking twist. He wasn’t the tallest man she’d ever met or the broadest or the handsomest, yet there was something arresting about him. For one thing, he moved with the restless grace of a caged tiger. His stride hinted at a pent-up energy that wasn’t quite at home in a designer suit, though he wore the look well. He was well-groomed but fell something short of clean cut with a head full of carelessly tousled dark waves. His nose and cheekbones were sharply chiseled, yet his overall appearance skewed a bit to the rugged side beneath a dark brown goatee. As he strode her way, she detected the faint ridges of a scar running from his left earlobe to his chin. Probably the reason for his goatee.
“Jovie Cyrus. It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dash Holliday.” He held out a tanned hand that she immediately noted contained another imperfection. His right pinky was bent at the joint, as if it had been broken before. More than once.
She placed her hand in his and was thrilled to feel his warm, strong finger
s press against hers. Unlike Christian, he didn’t fawn or linger. He shook her hand and let go.
“I think we’ve met before.” She searched his dark assessing gaze for any sign of recognition.
His upper lip curled in amusement. “Ah. You remember. I wasn’t sure that you would.”
“I do.” She frowned as she tried to recall the details. “It was a charity ball several years ago. We spoke about…” Her voice grew thin and dwindled. It suddenly seemed too dark to broach the topic of their maternal losses. Both mothers wrenched prematurely from their lives by cancer.
“Our mutual love of skiing,” he finished smoothly.
“That’s right. You ski.” The moment the words burst from her, she flushed in embarrassment. “But of course you do. What am I saying? You own two ski resorts.” She gave a rueful chuckle, trying to think of something intelligent and interesting to say. Where is my brain? What is wrong with me? Normally, she was much better at chitchatting in social settings.
“Three, actually. I own three, though I’m more of a silent partner in the third one.”
Curiosity helped her recover her conversational abilities. “Here in Alaska, Aspen, and…”
“Finland. I’m an investment partner at the Rukatunturi. It’s best known for its—”
“Extensive cross country lanes. It’s one of my favorite off-season getaways. My manager has learned to book me way in advance, because…” She paused and chuckled. “And I’m totally babbling. Gosh! What can I say? I love skiing.”
He was grinning as widely as she was by now. “It’s okay. I get it. I was out on the slopes myself at sunup. It’s my favorite time of day to hit the hills.”
She nodded vehemently. “Mine, too. If it snowed the night before, you get to plow the first line through it. Plus, the sky is always a riot of colors in the morning. It’s so beautiful that it takes my breath away…” And I’m babbling again.
