by Kait Nolan
“Quite right. I’m the grown up, who is—” he checked his watch, “going to be very late for work.”
“You and me both,” she said.
Travis paused, his desire to reassert his chivalry apparently over-riding his internal clock. “Oh, can I give you a ride or something?”
“No, you go,” said Brandon stepping up to make his own effort at chivalry. “You’re already late. If the lady needs a lift, I’ll do it. I’m the one not on a time clock.” He offered the woman a smile. “It’s the least I can do.”
“I can vouch that he’s not a lunatic,” Travis told her. “And he’s had all his shots.”
“I’m even housebroken,” Brandon added.
The corner of her mouth quirked at that, but she shook her head. “I’ll provide my own lift, thanks, just as soon as my friend gets back with the keys.”
With a silent wave, Travis trudged toward the parking lot. Brandon’s attention was solidly on Miss Brown Eyes. “Then at least let me buy you a cup of coffee or cocoa while you wait.”
“Now that I’ll take you up on.”
He made an after you gesture toward the refreshment pavilion. As she walked, her attention immediately zeroed in on the phone.
“It’s not damaged, is it?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
“No. Battery’s nearly zapped, though.” A thread of anxiety laced her voice.
Tech addict on the verge of losing her fix? he wondered. “They don’t last as well in the cold.”
“Neither do I.” A shiver underscored the statement. He realized she looked half-frozen, a state of affairs certainly not improved by snowball assault.
“Well, I can do something about that, at least.” Brandon shrugged out of his parka and draped it around her shoulders.
She jolted. “I can’t take your coat.”
“One of us dressed for this weather,” he said, stepping up to the window. “Coffee or cocoa?”
“Cocoa,” she said, her face still fixed in a puzzled frown.
Brandon just smiled and ordered. After a moment, she shifted to slip her arms through the sleeves and zipped it closed. The lower half of her face disappeared behind the collar. As soon as she lowered her arms, her hands disappeared inside the sleeves. Damn, that was cute.
“Thank you.”
“I gather you didn’t expect to be out here today,” he said, carrying the drinks back to one of the picnic tables.
“Not for long.” She tugged off her mittens and wrapped slim fingers around the cup. “I came with a friend to meet her date and verify he wasn’t an axe murderer. But I forgot to get the keys before they hit the lift, so I’m waiting for her to get back to the bottom.”
“How long have you been waiting?”
“Going on two hours now.” She took a sip of her cocoa and hissed a little.
He lifted a brow as he tested his own drink and felt his taste buds die a fiery death. “I think you may have to consider the possibility that your friend didn’t get the message.”
Resigned, she sighed. “I’m afraid you may be right. She probably turned her phone off and didn’t get my texts.”
“Not much of a signal up top either. Either way, that leaves you late for work. I seriously don’t mind driving you in. There’s no sense in your boss being ticked at you for something that isn’t your fault.”
“The only boss that’ll be irritated is me. I don’t have a traditional eight to five job, so nobody’s waiting at an office for me to show up.”
“Really? Me either. I’m a graphic designer. What do you do?”
“I’m a book editor,” she said.
“Here? I thought all that took place in New York.”
“The lion’s share does,” she explained, “and I did my time in the trenches there. But with the rise of digital publishing houses, that’s less a necessity. My company’s parent office is actually in Denver, but I spend most of my time telecommuting from here. All of the fun, none of the traffic.”
With another scan of the slopes behind them, Isabelle tugged out her phone and checked the display. She gave a low curse.
“Dead?” he asked.
“As a doornail.”
“Look, my offer to drive you to wherever still stands.”
“You really don’t have to do that. I already exacted payback—which you were a really good sport about, by the way. The hot chocolate and loan of coat already put me in your debt.”
Brandon smirked, liking the sound of that.
“You look entirely too pleased by that idea,” she said, expression wary.
“Let’s just say I consider it a stroke of good fortune.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”
“You’re a helluva lot prettier than Travis.”
Her cheeks pinked from more than the cold, which completely undermined the stern look she shot him. “I get the feeling you’re a helluva lot more incorrigible.”
“Guilty,” he said, unrepentant. “Look, if you’re gonna be stuck here incommunicado and unable to keep working, you might as well have some fun. Take a snow day. With me.”
“You sound like Leah.”
“Leah sounds like a sensible woman. How about it? You said you owe me.”
“I don’t ski,” she said.
“There’s more to do in snow than ski,” said Brandon.
“You don’t even know me.”
“I’m Brandon. And you’re…?”
“Isabelle.”
“There. You’re Isabelle, the workaholic book editor. Now we’ve been properly introduced.”
Her exasperated sigh was punctuated by a half laugh. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
“Competition junkie and ex-lawyer,” he confirmed.
“Why would you want to spend the day with me?” She seemed well and truly baffled by the idea.
“Well, apart from the fact that you’re interesting, intelligent, and quite willing to dish out as good as you get—which I appreciate, by the way—you remind me of how I used to be, and I consider it a personal mission in life to save workaholics from themselves. Travis is a lost cause today, but you’re not. So, how ’bout it?”
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