by Allie Burton
“Except that’s not Jorge’s goal.” Michael hoped Parker’s scheming worked out for the best. “Jorge only cares about ratings. So will The Heights become famous or infamous?”
* * *
So much for his resolution to take the rest of the day off.
Michael clicked out of his skis, and set them in the rack with his poles. He’d been skiing a couple of hours when he’d received the text from Jorge, wanting to meet. He should’ve said no. Should’ve told him to wait until tomorrow. But knowing Jorge had spoken to Isabel pretending to be an engaged man on Saturday night, and hearing from others how devious the man was, Michael knew he’d worry until they’d met. Best to get this over.
Stomping the snow off his boots, he climbed the metal stairs and opened the door to the Slopeside Restaurant at the bottom of the ski hill. The blast of heat was a welcome greeting. He hadn’t skied in several years and he was rusty. So rusty he’d fallen several times. Maybe taking a break to meet with Jorge would save him from a broken leg, if not a broken soul. He’d heard rumors negotiating with the producer was dealing with Satan.
The Slopeside Restaurant and Bar had the same rustic atmosphere it had when he was a kid. Big wood pillars and beams. Antique ski equipment hanging on the walls. Large picture windows for the mountain views. A holiday atmosphere prevailed, with the vacationers discussing the trails they’d skied or the jumps they’d taken.
Spotting the producer, Michael moved in that direction, his heavy boots thudding. It felt weird heading to the bar. He’d never been old enough to drink when he’d lived here.
“Jorge.”
The man spared him a glance before taking a sip of scotch. “What can I get you?”
“Hot chocolate.” Michael slipped onto the vacant stool next to him. He wasn’t going to be friendly or act overly-enthusiastic. He wanted to know what the man was up to with his fake fiancée.
“You want marshmallows with that, big guy?” Jorge nudged with his elbow.
“I’ll take it straight like bad news.” Nodding to the bartender, Michael focused on the producer. “What do you want on my day off?”
Jorge ran a finger around the edge of the short scotch glass. “I’ve reviewed the rough cuts of what we’ve filmed so far, and there’s something missing.”
Good. If the network didn’t think this reality show would be a hit he’d never be on display, his staff members wouldn’t be taken advantage of, and he’d get out of the contract.
Maybe today’s news wouldn’t be so bad.
A picture of stressed-out Parker flashed in his mind. The guy’s family heritage was on the line. The lodge had been in his family for four generations. Even if the show was cancelled, Michael would stay for a while to help the restaurant. L.A. would always be there.
Michael shifted on the bar stool. “Didn’t you stir the pot with the unscheduled reviewer showing up?”
Jorge’s thin smile appeared cruel. “The last-minute surprise definitely added tension to your staff, but there was no yelling or fighting.”
“I’m a professional and run a professional kitchen.”
Unlike Jorge. The man didn’t believe any trick too low. The rumors about every show the producer had worked on had swirled once Michael had signed onto the mysterious reality show. He’d finally met Jorge right before coming to Castle Ridge.
“A little too professional.” His smirk belittled the compliment. He swung on his bar stool to face Michael. “I want you to flirt with the gorgeous sous chef.”
Jealousy hit first in the gut. Jorge shouldn’t be ogling Isabel. Then, the pain in Michael’s stomach cramped because he’d love to flirt with her, except she was off limits for several reasons. She was his employee, and he’d set a strict rule about staff dating each other for this one specific reason: no drama. He didn’t want to get involved with anyone in town because he was leaving. Plus, Isabel was his sister’s friend. If he hurt her, Danielle would be mad. One more thing to cause tension between him and his sister.
After kissing Isabel last night, he needed to stay as far from her as possible. Especially in the kitchen. “No.”
“Why not? She’s hot.” The leer on Jorge’s face had Michael fisting the scalding cup of hot chocolate in his hand. “Very photogenic.”
Every muscle in his body clutched and tightened. His blood steamed like the hot chocolate in front of him. The chocolatey scent should’ve soothed, instead it added to his blazing temper.
Flexing his hand around the cup, he tried to cool his anger. He clenched and unclenched his tight jaw. “Leave Isabel out of this.”
He didn’t want her displayed and taken advantage of. He refused to let her make a fool of herself. The kiss last night, although the best ever, had to be their last. If the car horn hadn’t interrupted, he’d been ready to strip her down right there. Or rush to her house. What if Jorge or one of his crew had been in the car?
“We need something to spice up the show.” He snapped his fingers, bringing Michael’s attention to him. “A hot affair in front of the cameras would be just the thing.”
He glared at the polished wood of the bar, not wanting to give any hint of his real emotions. “No. You’re not going to use my pretend personal life to prop up your show.”
“So make the relationship not pretend.”
“Isabel and I have a strictly professional relationship.” He clipped his words.
Jorge contorted his lips into a twisted grin. “Didn’t look very professional when you were massaging her foot.”
The statement stupefied Michael for a second. Rage bubbled and boiled in his bloodstream. His hand crushed the paper cup. Hot chocolate scalded his hand. Another scar he’d learn to live with. He’d known about the cameras in the kitchen and office; now he had to wonder where else cameras were hidden. “Where else do you have cameras?”
“We have cameras everywhere related to the kitchen.” Jorge passed paper napkins casually, as if his opponent crushing a cup was nothing new. “Kitchen, kitchen office. Temporary cameras in the restaurant, if we have customer approval. You know the drill. Gotta cover all the angles.”
Taking the napkins, Michael wiped off the liquid, noting the redness of his skin from where it burned. He’d been charred by hot chocolate and by the producer. Gritting his teeth, he spat, “My hotel room?”
“That would be illegal.” Jorge sipped at his scotch. Knowing him, if he could’ve gotten away with it, he would put secret cameras next to the bed.
Michael crammed the wet napkins into the remnants of the cup. “Hotel workout facility?”
“Only the time you gave permission. Parker wouldn’t allow it.”
“At least he has some sense.”
“The man is desperate.” Jorge’s voice swam with satisfaction. He’d taken advantage of the financial situation at the lodge.
Michael crushed the already collapsed cup. He couldn’t show how the hotel’s situation affected him. He couldn’t let Jorge know he cared.
“Speaking of affairs…” Jorge used his empty glass to point down the hall.
Turning his head, Michael spotted Isabel with three male ski patrol members. She wore tight, dark-pink ski pants, showing off her curves. Her unzipped ski jacket showed a pale pink sweater underneath. And she didn’t clomp when she walked in the heavy ski boots.
Her sweet laughter drifted toward him and sucked him under. She smiled at one of the guys dressed in the orange-red uniform and rubbed a hand across his chin, even though the man wore helmet and goggles.
Everything inside Michael tightened. He saw the tableau through a lens of foggy green. The lens distorted the image, but one thing was clear. Maybe the kiss he’d shared with Isabel hadn’t been special to her.
He’d told her to find someone else to kiss, and she had. The thought rankled. This time she listened to his instructions.
The ski patrol guy said something, and she smiled again. The smile spiked through Michael’s heart. She gave the guy a hug, before waving goodbye to the
trio of admirers. The scenario mimicked memories of her in high school. She’d hang out by his locker, waiting for her dates. She’d bring a number of guys with her when she picked up his sister. She’d date one guy Friday after school and a different guy Friday night, and somehow always bumped into him.
His chest ached and he swiveled to face the bar. Spying the liquor bottles on the shelf, he realized he should’ve asked for something stronger. Isabel was still fun and flirty. He’d enjoyed that about her, but it also hurt. Then, and now. He shoved the hurt away. She couldn’t matter in that way to him. Was there someone special on the ski patrol who was the reason why she didn’t want to leave Castle Ridge?
Jorge set his glass down on the bar with a solid thunk. “If that guy’s tapping her, you could definitely get in her pants, too.”
Michael grabbed Jorge’s sweater between two itchy fists. Fists wanting to punch the producer and not just dress him down. “Don’t talk about her that way.”
A perverted-satisfied smile crossed his face. “There’s the drama I need.”
Dropping the producer’s sweater, Michael unclenched his hands. He gritted his teeth. “I don’t allow sexual relationships between my kitchen staff.”
Not during the filming of the reality show anyhow. Normally, he didn’t care.
“What about Tony and Maria?”
Michael had an inkling something was going on between the pair. The couple never touched and barely spoke and avoided each other. Which was what made their interchanges stand out in his mind. Who else knew of their relationship? Isabel?
As long as the couple wasn’t obvious, he wouldn’t call them out. That way no one would be embarrassed. “I won’t have an affair or a flirtation with one of my staff to raise ratings.”
“Fine.” Jorge agreed too easily. “Good thing I’ve put together another plan to raise ratings.”
Trembles rocked Michael’s equilibrium. The producer’s plan meant more fires to put out in the future.
Chapter Thirteen
Isabel’s gaze zeroed in on Michael sitting at the bar, and her heart melted. She’d skied all morning with her brother, and had lunch with him and his ski patrol buddies. Her brother’s friends were adventurous, fun, friendly, and hot single men. And even though Dax’s friends had flirted, she hadn’t been interested in any of them.
Maybe because of the sensual kiss she’d shared with Michael last night. Her melting heart froze like the icicles hanging from the rooftop outside. Dripping with pain instead of water.
A kiss so toe-curling and soul-searching, she’d planned to invite him inside her house. A kiss she continued to think about today. And yet, when they’d been interrupted by the car horn, he’d rejected her.
Her glance drew back, unable to stop her curiosity about him sitting with the not-so-nice man from the restaurant the other night. Yesterday, he’d asked about the man as if he didn’t know the stranger, and yet, here he sat at the ski bar with him at lunch time. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Michael wore black ski pants and a deep-blue sweater, and he looked as good as when he wore his chef’s coat. A gray ski jacket hung from the chair, and a helmet with goggles sat beside him on the bar.
The other man wore black leather pants and a pastel sweater, with gold chains dangling around his neck. He stuck out like a vegetarian in a burger hut.
Michael nodded to the man and grabbed his coat and helmet. He stomped to her. His expression wasn’t friendly, more suspicious. “What’re you doing here?”
“Skiing like everyone else.” She didn’t like how he’d asked the question. If anyone should be suspicious, it should be her. “Well, except for your friend at the bar. Who’s he?”
“Who? That guy?”
“Yes.” Clearly, there was only one guy she could be referring to. “He was in the restaurant Saturday night with his fiancée, and you asked about him at Danielle’s.”
“Did I?” Michael’s evasive question made him appear more guilty.
Isabel pushed harder. “Do you know him?”
“That guy?” He avoided her gaze. “Just someone who sat next to me.”
His words didn’t ring true and the drip of pain changed to a pulsating beat of irritation. She didn’t care about some man who was getting married at the lodge. She did care Michael lied. She’d thought they were friends, if nothing else.
“It’s not my business if you keep secrets.” She was more interested in finding out why he’d reacted so coldly last night.
“Are you heading to the slopes?” His question took her off guard.
“Yes.”
“I was going to go back out for a while. Do you want to go together?”
Weren’t they mad at each other? “I don’t know.”
“Where are your ski patrol buddies?” His derogative tone almost sounded jealous.
Yet, he’d told her to find someone else to kiss. Her confusion doubled. “They had to go on duty. I was going to ski alone.”
“You’re not supposed to ski alone.” He glanced toward the man sitting at the bar again. Watching. “Ski with me. Please.”
Her ski boots seemed less heavy walking out of the building with Michael. The frigid breeze hit her cheeks, and yet, she didn’t feel the cold. Instead, she felt warm all over. Michael wanted to ski with her. Yet, she couldn’t let him get away with acting like he wanted to be with her and then pushing her away.
“Are you sure you want to ski with me? Or are you going to strap on your skis and take off without me?”
“I’ll be the one following you down the slopes.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I’m sorry about last night.” He took her gloved hand. “Can we just have fun?”
She wanted to have a fun day. “Sure.”
“If I don’t break a leg. I haven’t skied in several years.” He set his skis on the snow and stepped into the bindings.
“It’s like baking a cake.” She cleared off the bottom of her boots and snapped on her skis. “Besides, we were on the same ski team. I find it hard to believe you’ve lost your skills.”
“Maybe not all of them.” His teasing grin sounded sexual, as if he wasn’t talking about skiing. Or was that her twisted interpretation?
She tugged on her ski mask to cover her most-likely red cheeks. She didn’t know what to expect from him. Friends? Colleagues? But not lovers?
“Ready?”
With a nod, they were off.
Their skis swished over the groomed snow. The majestic view of the snowcapped mountains was a postcard. Most views from Castle Ridge could appear in a tourist book, which was why she loved living in the town. She appreciated the beauty. She’d left for several years, always knowing she’d return. Did Michael miss the fresh, mountain air and evergreen trees?
He’d told his sister he’d never return to Castle Ridge, and yet, here he was. Could his mind be changed? Sucking in a large breath, she let the scents settle her confusion. She couldn’t read his mind.
He skied with a natural and athletic grace. His shoulders swayed and his hips danced, and she wondered what it would be like to make love with him. She recognized his body movements from when they were on ski team together. Obviously, she’d watched him frequently with a horny teenage girl’s fascination. She had womanly needs now, and knew he could satisfy them. If only she could get him to agree. Would she be happy with a single jump in Michael’s bed?
She kept pace behind him, enjoying the view on several levels. The mountains, the trees, his backside. He belonged here, fit into the scenery and the town.
They swished to a stop at the bottom of the chairlift. Removing her pole straps, she inched forward, glowing inside. She enjoyed skiing, especially with him. Could she show him this was meant to be? That they were meant to be?
The chair swung around and scooped them up and they were lifted high. Her stomach dipped for a second, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the motion of the chair, or being beside him.
“And you could easily keep up.” His white teeth gleamed with an easy-going smile.
Since returning, this was the most relaxed she’d seen him. In the kitchen, he was always tense and watching. This Michael reminded her of when they were young, playful, and happy.
“I don’t ski as much as I used to, even though I love to get out on the slopes.” An image of her resume being emailed to several head chef opening positions cut through her happy state. She’d miss this, if she got a job out of Colorado. She’d miss Michael. But she also needed to prove her worth and couldn’t wait around.
“Why doesn’t my sister go skiing with you?” The concern in his voice tugged.
“I think it made her sad to ski without Luke.” Isabel understood, after listening to Danielle for years, that when a woman connected so deeply with a man and lost him, that it was difficult to enjoy things they’d shared together. The melancholy thought made Isabel’s future without Michael seep through her mind. If she accepted another position, or if he went back to L.A., she’d experience everything differently. Alone. “And I know Danielle was terrified when Bri started skiing and became so good.”
“Bri is a remarkable skier.” Concern turned to pride. He cared deeply about his sister and niece. And yet, he’d stayed away for years. Why?
Could he care about her that way? Isabel couldn’t overthink things. They were out for a fun afternoon of skiing. It was a start.
“Bri will probably be better than her father.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “And her uncle.”
He chuckled. “As long as Bri doesn’t become a better chef than me I’m okay.”
“With your sister teaching her how to cook?” Isabel made a face. “Not a chance.”
He laughed and the deep sound rumbled through her chest fueling desire. “I’ll have to teach Bri how to cook.”
“Who taught you?” Isabel remembered Michael always had an interest in food, mostly eating it. “Your mom died when you were in high school and your dad wasn’t the cooking type.”
