by R. Holmes
“What the hell is that awful smell?” I hear a high-pitched whine from the fence that runs between our property and the resort.
Gramps and I both look up to see none other than the traitor herself standing at the fence, trying to peer over the top at us. It’s almost as tall as her but I see her eyes, dark and demure, peeping over the top.
“Fuck me,” I mutter and Gramps laughs.
We walk over to the fence and Gramps greets Freya.
“Howdy, can I help you ma’am?”
“I’m sorry, but the stench. I was out here arranging some chairs for our bonfire, and I couldn’t help but smell.” Her nose wrinkles in distaste.
“Sorry about that, back here are the stalls where Saint Nick is.” He gestures toward the donkey.
“A donkey?” Freya asks, eyes wide.
“Yes ma’am. He likes resident reindeer, though.” Gramps winks at her.
“You dress him up?” Light fills her blue eyes. “That’s so cute!”
“You hear that, Saint? She thinks you’re cute.” Gramps chuckles and turns back to Freya. “You’ll have to see him when he’s all dressed up.”
Stop being so nice to the enemy Gramps!
“Freya,” I say curtly.
Her eyes turn to mine and a scowl replaces the smirk on her face. “Finn.”
“Well, I see you two have met.” Gramps grins.
Freya shoots daggers my way with her eyes, which I return with daggers of my own.
“I’ll leave you to it, I’ve got to get some of those cookies your Grams was working on. Nice to meet you, Freya.”
She smiles at him, a genuine one that was wide and bright enough to almost knock me on my ass.
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Mayberry!” She waves as he walks away. Once he’s gone, she squints at me. “Wish I could say the same for you, Finn.”
“Go back to your fancy resort and leave the real work to me, traitor. Shouldn’t you be practicing getting your hands dirty? I know you’re not used to having to do things yourself.”
“Ugh!” She groans. “You are impossible. I’ll see you at the competition. And you know, you really shouldn’t underestimate females, that’s sexist you ass!”
She marches away and my eyes watch her ass with each stomp she makes. Fuck me, she’s got a great ass, but her mouth...
This is going to be one long ass winter.
The Jingle Wars tree picking challenge is in less than a week and a half, but I don’t have time to wait around for it. There’s so much I want to do with the resort to drive up bookings now.
“Keep the ideas coming,” I say to the group gathered for our meeting, tapping the bluetooth pen on the iPad Pro in my lap where I’m jotting down notes for our marketing and content creation plan for the month. “I love where we’re going with this.”
It’s a new routine I’m instating, getting the Alpine staff involved for fresh ideas and authentic stories for our brand message. We’re all seated around a crackling fire pit on the terrace down the hill from the main resort building. The one close to the fence line where I met Mr. Mayberry and his donkey last night
And Finn.
My grip tightens on the pen for a moment. Breathe, sis. I blow out slowly, focusing on the sharp snapping and popping of the glowing logs. Between the warmth emanating from the fire and the maroon plaid wool poncho wrapped around me, I’m comfortably cozy in the Montana chill.
“We could do a drone following the instructors down the runs,” one of the senior snowboarding teachers suggests. “Show off the runs and the classes.”
I snap my fingers and point at him with enthusiasm. “Perfect! Do five clips, we’ll drop one a week to drive up the hype for people who want to be just as badass on the slopes. And someone make sure we have a drone on hand. Do y’all know how to film as you go or do we need a film crew?”
“Bet your fancy staff love being bossed around like that, Princess.”
That deep, raspy voice wipes the energetic smile from my face. Finn. How long has he been eavesdropping on us?
With my eyes slitted, I crane my neck around, finding him leaning casually against the fence post while he absently strokes the soft looking fur between his donkey’s ears.
The adorable donkey is dressed up with a red blanket trimmed in white and green felt reindeer antlers attached to his head.
Fuck. Saint Nick looks so damn cute! My fingers twitch for my phone to take a picture. I can’t, though. Finn would know he won in his stupid pissing contest against me if I stooped to fawning over his donkey.
He feeds the donkey an apple slice he cut from the shiny red fruit he’s holding with a pocket knife, then carves off another piece for himself, eating it right off the blade with his eyes locked on me.
Oh, Santa freaking baby, how is even that small gesture sexy? I don’t know, but it is.
His dark hair is even messier today, unruly ends curling around his ears as he drags a hand through it. The whole look he’s got going on from his tan canvas coat to his beaten up leather boots does unfair things to my insides.
“I’m not bossy,” I snap once I break myself free of the stupid Finn-induced drool fest.
Bad brain. No more lumberjack lusting.
Throwing Riley a subtle glance, I play off swiping the sides of my mouth like I’m not checking to make sure I haven’t embarrassed myself. She waggles her eyebrows, catching me red-handed. Shit.
I admit, I’m a thirsty bitch and I’m not blind—Finn is hot as hell. But I’ll be damned if I’m not also a pathetic one. This man is not the charmer he pretended to be when he caught me in his strong arms. Underneath the handsome rugged exterior is a stubborn grouch with enough brittle pinecones shoved so far up his ass you can smell the sickly sweet sap seeping out of his pores.
“Sure you’re not, traitor,” Finn says. “That what they call business savvy back in California board rooms? Because around these parts, it’s called bossy.”
“Well, what you are is called rude.” I hop off the arm of the adirondack chair I was perched on, striding over to the fence line separating my resort’s property from his family inn. “All you’ve done is make assumptions about me, and I’m getting sick of it.”
The corner of Finn’s mouth pulls up to one side in a sardonic curve as he folds both arms over the top of the fence, leaning his weight on the wood. My brows pinch together in annoyance. He’s using his height to undermine me because I’m not tall enough to get in his face to challenge him, but I won’t back down. Curling my fingers over the top of the fence on either side of his folded arms, I push as high as I can on tiptoe to see over the fence. Finn’s gaze bounces between my eyes, then dips down to my lips for a beat. There’s a flash of surprise there and gone in a second before he settles his thick brows back into a sour expression.
“You need to get over yourself,” I say.
“Do I now?” His voice is a low rumble from this close.
It occurs to me how this might look to my staff. Instead of meeting this jerk eye to eye, it could also appear intimate, like we’re about to kiss. Crap. If I lean back, he wins.
The bright glint in his eye and the twitch of his lips has me guessing he’s drawing the same conclusions. I tighten my grip on the wood to stave off the frustration simmering beneath my skin.
“I won’t repeat myself,” I say firmly. “I told you before, my Dad’s company picked this land because it was the right choice for the hotel we were planning to open.”
“Bullshit. I looked up your company. They deal in hotspot cities and the last four resorts opened were in Hawaii, Palm Beach, Los Angeles, and the Hamptons. That’s not counting the international ones. We might have bustling tourism in Hollyridge, but it’s nothing compared to the locations you people usually target.” I blink and open my mouth, my brain kicking into gear as if I’m facing off with one of Dad’s executives. Finn beats me to the chase. “What’s that look for? Didn’t think I would research the competition stealing my business from me?”
“I—no. It’s just…” There’s no way I’ll compliment him for doing exactly what I would do first if I were in his shoes. I lick my lips and huff. “I just thought you were a caveman cowboy, that’s all.”
Finn snorts. “Is that all?” He shakes his head and pushes off the fence, addressing the donkey nudging at his coat with little grunts in search of more treats. I squeeze the fence to keep from reaching out to pet him. “You hear that, Saint?”
Up close, the donkey dressed as a reindeer is even cuter. Once again my fingers itch to take out my phone. A high-pitched, excited sound builds in my chest, but I shove it down. This is torture. Any animal in a costume gets me hyped, and Finn’s donkey is no exception. I love reindeer and I haven’t seen any of the elk Riley promised. The donkey’s barn nearby could pass as cabin-like. This is almost too much for me to handle.
“Alright, Princess. As much as I enjoy these little chats, Saint Nick and I have to get down to town square for the annual Christmas Kickoff led by the mayor. It’s a real local favorite. The kids always look forward to his transformation from donkey to reindeer.” He inclines his head with a polite gesture that comes off patronizing. Dick. “Y’all have a good day now.”
First he insults me, then he torments me with the temptation of his cute donkey playing dress up. The frustration rises to a boiling point.
As Finn leads Saint Nick away up the winding trail, I fume. Princess. I hate that nickname he gave me. He hasn’t stopped with it since he found out who I am, deciding he hates everything about me without even knowing me.
I’m not a princess. The goddess I’m named for might be associated with love and beauty, but she’s also a goddess of war and this is my siege.
“You’re going down, Finn Mayberry,” I murmur. “This is war.”
Swinging back to the group seated around the fire pit, who all act like they weren’t hanging on that whole exchange between us, I wave my hands. “Let’s come back at this in a couple of days to hammer out the rest of this month’s marketing plan. Thank you for your time, everyone.”
I wish I could go up to my room and hunker down with a holiday movie marathon. They always have made me feel better. But my marathon, complete with a mug of hot cocoa, will have to wait because I have a lot of work to do around here.
Riley falls into step beside me as I head back up the hill to the main building. “So what was that all about?”
I wave her off. “He’s got a stick up his ass about this whole Jingle Wars competition. And he’s mad my father branched out with a new hotel here.” I push my fingers into my hair. “I mean, he even called me his enemy! Like how ridiculous is he? Who talks like that?”
Riley laughs, the husky sound a welcome comfort, even if she doesn’t have the sympathy I’m looking for. I suppose I shouldn’t expect her to pick sides between friends. She pats my shoulder. I sigh, hooking my arm with hers.
“That’s Finn,” she explains. “He’s always been like that. Same with our best friend, West. I grew up with them both.” Her shoulder hitches. “Once Finn gets something in his head, it’s always been hard to steer him otherwise. He can be as stubborn as their donkey, Saint.”
“Well he should learn to be flexible and open to change. It lets the good energy in,” I grumble. “Good energy leads to new opportunities.”
Maybe that annoys me so much because of how hard I’ve worked over the years. I couldn’t just be skilled and well-versed in the industry I work in, I had to be better than the other men.
“Don’t let him get to you. He’ll figure himself out once he realizes you’re not going anywhere. He’s not really a mean guy.”
“He can do whatever. I don’t care if he likes me or not. But I’m definitely here to stay.”
“That’s it, girl.” Riley checks her hip against mine, lifting my mood. “Let’s go to the spa and get smoothies.”
“Sounds perfect.”
The whine of the drill makes me wince, but I give the work crew a thumbs up. The new sign installation at the entrance to the Alpine looks awesome. It’s huge and at night it will be brightly lit with a neon mountain from our modern-style logo.
I stand off to the side of their work area, shuffling my weight from foot to foot in my knee-high suede boots, regretting dashing outside in a designer sweater dress with a short hem and a shaggy white faux fur coat thrown over it. So much for starting to get used to the Montana weather. At least these short chunky-heeled boots have better protection than my cozy UGGs, but those are the only flat shoes I own.
A loud engine rumbles behind me, followed by a screech as a big truck skids across the salted asphalt, sending a spray of muddy sleet into the air that lands inches from my damp suede boots. Finn throws the door open and stomps around the front, engine still running.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he grits out, then stabs a finger toward the sign being installed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Standing,” I sass, crossing my arms. It’s mostly to show him he can’t intimidate me, but also because I’m freezing. I rushed out here so fast I didn’t think about the fresh snowfall from this morning. He certainly looks warmer than I feel in two layers of thick checkered flannel beneath his open utility jacket. “Is that a problem?”
“Don’t give me that lip,” he demands. “You’re putting up this big ass sign. How are you gonna tell me you aren’t actively trying to steal our business with this shit?”
“You have a sign!”
“So did you!”
“Well, I wanted a better one.”
“There! Right fucking there.” Finn stalks up to me so we’re practically pressed together.
The scent of his spicy cologne hits me full force, almost making me dizzy enough to grab a hold of him to keep from swooning. Shit, why does he have to smell so good? I don’t have the height advantage of my high heels today and he towers over me.
His words come out as a growl. “See? A better one. Bigger. You know exactly what you’re doing here, Traitor. Don’t think I don’t see it.”
I huff, blowing highlighted flyaways from my face. “I only do what benefits my resort.”
“Don’t I fuckin’ know it,” he says severely as he glares down at me, anger rolling off him in waves. His gaze flicks down, studying me for a beat, lingering on my curves and the hemline of my dress. If possible, his face contorts into an even angrier expression. “Don’t you know how to dress, damn it?”
A scoff bursts from me as I put on a show of examining my designer outfit. I know I’m cold, but when Finn challenges me I just want to go off. He calls on every stubborn bone in my body.
“What’s wrong, big guy? Don’t know fashion when you see it? It’s called style.”
At my snarky tone, he grips me by my upper arms, leaning close enough to kiss me as he hisses, “Put some real goddamn clothes on before you freeze that perky little ass off in the snow, traitor.”
For a second his deep whiskey-colored eyes dart to the workers watching us curiously, then his attention is back on me.
Is that jealousy burning in his gaze? Impossible. He hates me as much as I hate him.
“No.” I squirm, but his grasp is strong. “Fuck you for thinking you can tell me what to do, you controlling dick.”
“Yes,” he rumbles. “Your thighs and knees are all pink exposed to the cold like that.”
“Worried about my well-being now?” I tilt my head to the side, shoving down the little burst of pleasure he elicits in me. “Is this because you know I’m totally going to win that first challenge picking the best tree out there? Good. You should be nervous.”
A rough laugh falls from Finn’s lips and he releases me as if I’m boiling hot. He swipes his fingers over his reddish-brown scruff, covering his mouth with his hand. With a grumble he whirls away, only to double back with his thick brows flat over his eyes.
“You know what, that high and mighty act ain’t gonna fly. This is getting real. You should just drop out now to save
your pride.” He waves to the tree line across the street, where the woods border both our properties. “This isn’t cutesy glamping or light hiking for your Facebook likes, Princess. No way in hell are you cut out to trek through the woods and chop down a tree.” He gestures to my shoes. “Not in those.”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Finn jerks his head back at the conviction in my tone.
He thinks he can tell me what I can and can’t do? Hell no! I didn’t grow up fighting to prove myself every second to Dad to be told I can’t do something now.
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
With the satisfaction of the final word, he glances once more at the workers installing the new sign, then goes back to his truck. He throws it into gear and another spray of sleet kicks up from the tires as he whips the truck onto the road and pulls into the nearby driveway for Mayberry Inn next door.
I sigh and turn back to the workmen. “It looks great. Thank you guys. I’ll be up at my office in the main lobby if you need me.”
The next morning as I’m heading out in my Mercedes to go to town, Finn is installing a new sign. His arm swings with confidence, bringing the hammer down with force. The sign is bigger than the previous one they had, and handcrafted with the Mayberry Inn logo burned into the freshly stained wood.
A sharp tug on my heartstrings has me frozen, foot on the brake as I watch him work. He swipes a forearm over his head to wipe away a shine of sweat curling his tousled hair.
My sign for the Alpine might be shiny and professionally commissioned, but…it’s not handcrafted. I didn’t put my own energy into making it, as I suspect Finn did.
I grip the steering wheel and smother the unwanted feelings. My jaw works side to side. “That’s how you want to play it, big guy? Okay. Fine.”
We don’t need to wait for the first Jingle Wars challenge. Finn wanted a war? I’ll give him one.
By the end of the day, I have a giant lit tree up next to my sign in all its festive glory. But then he follows with one of his own—a freshly cut one I watch him unload from the bed of his truck with a friend.
