Snowed In with the Billionaire

by Lila Monroe

  Wouldn’t that be wonderful? But as I plaster a smile on my face and head off to make the calls and arrange things, I have to deal with a very basic truth: I’m not one of the guests here. I’m not Ace’s girlfriend, or someone important and connected for him to introduce. I’m working for my client, my boss. Suddenly my pulse races even faster.

  Because what the hell have I been doing these past few days? Living in la-la land? Burying my head in the proverbial sand of this fantasy version of reality that can’t possibly end well once this party weekend is over? The thought makes my stomach drop.

  After I arrange a same-day courier shipment of the most expensive face cream that Aspen can deliver, which is about eighty dollars, which I think is ridiculous but barely passes Jezebel’s approval, I start calling the caterers again. I beg and plead for them to get somebody up here to help me, but they can’t do anything. It’s late. It’s the last minute. The roads are still dodgy. I’m about ready to go up to the roof, jump in the helicopter, and tear across the mountain to get to them, but it’s no use. I’m running this show all on my own.

  In the kitchen, I keep the food hot and the drinks coming. Eventually, everyone’s as well fed as they can be and wanders out. I’m left doing as many dishes as I can while the overloaded dishwasher runs, organizing to not let the insanity really get a foothold.

  “You keep hiding back here,” Ace says. He crosses the kitchen toward me, looking rumpled. His coat’s already gone, and his nice pressed shirt’s first two buttons are undone. “It’s almost like you don’t want to join the party.” He comes up behind me as I rinse dishes and I feel his warm breath on the back of my neck as his hand slides up the front of my shirt.

  “Stop,” I say, and he backs away.

  “What’s your problem?” he asks, bewildered and defensive.

  I slam a plate into the drying rack and whirl to face him, a dish towel clenched in my fist. For a moment all I can do is glare. Well, what was he thinking? That he’d come down here, have some fun, and go back to his real guests? My face heats up.

  “I don’t get to ‘join the party.’ I am the party,” I say. I switch out one tray of food for another over the burner. “If someone wants food, they come through me. Ditto drinks, and I’d forgotten what a good bartender I was, actually! Though mixing Red Bull and grapefruit vodka wouldn’t have been my first cocktail choice. But as you can see, I’m very busy. So why don’t you run back and mingle? That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

  I hate that I’m being passive aggressive with him right now, turning a job that I normally love, that I was paid to come here and do, into an argument. Ace just shrugs off my emotional outburst, probably chalking it up to party stress. “They’re nice once they’re drunk, I promise,” he says.

  There’s the playful note back in his voice. It makes me feel even worse for acting this way.

  “All right,” I concede. “Let’s go. But you better keep your hands off my ass.”

  Ace winks. “Why’s that?” he teases.

  “Because I want to get hired for more events, and if certain guys out there think the platinum package comes with benefits, I’ll be fighting my way uphill for years.”

  “Fair enough.” Ace nods. But something in his expression is troubled.

  I don’t have time to think about it now, though. As I follow him out of the kitchen and back into the mess I try, honestly try, to relax around the people standing in the living room, or dancing in the hall, or stripping outside and racing naked into the hot tub. But every time I try to wedge into a conversation, I’m left standing there with a drink in one hand and a plate of assorted vegetables in the other. And I don’t even like the assorted vegetables. Why did I order them?

  “Have you seen DeLique’s ass?” one of the double-chinned executive men asks, gazing over at a girl who’s probably—probably—over eighteen. “You can bounce quarters off that shit. Girl is in shape.”

  I shudder, chug my drink, and slide away. Then I find myself stuck between two girls in leopard print, sipping neon pink, frothy cocktails.

  “So at the Grammys? When everyone thought she, like, slipped out to the bar for a minute? She was in the bathroom, giving birth.”

  “No!” the other one gasps. “That explains why she had such a weird expression on during her dance routine. What happened to the baby, even?”

  The other woman shrugs. “Like, never thought to ask.”

  I get away fast as I can.

  The truth is, most of the guests aren’t rude to me, but they don’t make any effort to talk outside of their own little groups. Everyone knows each other; that’s why they’re here, to mingle with other people exactly like them. My business cards are burning a hole in my jacket pocket, and the one girl who asked if she could have one ended up using it as a drink coaster. Somebody remind me again why I thought this would be a good networking opportunity. It’s all drunk narcissists as far as the eye can see.

  I don’t belong here. And as the party rages on into the night, I start to realize how naïve I was about everything. While I was wrapped up in this warm little bubble with Ace, snowed in and private, we lived in the same world. But this whole experience reminds me: we have nothing in common. We’re from two different worlds. He probably hooks up with random women all the time. I silently curse Other Paige for thinking this harmless little fling with Ace was a good idea. It most definitely was not.

  Across the room, I watch him throw his head back and laugh at something that some producer or lead singer says. I also watch as about three different girls come up to him, batting their eyelashes and squeezing his biceps. They’re all goddesses, painted and glossed to perfection. Exactly the kind of girls he usually wears on his arm. Nothing like me. He leans in to one of them, whispers something in her ear that makes her flush and giggle like a little girl. An unknown, ragey part of me wants to yank her away from him and toss her out into the snow.

  I try to talk myself out of the sinking feeling in my gut, but I’m failing. I need to get out of here. Get some air.

  Pushing my way through the crowd, I head upstairs. At first I go for my bedroom, but when I hear some athletic-sounding sex going on behind the door, I let go of the doorknob and back away. Honestly, it wasn’t even this bad at the college frat houses. And I went to art school.

  Okay, it was about this bad, but still. These are supposed to be professional adults.

  Lost for a place to escape, I run to the nearest bathroom and fling the door open.

  “Um, excuse me? This is a special party.” Two of the Your Romance girls are in here, a hand mirror between them and some lines of white powder running along the glass. “It’s BYOC. If you don’t have personal cocaine, you need to leave. SFY.”

  “What’s SFY?” I ask.

  “Sucks for you,” one girl clarifies, generously offering me a look of pity.

  “Right. Sorry,” I mutter, and close the door. I’m about to walk off when I hear one of them say,

  “Oh, that was the girl from before. The one with the dress that looked really pretty for being off the rack? Yeah, what do you think that story is?” Someone takes a very long snort. “She was, like, trying her best with her hair and makeup. And Ace came out in a shirt with buttons. Buttons. He wasn’t expecting us.” She sniffs loudly. “What do you think that’s all about?”

  “Ugh, don’t even worry about her. Like, maybe they fucked or something, but so what? Ace just broke up with Latrice, and she was on the cover of French Vogue. And he broke up with her, you know?” She sighs. “God, he’s such a…god, you know?”

  “He’s perfect. I keep waiting for him to notice me.”

  The other girl scoffs. “Us? Remember? We go in as a foursome, or we don’t go at all.”

  “I’m sticking with the plan! I’m just saying it’d be amazing. If he’s got the three of us waiting, what’s he doing dating his staff?”

  Not for the first time this night, I feel ill. All my mother’s training tells me to keep my chin up
, my tears to myself, and to walk away like nothing happened. But Mom isn’t here right now. So instead of meekly slipping away, I open the door again. The two girls stare at me, their mouths open. One of them still has a rolled up dollar bill in her hand. I grab a few tissues and glance in the mirror to blot my lipstick.

  “Ace specified no hard drugs at this party,” I say, looking straight at them. “He can’t end up back in rehab, you know? So if he finds out about this, you’ll both be asked to leave. And the roads are pretty messy at this time of night.” I give them my most syrup-and-honey smile. They glance at each other, nervous.

  “Ace wouldn’t kick us out.”

  “He doesn’t have to. I have staff authority,” I say, and walk out.

  I made all that up, of course, but it certainly got a reaction. Even putting those girls (Ally would call them crackwhores if she were here right now, and at this point I’m really starting to wish she was) in their place, my heart sinks. I know a lot of what they said is true. Ace dates flawless supermodels and hot rocker chicks and A-list celebrities. Not party planners. And really, why am I getting so upset? This was a fling. It was a good fling, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t going anywhere serious. We both knew that.

  Why can’t that be enough? And why do these thoughts keep circling my head?

  I’m not relationship material right now. At least, that’s what I thought. But laughing in the snow, decorating the tree, and the—let’s face it—mind-blowing sex has changed things for me.

  Oh God. I’ve fallen for the exact wrong type of guy. Fallen hard.

  I look down into the living room. Ace stands by the Christmas tree, his arm wrapped around that young girl from before. He’s leaned in close to talk to her, and she’s laughing with one hand resting on his chest. There’s that warm electricity in his eyes, the focus that I found so intense and so exciting. Except that focus is on someone else now.

  What have I done? I turn away, head in my hands. No. It’s not going to be like it was with Sergei. I’m not going to be trampled by another narcissistic asshole who will never be boyfriend material. Even though my heart is breaking as I think about it.

  “Excuse me?” someone says. I turn and find an older gentleman by my elbow, mopping his forehead. And I do mean gentleman. He’s the only person here who’s wearing a tie, and he looks incredibly uncomfortable. “Is the helicopter still here?”

  “It’s supposed to be upstairs on the roof.” On the helipad. It finally sinks in that this place has its own helicopter landing site. What the actual hell?

  “I came here with my client, D.J. McNite,” the man says, looking disapprovingly into the crowd below. A young man with a designer hoodie and loud accessories is running around and making lots of women shriek. “But he doesn’t seem to need me here. I wanted to make an exit back to the airport, if at all possible.”

  “Of course,” I say, smiling. “Any chance you’ll have room for me in there?”

  I have to push through a rowdy crowd of grinding people on the dance floor before I finally reach Ace. He turns toward me, arm still locked around his hot new lady friend, and smiles. The girl just looks at me, eyes narrowed.

  “You keep disappearing!” Ace shouts over the pounding music. “I’m going to have to put a bell on you.” There’s a crash as someone knocks over an entire bookcase. “A bell with flashing lights and a foghorn.”

  “I’m heading out,” I say.

  Ace takes his arm away from Miss Thing and frowns. “Why? What’s going on?” He pulls me off to the side, staring down at me intently, as if he actually cares.

  Breathing deeply, I force myself to keep my expression neutral. Keep everything neat and professional. Neat and easy. “You’ve got a party to host, so don’t worry about it. My work here is done. And the cleaning crew will be here first thing in the morning. From the looks of the place, you’ll need it.” I try a confident laugh that doesn’t quite work. “Time for me to go riding off into the sunset. Or sunrise. Considering I’m heading east, that’s probably more accurate.”

  I try to turn away, but he grabs my upper arm and turns me back to face him. “Paige, what the hell is going on? You can’t just disappear.” He’s not enamored of my geography jokes. He’s practically glowering. His voice is getting rougher and angrier. I know what he’s feeling; he’s not getting his way, and it’s pissing him off.

  “Look, let’s not make this something it’s not,” I say gently. It’s a little hard with the raging music around us, but I manage it. “I came here to do a job, and I did it, so now it’s time for us to get back to our normal lives. And this,” I say, waving my hand at the A-list chaos all around us, “is your brand of normal. But it’s not mine.”

  “I thought we were having fun,” he says. He gets closer to me, radiating tension. “Was I wrong?”

  I sigh. “We were having fun. And honestly, I thought that was what I wanted. But this whole weekend made me realize that I need a real relationship in my life. Someone who comes over to meet my parents, someone who says Ally’s jokes are funny just to annoy our mother. Someone to, I don’t know, come over for Christmas dinner. That’s not you.” For one moment, I dare to hope. “Is it?” I look into his eyes.

  Ace doesn’t respond. He freezes, doesn’t say anything. And then he looks away.

  I have my answer.

  My heart sinks. Even though I know it’s stupid, I can feel myself beginning to tear up.

  Well fuck that, as Ally would say. I’m not going to stand here and cry.

  “Anyway, thanks for everything and I’ll see you around,” I say, and walk away

  “Paige,” Ace says. I feel him catch at my arm again, but this time I shrug him off. As I disappear into the chaos, two girls strip off their shirts and start pushing each other while men pound back shots and cheer. Someone hanging from the chandelier lets go and crashes to the floor. I head upstairs, fling open my guest bedroom door, and grab my bags without disturbing the grunting, sweaty three-way going on in my bed.

  Five minutes later, I’ve got my bags loaded and I’m sitting next to D.J. McNite’s gentlemanly lawyer/manager/babysitter. The helicopter lifts off, and I can’t help but look at the roof, hoping that Ace will burst out with an armload of roses and a declaration of love on his lips. But of course he doesn’t.

  “Beautiful, don’t you think?” The elderly man next to me says, smiling at the scene below. We rise higher, the moonlight glistening on the snowy mountainside and treetops. Below, the thumping bass dies away, leaving only the glow of the lodge.

  I nod in agreement. It’s more than beautiful. It’s magical. Perfect.

  But now it’s over.

  Chapter 10

  “Paige, baby, come help me with these croutons. They won’t garlic butter themselves,” Mom calls from the kitchen. I’m in the living room, stuffing all the shredded Christmas wrapping paper into a trash bag. Ally grabs it and winks at me.

  “Go ahead and butter. I’ve got garbage duty.”

  “Hunter won’t like that,” I say, smiling. Ally rolls her eyes and takes over my job.

  “If Hunter doesn’t like it, I can put him out on the street as well. I always liked getting my hands dirty.” She shakes her head, and I can see the flash of the diamond earrings Hunter bought her for Christmas. More than that, I see the way she lights up whenever she says his name. I know she’s not putting him out anywhere.

  “Think he’s having fun with Dad?” I ask. Ally grins.

  “Watching football and drinking eggnog? What’s not to love? Did I tell you we’re going to the Caribbean for New Year’s? We might break Mom’s heart and get married on the beach in secret.” She nudges my shoulder. “We’d have to sneak you out, though. I need a maid of honor. Bikinis and cocktails all winter long. How can you resist?”

  I know Ally’s just trying to cheer me up, but it’s not working. “I still feel stupid about the whole Ace thing. We both knew it was a casual hook up. I really thought I was fine with it.” I was very, very fin
e with it. “I just don’t know what happened.”

  Ally’s gaze softens a little. “From everything you’ve told me, it sounds like there was a real connection. And despite what you’re trying to convince yourself, I don’t honestly believe it was just a wham-bam thank you ma’am for either one of you. Are you sure you guys can’t make it work?”

  “I wish that were an option, but it’s not.” I shake my head. “I need to be realistic. It’s been days, and I haven’t heard from him once. No text, no email, no call, nothing. He’s probably forgotten all about me by now. I’m glad I got out of there when I did.”

  “Ah, yes. The epic helicopter flight over the mountain of heartbreak. You know, I kind of wish there’d been a swelling musical score underneath.” That makes me laugh. Ally puts her arm around me. She can be a little sister pain in the butt, but she gets me.

  “I was just another name on his long list of hook ups,” I say, my voice catching.

  “But you’re going to be an underlined name, with a shiny red circle drawn around it. You’re an I-can’t-believe-I-was-such-a-douche-to-her name.”

  I’d like to think so.

  “Paige!” Mom calls, sounding a little freaked out. “Honey, I think the crab is a little too fresh. It’s walking right towards me!”

  A little while later, the crab appetizers are in the oven, and my sister’s gorgeous fiancé Hunter emerges from the den. He gives me a wide grin as he comes into the kitchen.

  “Merry Christmas, sis,” he says, giving me a hug. Mom practically bowls me over trying to get her hands on Hunter. He’s making an honest woman of Ally, and he’s drop-dead handsome and very, very loaded. Mom couldn’t ask for anything more.

  “My most beautiful future son-in-law,” Mom coos. She’s clutching Hunter tight by his lapels. He looks over at me, mock-horrified, and I shrug: this is what it means to marry into the Bartlett family.

  “Mom, stop copping a feel on my fiancé,” Ally says as she comes into the kitchen. Hunter sweeps her up in an embrace; her feet actually leave the floor. I walk out to give them a little privacy. I couldn’t be happier that Ally has found someone, I really couldn’t. But seeing her and Hunter together keeps reminding me of Ace. And I can’t stop thinking that maybe I was the one who wronged him.