by Oliver, Tess
Tanya tilted her head closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. "See that blush on her cheeks as she's walking out of Stan's office? I've heard she's his newest conquest." I hated the word conquest used in the same sentence with Stan. Not that I was being judgmental because I could have cared less what Stan did, or at least that was what I kept telling myself. My biggest problem with the term was because I too had been one of his conquests. Back when I was new to the company, stupid, silly girl that I was, I got swept up in the fantasy romance of sneaking quickies after lunch with the boss. For him it had been a good time, but I'd stupidly allowed myself to fall for him. And for a time, I was delusional enough to think he'd fallen for me too. But then reality slapped me in the face, and I quickly discovered that Stanford Gregory wasn't a one woman type of guy.
The boardroom vibrated with energy as people speculated what the unscheduled meeting might be about. The last details of our newest game, Hell's Rangers, were being perfected and polished, and the artist and writing teams were already brainstorming and sketching storyboards for part two. I figured Stan's impromptu huddle had something to do with preorder numbers. Hopefully they were good.
Mitch, Shelly and Turk, our main programmers, had apparently gotten bored waiting for the meeting to start and had set up a game of some sort in the center of the table using strategically placed donuts and folded paper footballs.
Tanya grabbed us two chairs, and I headed to the pink box to see which donuts the nerds had left out of their game. Disappointment. I turned to the table. "Uh, is that my French cruller in the center of your game?"
Mitch turned back with a sheepish grin. "We needed a middle earth."
"I told you Jen would be pissed if you used the cruller." Shelly shrugged my direction. "I tried to warn them."
"Thanks for your effort."
Mitch reached for middle earth and held it up to me. Most of the white glaze had broken off. "It's a little beaten up, but I'm sure it'll still taste good."
"Not with your fingerprints all over it." I waved toward the game. "Carry on, dorks."
I spun around and almost smacked directly into Stan. He was wearing that musky aftershave that I used to love but that I now hated.
He somehow always managed to touch me, even when there was no reason for it. This time he took hold of my arm as if our near crash had thrown me off balance and he'd had to catch me. "Hey, it's my star graphic designer." His blue eyes always had a sparkle. That wasn't necessarily a good thing when it was coming from your playboy boss. "Good work, Jen." He threw a wink in with his sparkle and walked past me in a cloud of fragrance. His fingers didn't leave my arm until he was out of reach. Jerk.
I sat down next to Tanya and didn't need to say a word because we were both fairly expert at reading each other's thoughts.
"What's the old saying?" she mused. "If looks could kill?"
"I don't know why I even waste a second of emotion on the man. He doesn't even have broad shoulders. I mean, jeez, who needs that, right?"
Tanya laughed. "Well, his bank account makes up for the lack of shoulder span, but you're right. Who needs that?"
Stan clapped his hands several times to get our attention. I noticed then that his hands were far too clean and smooth. He could never be one of Hell's Rangers. There. Another reason not to waste a second of thought on the man.
The clamor in the room quieted, and all the attention turned to the front of the room. Stan's eyes swept around the table as he pulled out a chair and propped one leg on it.
I typed a quick message to Tanya on my tablet. "I think he invited us here just to admire his crotch. Joke's on him. It's not all that admirable. I'll bet Ziggy Holt is nicely hung underneath all that leather and metal." I elbowed Tanya.
She leaned over and read the tablet on my lap. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
"I thought the team would like to know that we just surpassed the ten million mark on preorders for the new game."
A loud cheer rattled the tinted windows lining the room. Donuts flew through the air and high fives and fist bumps were tossed liberally around the table.
Stan lifted his hands to quiet us. As rambunctious and out of control as the huddles could get, Stan still had the ability to grab our attention in seconds. "Because of this great news, I've decided to cut short the work day so you all can go home and pack for a ski trip at Swanson's Ski Lodge."
Another round of cheers followed.
Tanya leaned closer. "That's cool. Maybe we can share a room."
"Oh, and I left out the good part—" Stan continued. "I've rented the entire lodge and ski facilities for the whole weekend. We will be the only people on the mountain."
"Holy shit." Even though she was sitting right next to me, Tanya had to raise her voice higher to be heard over the exuberance in the room. "That must have cost him a fortune," she said directly in my ear.
I turned my face to her ear to respond. "We just made him a fortune, remember? Ten million preorders. This weekend will be like pocket change to the man."
"So, all of you finish up your work so you can get on the road by noon. There's a snow storm rolling in later tonight. Not a bad one. In fact, the opposite. It'll be gone by morning, and the slopes will be covered with fresh powder. I've sent an email to everyone with the address for the lodge. See you up there." With that, he walked out with his head held high like the king of the world.
2
Tanya hopped up from her chair. "This is so much better than spending Saturday doing laundry and buying groceries. I've got to get home and dig through my closet for my snow gear. Do you want me to drive?"
I followed her out of the boardroom. "I'm not sure if I'm even going to go, Tanya."
She stopped and grabbed my arm. "Are you kidding? What else do you have planned?"
"Stuff. I have stuff planned."
She tilted her head to the side. "Oh really?"
"Yep. All kinds of big, important stuff." I sighed. "I just don't want to go and hang out with Stan and watch him cuddle with his newest conquest." I motioned with my head. "Looks like Becky and Yari are making plans to drive up together. Why don't you catch a ride with them?"
"Darn it, Jen, this could be so much fun. Reconsider. We don't have to be anywhere—" Her face paled slightly, and she sealed her mouth shut.
A smooth hand touched my arm from behind. Musky aftershave swirled around me as Stan circled around with his pearl white smile.
"I've got work to do," Tanya blurted before scurrying away like a traitorous little mouse.
"Hey, Jen," Stan said, "if you need a ride up to the mountain, I've got room in the Land Rover."
"Thanks, Stan, but I'm not entirely sure I'm going. I've got stuff to do."
His dark brows pinched together. "Ah, come on, Jen, it won't be the same without you."
"Oh, I'm sure everyone will have a good time with or without me. But thanks. This is very generous of you."
He squeezed my hand again, a completely unnecessary gesture between a tech president and his designer. "Well, I hope you change your mind."
"Maybe." I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb. "I've got a few things to finish up at my station." I dashed away before he could say any more or find some other non-reason for touching me.
I tried to shake off the odd encounter. My mind rushed back and forth in debate about whether I should go on the free weekend or skip it. I had one foot on each side of the fence.
I reached my computer and shook the mouse to wake it. A website popped up that I had most definitely not clicked on. My eyes dashed across a banner about some place called the Silk Stocking Inn, and I caught some cheesy phrase about filling my every heart's desire blah blah blah. I clicked the X and waited for the site to be swallowed up into cyberspace. But it stayed like melted bubble gum on the bottom of a shoe. I tapped my mouse a dozen times in an attempt to close the site. Instead of vanishing, pictures and a text box popped up. An old Victorian style home appeared next to the banner. Snow w
as mounded like pillows on its slate gray roof and icicles clung to the gingerbread style fascia board running across various roof lines. Even though the photo was obviously taken in the winter, a long vine of bright pink roses climbed the porch railings and arched over the portico, creating the perfect romantic exterior. I'd been so drawn to the charming vintage house, I'd ignore the text box that came with it.
I blinked at the words. "Hello, Jen, I think you should forget the ski weekend and head up to the Silk Stocking Inn."
My eyes peered over my monitor, and my gaze circled the room. Everyone was busy hunched over a computer or drafting table, working hard to finish up and take off for the snow. But, obviously, someone had finished, and they'd decided to play a prank on me. Funny. I had it narrowed down to Mitch and Shelly since they were the programming geniuses. Maybe they decided stealing my French cruller was not enough.
I looked across the vast room to Mitch's work place. He looked busy enough, and there was nothing suspicious about his behavior. The same regular old boring work scene was happening at Shelly's desk. They were good. I would bet anything they were in it together. I decided to go along with it.
"Oh my, Silk Stocking Inn, huh? It sounds amazing."
"Great. Then I can expect you this afternoon. You won't be disappointed. I promise. After this weekend, you'll never think twice about that arrogant boss again."
My gaze flashed their direction as my cheeks burned with a flush. "You guys suck. I'm done with this."
The text box filled again. "I'm sorry. Who are you guys?"
"Right. Very funny." My fingers pounded the keys.
"Fine then. See you soon."
I clicked the mouse over and over, but the site remained and the text box popped back up. "I forgot to ask—what is your favorite cupcake flavor?"
I shook my head. "Don't you mean donut? And as you know, it's middle earth. Otherwise known as French cruller."
There was a long pause. I stared at Mitch and Shelly over the top of my computer, but they kept up the farce and kept working at their stations.
"Actually, I did mean cupcake. Do you have a favorite?"
I huffed in annoyance, asking why I hadn't just shut down my computer instead of playing along. I looked at the blinking question and thought about a running joke that we had in the company. Whenever it was time to sign up for the annual holiday potluck, Stan always sent a text asking who was bringing the sugarplums. The last person to respond to the text was required to show up to the holiday party with their own version of sugarplums. No one knew what the hell they actually were, and information online was sketchy at best. It was fun to see what people came up with. The task had fallen to me once, and I showed up with powdered sugar covered prunes on a silver platter. Surprisingly, they were kind of tasty.
I typed the word sugarplum in the box and sent it.
"Ooh, I haven't made sugarplum cupcakes in years. Wonderful. See you soon."
The site disappeared. "Very funny, you two," I called across the room. A few people looked questioningly my direction, but Mitch and Shelly never looked back. I decided to walk over to them.
Mitch looked up from his monitor as I hovered over his desk. He kept on with the programming. "You still mad about the donut, Jen?"
"No. Just wanted to let you know the gag was cute. Well done."
Shelly's head popped up over her computer. "What gag? What did you do now, Mitch?"
"Oh don't flash that look of innocence, Shel. I know you were in on it."
They looked at each other. The only thing on their faces was confusion. Mitch took his fingers from the keys. "I'll buy you a French cruller on my way in on Monday."
"No," I said abruptly enough that it caught the attention of several other people. "It's not about the donut," I said in a quieter tone. "I'm talking about the Silk Stocking Inn."
Mitch blinked up at me through his glasses. "Jen, I have no clue what you're talking about." I knew both Mitch and Shelly well enough to know that one of them would have cracked up by now, but they both looked genuinely worried, as if I was losing it. I decided not to push it or risk being the topic at the digital water cooler. And yes, it existed. We were a tech company, after all.
I backed up with a smile. "My mistake. I'll let you two get back to work." My eyes shifted stealthily around the room in an attempt to catch a guilty expression or hidden smile, but everyone seemed focused on getting finished with their work so they could head home and pack for the weekend.
I headed back to my own computer, deciding that was a good plan. A weekend away might just be what I needed too. It was a big mountain. I was sure with some strategic planning I could avoid the boss altogether.
3
The temperature dropped dramatically as my car puttered up to the higher elevation. Trees went from bare branched skeletons, waiting for spring sunlight to revive them from their wintry state of dormancy, to lush, fragrant evergreens, standing sentry over the snowy hillsides, their branches still heavy with needles and cones. Climbing up a mountain always felt like driving into another dimension, like reaching a different world in a fantasy game.
It also meant cold, and I was starting to forget that I had toes and fingers. I reached forward and flicked the heater on higher. Warm air blasted my face and began to dry the condensation on my windshield. I lowered my head and peered up at the sky. The clouds looked heavy with snow. According to my phone, I had an hour to go. I was regretting not taking Tanya up on her offer to drive together. But by the time I'd firmed up my decision to go, she'd already made plans to drive up with two coworkers, Rocky and Gus. And since she had a secret crush and an even more secret plan to snag Rocky one day, I didn't want to get in her way. I could have driven with them, but I had too many things to do at home. I didn't want to hold anyone back.
I was sure there would be no downtime for the rest of the weekend, so the lonely, quiet drive gave me a chance to relax. The curves in the road had begun to get curvier, and I had to pay attention. My eyes were glued to the asphalt in front of me, so I hadn't noticed that a dense, white fog was moving in on the mountain. It seemed to swallow up my car. The light from my headlights was absorbed by the opaque moisture. I couldn't see more than three feet in front of me, but worse, I couldn't see the side of the road. There was no way to spot a turnoff or vista where I could stop safely until the haze lifted.
The only logical explanation I had for the suddenly viscous air was that I was driving through a low cloud. The cool moisture seemed to seep through the heating vents. A shiver went through me, and my earlier fantasy about driving into another world seemed to be coming true. Only it wasn't exciting or exhilarating, like reaching the next level on a video game. It was downright terrifying.
I slowed my car to a crawl and prayed that some blowhard with rocks for brains didn't come barreling up the road behind me. But I didn't see anyone. Not even a hint of life. It was just me and my old car and a shroud of fog.
Full on panic was about to set in just as the fog seemed to lighten. The feathery tufts of white air rolled up and off my windshield, and as I drove around the next curve, it disappeared completely.
My sigh of relief was cut short by the landscape in front of me. I was no longer on a twisting mountain road. A snowy landscape rolled out in front of me that reminded me of the picture on a Christmas card. The landscape was mostly flat, with the occasional soft rolling hill to give it some dimension. Tall pines, dripping with icicles and burdened with mounds of snow, dotted the otherwise pure white countryside. Countryside? How the heck was that possible? I'd been traveling up a mountain. The only explanation I could devise in my baffled mind was that I'd found a terrace of flat land within the mountain range. Geographically, it didn't make much sense but then what the heck did I know about landforms?
I picked up my phone to take a quick glimpse at the route. I hadn't switched roads, and there was only one that I knew of leading up to the ski lifts so I wasn't worried. I rubbed my thumb across the screen. The map popped
on for a second and then disappeared completely. I rubbed my phone again. Nothing. Obviously, I was driving through a dead zone. There couldn't be any other explanation for it.
I placed the phone down and kept driving. In the distance, I could see a huge cloud of powdery snow drifting up from the landscape. A snow plow or kids playing, I concluded. It was the first sign of civilization since the fog had cleared, and I was relieved to see it.
I drove along and watched as the cloud of snow moved through the landscape. Suddenly, a chrome and black snowmobile exploded through the powder. Another one followed right behind. The two riders were clad in motorcycle helmets, chest plates, thick leather gloves and boots. They were racing, motocross style, but on the snow.
The lead machine made an impressive leap in the air and then landed in a pile of fresh snow before kicking out a white rooster tail and racing away. The second machine was in close pursuit.
I pulled my eyes back to the road. A white hill of snow loomed in the distance as if it had just popped up in the landscape. I squinted through my pasty looking windshield at the silhouette of the house on top of the hill. It was the house on the Silk Stocking Inn website. My mind was so busy trying to logic out the scene in front of me, I'd forgotten that I was driving.
"Ah shit!" I gasped as my tires dropped a foot down and my car skidded off the road and came to an abrupt stop in a pile of snow. I put the car in reverse and pressed the gas pedal, but I only seemed to dig myself deeper into the bank. Seconds later, my car shut off as if some of its moving parts had seized up with the cold.
With the defroster and heat no longer running, the inside of the car turned glacial almost instantly. Most of the car's front end had vanished into the snow bank. I had to shove the door hard to get it open. As I stepped out, the loud rumble of a motor vibrated the frozen ground beneath my feet.
I spun around and a puff of white air followed my gasp. The snowmobile racer had pulled up behind my car. He turned off the engine and stood up from the bike. From my vantage point in the ditch, he looked twice the size of an average man. His black helmet was topped with a mohawk of chrome spikes. His black chest protector and dark tinted goggles made him look nothing short of scary.
