by Sarah Morgan
He wasn’t going to let that happen.
“I’m going to do what needs to be done. You’re going to have to trust me.”
“So now you’re an autocrat.” But his grandfather’s voice shook a little, and Jackson saw something in the old man’s eyes that nailed his feet to the floor.
This was the man who had taught him to whittle an arrow from a stick, to dam a stream and catch a fish with his bare hands. This man had picked him out of deep snow when he’d wiped out on his skis and taught him how to check the thickness of the ice on the pond so he didn’t fall through.
And this was the man who had lost his son.
Jackson sat back down in the chair. “I’m not an autocrat but I have to make changes. We’re operating in a stagnant economy. We have to stand out from the crowd. We have to offer something special.”
“Snow Crystal Resort is special.”
“It’s Snow Crystal Resort and Spa now, and for once we agree on something. It’s special.”
His grandfather’s eyes were suspiciously shiny. “So why change things?”
“Because people don’t know about it, Gramps. But they’re going to.” The puppy nuzzled his ankle, and Jackson leaned down and stroked the dog’s soft, springy fur. “I’m flying to New York tomorrow to meet with Kayla Green.”
“I still don’t get what a girl from Manhattan is going to know about running a resort like ours.”
“She’s not from Manhattan. She’s British.”
His mother brightened. “She’ll fall in love with the place. I did. From Old England to New England.”
Walter frowned. “You’ve lived here so long I don’t think of you as British. Hell, I bet this Kayla woman has never even seen a moose!”
“Does she need to see a moose to get the job done?” But an idea was forming in his head. Not a compromise exactly, but a solution that might work. “If I can persuade Kayla Green to come and experience firsthand exactly what we offer here at Snow Crystal, will you listen to her?”
“That depends. She’s not going to see much in a couple of hours, is she?”
Jackson stood up. “She can stay for a week. God knows, we’ve got enough empty cabins.”
“No way is Miss New York or Miss London or wherever the hell she’s from, going to want to stay in the wilds with us for a week in the middle of a Vermont winter.”
Deep down, Jackson agreed with him but he wasn’t about to admit defeat.
“I’ll get her here and you’ll listen.”
“I’ll listen if she says something worth listening to.”
“Deal.” He shrugged on his jacket while his mother looked on anxiously.
“Stay and eat. You’ve been working so hard I’ll bet you haven’t gone near the shops.”
“He shouldn’t have moved out.” His grandfather clicked his fingers to attract the attention of the puppy. “He shouldn’t have spent all that money converting that crumbling old barn into a fancy place of his own when we have all these empty rooms.”
“I’ve trebled the value of that crumbling old barn.” And saved his sanity. Jackson slipped his tablet computer into his bag and thought it might as well have been made of gingerbread for all the use it had been to him. “No food, thanks. I need to put together some figures for the people at Innovation. I’ll do my own thing tonight.”
“You always do,” his grandfather muttered, and Jackson shook his head in exasperation and walked out of the warm, cozy kitchen into the freezing winter air.
His boots crunched through the thick snow and he stopped, breathing in the peace and quiet along with the smell of wood smoke.
Home.
Sometimes suffocating, sometimes comforting. He’d avoided it, he realized. Stayed away longer than he should because at times there had been more suffocation than comfort.
He’d left the place behind at eighteen, fueled by a determination to prove himself. Why stay trapped in Snow Crystal when the whole world was out there beckoning him toward possibilities and opportunities? He’d been caught up in the excitement, the thrill of making something new, something that was his. He’d been riding the wave until that phone call. It had come in the night, like all the worst phone calls and had changed his life forever.
Where would he be now if his father hadn’t died? Expanding his business in Europe? On a hot date with a woman?
Raising hell like his brother?
There was a whimper and he looked down to see the puppy by his ankles, snow clinging to her fur and mischief in her eyes.
“You’re not supposed to be out here.” Jackson stooped and lifted her, feeling the tremble of her body through her springy fur. She was small and delicate, a miniature toy poodle with the heart of a lion. He remembered the day he and Tyler had found her abandoned and half-dead in the forest, a scrap of fur, barely alive. They’d brought her home and coaxed her back to life. “I bet there are days when you wish you hadn’t joined our family.”
His mother appeared in the doorway, relief on her face as she saw the puppy. “She followed you.” She took the puppy from him and gathered her close, stroking and kissing, pouring all her love onto the delighted puppy while Jackson watched, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
“Mom—”
“He needs you, Jackson. Sooner or later he’ll realize that. Your father made mistakes, but your grandfather can’t cope with thinking about that right now. He doesn’t need Michael’s memory tarnished.”
And neither did she. The shadows in her eyes told him that.
Knowing how much she’d loved his father, Jackson felt the tension increase across his shoulders. “I’m trying to get the job done without hurting him.”
She hesitated. “You’re probably wondering why you came back.”
“I’m not wondering that.”
Somehow, he had to find a way of making something that was his out of something that was theirs and making his grandfather feel as if the whole thing was his idea.
He had to save what they’d built.
Kayla Green might have worked with some of the toughest and most successful companies in her career, but nothing, nothing, was going to come close to the challenge of dealing with the O’Neil family.
He hoped she liked gingerbread Santas.
CHAPTER TWO
“ANGIE CALLED FROM the Washington Post. I told her you’d call her back. And I finished that media list.” Stacy leaned across the desk and Kayla was nearly asphyxiated.
“Er—nice perfume.” Her hand wrapped around the tall cappuccino she’d picked up on her way into the office. She unwrapped her cashmere scarf and dropped it over her chair, sending snowflakes floating across her desk. “It’s freezing out there. If I’d known New York was this cold in winter I would have requested the L.A. office.” Snatching a sip of coffee, she toed off the boots she’d worn to walk the short distance from her apartment and dragged her shoes from the drawer in her desk.
Through the glass wall that cut her off from the rest of the fortieth floor, she could see two of the junior account executives discreetly replenishing makeup. “What’s going on? Brett will hit the roof if he walks past and sees lip gloss and girl bonding.”
“Brett’s with Jackson O’Neil. They’re waiting for you in the boardroom.”
“Jackson O’Neil is the reason for the perfume and the sudden run on cosmetics?”
“The man is smoking-hot, Kayla.”
Only half listening, Kayla pulled her phone out of her pocket, checking new emails while she pushed her feet into her shoes. “Did you get any more information on him?”
“Yes. He is insanely sexy and—” Stacy blushed “—single.”
“I meant on the company.”
“I sent everything I found to your in-box this morning, but Kayla he’s—”
“Somehow I’ve managed to amass fifty emails since I left my apartment. How is that possible? I cleared my in-box at 5:00 a.m.” Kayla put down her coffee, slid her phone into her bag and scooped
up the stack of notes she’d scribbled at three in the morning. “When I saw the snow, I assumed O’Neil would cancel.”
“He took an earlier flight because the forecast was bad and he wanted this done. I collected him from the foyer. I managed to behave with dignity and not leap on him.”
“That would have given a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘full service agency.’” Grinning, Kayla smoothed her hair and took a deep breath. “Go and stick your head under the water cooler.”
“Your in-box is the equivalent of a cold shower. By the way, this came for you. It’s marked Personal so I didn’t open it. I guess it’s from someone who doesn’t have your home address.” Stacy handed her an envelope, and Kayla recognized her stepmother’s handwriting.
Cold trickled down her spine. It was like landing naked in a snowdrift.
“Thanks.” Stuffing it quickly into her bag, she strode out of her office and took the stairs down to the foyer, wishing she’d left the envelope on her desk instead of putting it in her bag. Now it was there, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. It made the bag feel heavy even though it weighed no more than a few flakes of snow.
She stopped in the stairwell, pressed her palm to her ribs and took a few deep breaths.
The only things that should be on her mind right now were Jackson O’Neil and the Snow Crystal Resort and Spa. She shouldn’t be thinking about her stepmother, not least because thinking of her stepmother always made her think of her father and then, inevitably, her mother.
She allowed herself a moment to stare through the window at the high-rises of Midtown, reminded herself how hard she’d worked to be standing here now, and then she continued down the stairs and pushed open the doors into the foyer.
The New York offices of Innovation were sleek and stylish, enveloped in floor-to-ceiling glass that offered breathtaking views over the skyscrapers of Manhattan. Usually Kayla found it the perfect working environment, but today chic minimalism had been displaced by festive touches. A huge Christmas tree dominated the foyer and someone had twisted a rope of tiny stars across the top of the boardroom door.
Everyone, from the receptionist right up to Brett himself, was in that smiling, energy-fueled phase that came between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Maybe she was Scrooge, Kayla thought gloomily, her heels tapping on the polished oak floor as she walked past the receptionist and gave her a discreet wave. Maybe next year she’d book herself a log cabin with a view of a forest and a lake.
Maybe next year she’d arrange for someone to kidnap Santa.
She pushed open the door and Brett rose to his feet.
“Here she is! The star of the show. Kayla, meet Jackson O’Neil. Jackson, this is Kayla Green.”
He was standing with his back to her, his eyes on the city spread out in front of him.
In those few seconds, Kayla decided Stacy had exaggerated his appeal. True, that jet-black hair looked promising, and he appeared to be taller and broader than the average businessman she encountered during her working day, but as far as she could see there was nothing else about him that warranted the volume of cosmetics and heavy breathing that was going on up on the fortieth floor.
And then he turned.
With hair that black she’d expected his eyes to be dark, but they were blue. A fierce, intense blue, and Kayla stopped breathing altogether because nothing about this man was average.
There was a hard strength to his features, a toughness that fitted everything she’d read about him in the cold chill of her early-morning work session. From the bold sweep of his eyebrows to the bump in his nose, he was wholly and unequivocally male.
That heavy-lidded gaze assessed her in a single sweep, and she felt as if someone had kicked her legs out from under her.
She thought about Stacy’s suggestion that she ask Santa for Jackson O’Neil naked.
Dear Santa, it’s been a long time since you’ve heard from me, but—
“Miss Green.” His voice was deep and strong, and she was recovering from the shock of realizing that for once Stacy’s taste in men made perfect sense, when he strode across the room and shook her hand.
The sudden jolt of chemistry unsettled her.
“Good to meet you, Mr. O’Neil.”
For a fleeting moment it crossed her mind that this man might even have what it took to make her forget her emails. Then she remembered that the consequence of forgetting her emails was doing a bad job and there was no way she was ever going to let that happen.
“I hope your trip was good?” Kayla chose a seat as far away from those blue eyes as she could reasonably position herself. “I’m excited about this opportunity. Why don’t you start by telling us a bit more about how you think we can help, Mr. O’Neil.”
“Jackson.”
“Jackson.” It felt too personal. “I’ve followed the growth of Snowdrift Leisure.”
“My focus right now is Snow Crystal, the family business. It was originally run by my father.”
And his father had been killed in a car accident in New Zealand. She’d read about it in her research.
She was wondering how to tactfully ask the question that had been nagging her, when he raised an eyebrow.
“You have a question?” He was brutally direct. “It’s important to me that this project is successful, so if there’s something you need to know then ask.”
“I don’t want to be insensitive.”
His eyes gleamed. “Do I look delicate?”
He looked like a man who could chop down a tree with a swing of his hand. “It would help to understand why you chose to take over the business now and not earlier in your career.”
“Have you worked with family?”
“No.” A knot tightened in her stomach. “No, I haven’t.”
“Good decision. A family business is driven by a great deal more than a concern for the bottom line. To describe it as complicated would be to simplify the situation.” A wry smile tugged at his mouth, and Kayla found herself looking at the curve of his lips. She was sure Jackson O’Neil would be an exceptionally skilled kisser.
Irritated with herself, she opened her notepad.
Damn Stacy.
“I can imagine it isn’t easy to agree on a business strategy when the people involved have an emotional investment. Perhaps you could outline their different responsibilities within the company?”
“I’d describe it as flexible.” He leaned back in his chair. “The company structure, if you can call it that, is informal. If anyone has an idea, they speak up, although that doesn’t mean anyone is going to listen to them.”
But they’d listen to him, she was sure of that. The air of power and authority was unmistakable.
“It sounds charming,” Brett said smoothly, and Kayla kept her eyes on her notepad.
It sounded like chaos.
She looked up. “Tell me a bit about Snow Crystal itself.”
“The O’Neils have owned the land around Snow Crystal for four generations. My great-grandfather bought it for the sugar maple trees and set up a business producing maple syrup. They did it the old-fashioned way, tapping the trees and collecting the sap in a bucket. My great-grandmother helped. They started selling the syrup and her syrup cookies out of their kitchen. Tourists enjoyed visiting the sugarhouse, so they started offering overnight stays. The business grew from that.” He spoke with assurance, his voice deep and compelling as he outlined his family history.
It was a story of a family who had stuck together, a family who had labored to build something. A family with a past and a future.
What did she know about that?
Nothing.
She reminded herself he was buying her expertise, not her pedigree. “I took a look at the log cabins online.”
“Building those was the first thing I did when I came back eighteen months ago. They’re built from reclaimed wood and have log fires, a hot tub and a view of the forest. If someone wants to escape, this is the place.”
�
�Book me in.” Smiling, Kayla scribbled romantic getaway on her pad. “And the rest of the accommodation?”
He talked, describing the resort and the changes he’d made.
She thought about the articles she’d read in the middle of the night when sleep had eluded her. A talented skier, he’d started a company for people like himself. The words used to describe him had included focused, ruthless and visionary, and his success with Snowdrift Leisure suggested they were accurate.
Kayla thought about the image of him plunging into a snow gully on skis.
Distracted by the image in her head, she rose to her feet and paced to the window. “I have a few more questions—what do you see as your main offering, Mr. O’Neil?” Apart from killer blue eyes and a hot sexy body.
“We offer the usual range of winter sports, together with skating on the lake and horse-drawn sleigh rides.” He pushed a brochure across the table toward her. “Despite the addition of the spa and the cabins, we’re losing money. Our occupancy rate is under forty percent. The only part of the business currently in profit is our restaurant.”
“Your strategy with Snowdrift was to target the high end of the market. Your clients were cash rich and time poor so you did everything for them apart from take the vacation yourself.” She paused, thinking. “Who do you see as your main target audience? Families? Couples? Lone travelers? Adventure seekers?” Christmas escapees?
The corners of his mouth flickered. “At the moment it’s anyone we can drag through the doors, but it’s definitely a good place for families. We had fun growing up at Snow Crystal. Now we want to offer that same opportunity to our guests.”
“How does your family feel about you bringing in an outside agency to work with you?”
“Unconvinced.”
“You’re confident you can persuade them to accept our recommendations?”
“It’s your job to persuade them. Can you do it?”
“Of course she can. Kayla is the best there is,” Brett drawled. “She’ll have them eating out of her hand after five minutes. No worries.”
