Chapter 25
Alison
I can’t think of anything else but Adam.
I don’t want anything else, either.
He looks down at my body, and I drink in his expression, offering myself to him, letting myself be seen in a way I never have before. I’ve been a lights-off girl, an under-the-covers girl. Now, I can’t imagine why.
“Your skin, Ali . . .” says Adam. “You glow.” His hands still cupped beneath me, he hefts me closer, bending over me, his tongue tracing along the lace of my bra, dipping into the hollow of my throat, sucking and nipping and tasting me. “God, you even taste good,” he groans.
“That’s not fair,” I tell him. Again, it’s like I’m someone else with him. Someone with no shame, no guilt, who can speak her desires plainly. I don’t know what kept me from being that girl before, but I’m glad she’s shown up now, when I need her most. “I want to taste you. I want your tongue in my mouth again.”
He makes a sound like a tortured sigh and presses his lips to mine, driving his tongue between my teeth. My legs lock tighter around him, and I pull him against my body. I’m wrapped in the soft heat of his mouth, his darting tongue, and in the hardness he presses against me, so close, only the sheerest bit of fabric keeping us apart.
I’m no longer drunk, but now I tumble into an intoxicated, elated state so powerful I literally feel like I might faint. I hold onto him, molding my body against his, feeling how much he wants me—it’s all here for me, his hands, his sweet, artful tongue, the feel of him pressed against my core, sending a deep, carving pulse through my entire body.
I reach down between our bodies for his belt. He groans, and the sound shatters me. God, I want him. Somewhere. Now.
“Adam, I need—”
Something pokes me hard in the back, and Adam and I stagger together, breaking contact.
We turn to see Suede’s long elegant muzzle right up close to us. He knickers softly.
“What’s wrong, boy?” Adam asks, lowering me to the ground.
Heavy footsteps crunch on the drive, and in lightning quick succession, Adam pulls up my dress and zips it, then buckles his own belt and takes a subtle step away from me, his expression reforming into one of nonchalance.
My father appears in the stable doorway. He’s in jeans and has an ill-fitting sweater tossed on over his pajama top, making him look old and disheveled.
“There you are!” he exclaims, as though he’s searched the ends of the earth for me.
My heart pounds so hard that it’s on the edge of painful. I try to make myself sound normal. “Yes,” I say. “I was just introducing Adam to Persephone and Suede.”
“I see that.” My father’s gaze sweeps over Adam, and there’s a new brittleness to his expression. I can’t read whether it’s disapproval or something else.
“I gave Alison a ride home,” Adam says smoothly. He doesn’t add why, and I know he never would.
My father steps closer, and the space seems to shrink with his presence. His face is ruddy, eyes glassy. I guess I’m not the only one who’s been drinking. Suddenly, I feel like everything about me is pre-designed. Like I’m just part of this great machine, which for generations has been spitting out discontented perfectionists with a fondness for booze.
I pat Suede’s neck and whisper, “Thank you,” in his ear. At least he’s got my back. Adam too, I know.
“And how was your date, Alison?” my father asks. “And how is it that he didn’t drive you home?”
“It’s a long story, dad,” I tell him. “Why don’t you go back inside, and I’ll come tell you all about it in a second. I want to walk Adam out to his car, okay? I know we both have big days tomorrow.”
“Big week,” Adam confirms.
“That’s right.” My father nods. “Your team-building trip.”
Adam nods. “Yes, lots to do before we head out.”
“Well, I won’t keep you,” my father tells him. Once again, his eyes move between us, but I keep my expression neutral. Masked.
“Thank you,” Adam replies. “When we get back, I’d like to sit down with you, go over final details. I think you’ll have everything you need for a decision by then.” His eyes shift to me.
“We’ll have much to discuss, I’m sure,” my father says.
I settle Persephone and Suede in for the night, and Adam draws the big double doors closed behind the three of us. We head toward the drive together, and I expect my father to part ways at the path up to the house, but he remains with us, claiming he wants to take a closer look at Adam’s car.
It’s quiet now. Only our footsteps and the light murmur of the surf fill the air. I think about how often I’ve wished to go backward since I’ve met Adam, back to the breathtaking moments we’ve shared. Maybe they’re better than normal life because they’re forbidden. Or maybe they’re better because it’s just the two of us, sharing some raw part of ourselves we tend to keep hidden from view.
I don’t know what it is, except that those moments feel high-definition to me, every touch and breath sharper than life.
We reach his car, and after giving my father a quick tour of the interior, Adam slides inside and pulls the seat belt across his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, and his eyes say so much more that I want to dive into the seat beside him and have him carry me off into the night.
But I just smile and say, “tomorrow.”
Inside, my father fixes himself a bourbon and ice then sits in our formal dining room, looking strange and shrunken at the head of a table that can be set for twenty.
“Nightcap?”
“No thanks,” I say.
“Well, sit with me, anyway.”
I pull out a chair and sink into it. Suddenly, I’m exhausted. I just want to crawl up to bed and relive every moment with Adam, and then wake up to a new day where I get to see him again.
“Already had yours?”
“Yes,” I say, because there’s no point lying about it. “I had a few. That’s why Adam drove me home.”
“Did you make any inroads with Blackwood?”
The air seems loaded with double meanings, and I feel a sudden tension, like I’m about to walk into a trap. “Not so much,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “He doesn’t open up about much.” And as I say it, I realize how true it is. For both of us. Our bodies are way more honest with each other than our words seem to be.
“No, I imagine he wouldn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s just say I found out something interesting today. Or at least the first part of something interesting. I’m not sure what to do with it, but I think that’s where you come in. If I can trust you to stay the course.”
“Of course you can.”
“I don’t mind you getting close to him. In fact, I applaud the strategy. But you can’t lose your head. You have to stay in control. On top. You understand?”
I don’t know what to say to any of that. Everything that’s happened between Adam and me is the furthest thing in the world from a strategy. Or control. But if I explain that to my father, he’ll question my loyalty.
“Okay, Dad,” I say. “Yes, I understand. What did you find out?”
My father takes a long swallow of his drink. He sets the mug down with a thud and says, “Adam Blackwood’s been married.”
The words crash around in my head for a second but don’t line up in a way that makes sense. “What?”
“Married. He was married. When he was just a kid. But there’s something more there. I know it.” His eyes glimmer in a way that bothers me.
I can’t understand why this is important. Or how I’m supposed to feel about it. I know it must mean something—but I can’t imagine what. Only that Adam loved someone deeply enough to marry her, to feel sure he’d spend the rest of his life with her.
“When?” I ask. “To who?”
“A girl named Chloe Randall. She died.” He shakes his head. “Twenty years old.”
“How?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s where you come in.”
“But, I mean, when was this?”
“About three years ago. They were only married for a few months. Information is locked down tighter than Fort Knox, and I need to know why. I think we’re onto something here.”
“But how does any of this really matter?” I ask. “I mean . . . whatever the reasons, why do we even have to know?”
“Because I’m giving this guy twenty million dollars. And he’s keeping secrets. Expensive secrets. However this girl died, it should be public knowledge, but there’s nothing. Not a newspaper article or police report. At least none that we can find—yet. He covered it up for some reason, and that doesn’t look good.”
“Then how did you find out?”
He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about that. I need to know what this is about though. You’ve got four days with him now. Work on him.”
I feel queasy, imagining that. Imagining trying to “work” Adam for answers. But my dad’s right. I don’t want to admit it, but that’s a lot of money. Family money. And Adam’s hiding something. From the world, not just us. For three years, he’s built his life on a secret and seemed to go about it so coolly, with such ease. It makes me feel like I can’t trust anything at all.
“All right, Dad,” I say and get up from the table. “I’ll get answers. I promise.”
Chapter 26
Adam
I’m sweating in my ski jacket as I reach the cornice I spotted from the chair lift. Sliding my skis and poles off my shoulder, I stake them into the snow.
Casper Bowl, my favorite run here in Jackson, dips and turns below me, coated with more than a foot of pristine powder from yesterday’s storm. It’s more work to hike to the runs that aren’t accessible by ski lift, but blazing a trail over a white blanket that hasn’t been touched by anyone is my style. The trek is more than worth it.
After I catch my breath, I snap into my skis. Then I adjust my goggles, firm my grip on my poles, and push.
The initial five-foot drop gives me the acceleration I wanted, and I’m off, slicing back and forth, just the mountain and me. Usually there’s no room for thought once I’m carving down a mountain, but this time is different. Ali is in my thoughts. She has been all week, and flying on a pair of skis doesn’t change that.
I see her face just before I kissed her in the stable—an image that’s been sustaining me for days—for the week that’s passed since that night. A meeting with some potential co-producers cropped up and took Brooks and me to New York. Promising leads, but I spent too many days without Alison.
That ends today.
And it can’t happen again.
Graham, Ali, and I will have to work things out. Ali is twenty-two—old enough to make her own choices about her personal life. Graham will have to recognize that and see it as separate from the investment deal. There’s no reason—no good one—why I can’t have her and her father’s money.
I can’t believe this. I’m crazy about a girl again. What’s harder to believe is that I’m hiding that I’m crazy about a girl again—but that’s going to change immediately. I’ll talk to Ali, then deal with Graham.
I punish myself on the slopes, burning off the energy that’s been pent up inside me all week, leaping off a shoulder of snow like there’s no danger of breaking my neck. Eight inches of fresh powder should cushion me, but the impact jars every bone in my body. The pain feels good. Real and sharp. The blinding white snow, blue skies, and a blazing yellow sun even better, but I’m struggling to get a rhythm. I sink deeper into my legs, picking up speed to see if I can lock in.
Something shifts as I move into the shadow of the mountain, and I suddenly feel Chloe racing with me, her breath in my ear, the sting of her loss cramping my fingers, making my movements jerky and stiff. The wind lashes at my face, penetrating my goggles, and my eyes water, blurring the trail.
She’s so clear to me. I feel her with me, curled in my lap in an Adirondack on the deck back home, her breath warm against my ear, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck, tickling me. I hated it and she did it anyway, and I loved that she did it anyway. She whispered our dreams to me at night, whispered everything we’d become like we were a bedtime story. A loft in Manhattan. Her, an artist. Me, starting a business. She had a plan we’d do that until she turned twenty-five, then we’d move to Paris.
But we never became anything. She never turned twenty-five. She turned into a memory. A constant reminder of my mistake and . . . and, fuck. I can’t screw up like that again, not with Alison.
Some asshole in yellow ski pants bombs past me. He catches an edge and goes down hard, windmilling and blasting me in the face with a slurry of snow. I’m blind, my legs shuddering until I jam in hard and practically snap both of my knees trying to stop. A wave of rage crashes through me. I want to charge back up the mountain and wrap my hands around the guy’s throat, choke him. But I don’t. Anyway, those stupid yellow pants are their own punishment.
Breathing in deep, I feel ice form in my veins. The sky’s brilliance calms me. I dig my poles into the snow, start again. I feel rusty, my body still out of sync with my intent. I think about the people waiting back at the lodge for me. Rhett and Cookie. Mia, Sadie, and Pippa. Paolo. People whose lives depend on my getting my shit together. I dig into the powder, pushing until the snow is a blur, my poles tucked up tight against my body, a rocket shooting toward an endless horizon. I cut through a narrow crevice, along the more dangerous path. Every cell in my body warns me I’m in danger of failing, that if I crash, it’s going to be brutal.
I don’t care. I know I can’t outpace the memories. I’m alive and Chloe isn’t, and I’ll never forgive myself, or forget her. But every day is mine to determine now and I want to move forward.
There’s a chance with Alison. I’m going for her—for us—and I won’t screw it up. Not this time. Not with her.
The end of the run smoothes into a straight downward shot that finally makes me feel like I know what I’m doing. I sail over the last hundred yards, and although the run gives me plenty of even ground at the end, I come up hard near a stand of firs by a path to the lodge. I unclamp my skis, hoist them over my shoulder and step into the Four Seasons, setting my skis on a rack.
It feels too hot in the resort, but I know it’s just my body being used to the outside cold and still cooling down from skiing. Ahead of me, there’s an enormous two-sided fireplace with high-backed benches upholstered in slate and pearl leather. I head to the bar, thinking I’ll have a quick drink before heading to the cabin where my staff awaits. I just need a minute to clear away the fog.
The bartender is gorgeous—flaming red hair, pale freckled cleavage—and she locks into me with blatant interest, licking her peach lipstick as she smiles.
“What’ll it be?” she asks, her question filled with invitations.
Normally, I’d accept that invitation, but now there’s no temptation. I order a Manhattan. When it arrives, I take a few sips. Then I check my watch and find myself smiling. Ali should be here by now.
“Hey, Adam!” Rhett says, sidling up to the bar. He takes the bar stool to my left. Cookie sits to my right. “How was it out there, man?”
“Oh, cut the crap,” Cookie says. She pauses to order two more martinis. “Make them strong and quick,” she says to the bartender. “Give me some nuts, too.”
The bartender’s eyes dart to me, smiling, before she moves to mix the drinks.
Cookie folds her arms. “Okay. What the hell is going on with Alison?”
I laugh. “What is this? An Alison intervention?”
“That’s exactly what this is, and we’re serious.”
“As a heart attack,” Rhett adds.
I take a sip of my drink. I haven’t been in the office for a week, but Rhett and Cookie have caught onto me anyway. While I was in New York, I checked up with both of them a few times to make sure Alison had everythi
ng she needed. Even from across the country, they’ve picked up on where my head is. Or to be more specific, my heart.
“Nice of you guys. But don’t waste your energy. I’m going to see her if I want to, and . . . I do.”
“You’re not thinking straight,” Cookie says. “I don’t trust her. I’ve never trusted her.”
“So you’ve said.”
“It’s not just Alison,” Rhett adds. “It’s Graham Quick. I’ve been thinking about what Ethan said at poker. I’m worried, Adam.”
“Worried about Graham?” I look from him to Cookie. “You mean you’re worried about the deal?”
“Yes,” they both say.
“I’ve been asking around,” Rhett says. “Getting some other opinions on Quick. I haven’t been able to get anything. The three guys I talked to who had worked directly under him wouldn’t badmouth him. But get this. They wouldn’t say anything good about him, either. They just kept making these really canned, neutral remarks about how they’d learned a lot from Graham. They’re scared of him, Adam. It’s the only explanation.”
“Exactly,” Cookie says. “The only thing they learned was how to be scared shitless of Graham’s wrath.”
“I’ll keep digging,” Rhett says. “I’ve got a few other contacts who—”
I hold up my hand, stopping him. “Look, Rhett. Cookie. Do your research. Do what you feel you need to do.” I stand and peel a hundred dollar bill out of my wallet, dropping it on the bar. “But let me ask you this. Do you think I built my company by being scared?”
They have no answer, and I knew they wouldn’t.
I leave them to grab my gear and head over to the lodge.
It wasn’t fear, I think, as I step back out into the snow. It was grief.
Grief was the fuel that built Boomerang.
Chapter 27
Alison
Perfect.
Philippe and I hover in the doorway of one of the lodge’s bedrooms, Gucci bags strewn at my feet, and take stock of the sleeping arrangements. Two bunk beds, three already littered with luggage that looks like it fell from a gypsy caravan, and one low-slung lumpy bottom bunk, apparently for me.
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