Snow Job

by Tara Wyatt

  He started off with an easy nose grab, catching huge air. His blood whooshed through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest as he came back down, landing the trick easily. Gaining momentum, he rode up the opposite side, launching himself into a trick known as a McTwist, a front flip with a 540-degree rotation. He landed smoothly, careful not to bend too low or lean too far back on his heels. He sailed back up the other side, catching more big air with a frontside fourteen. The crowd cheered, shouting and clapping, which only made him want more.

  Adrenaline buzzing through him, making him feel like a feather in the wind, he swooshed down the pipe and up into a double cork twelve. He landed a little more roughly, the edge of his board scraping and causing him to lose some speed, but he stayed upright and coasted up into one final trick, a flip known as a Michalchuk. It wasn’t the hardest trick or the most dangerous one, but Sebastian hated it because it was the trick that had torn his ACL and ended his Olympic dreams. And so, he made himself do it every single time he got on the pipe. To prove that he could. That it didn’t hold any power over him. To try to reclaim it, somehow.

  As usual, he landed it without issue. Just as he’d done thousands of times leading up to the day when he’d felt that horrible pop and everything had changed.

  Snow flying from beneath his board, he cruised to the bottom of the pipe. The air was cold and fresh, but he felt warm and tingly as the adrenaline dissipated from his body. That adrenaline rush and then the calm and clarity that came after it were addictive. So addictive that he’d nearly wrecked his life chasing it after his competitive snowboarding days had come to an end.

  “Solid, man,” said Bodhi, holding out his hand for a fist bump. Sebastian obliged and then unclipped his bindings, picking up his board. “Love watching you ride.”

  “Thanks, man. You, too.”

  “Think we impressed the suits?” He gestured up to the left-hand side of the pipe, a flat area halfway between the main ski lodge and the lesson area, secured with a log railing. Sure enough, a larger group of people than usual had gathered there, all watching. The corporate retreat was starting today, and Sebastian had noticed that there’d been more activity around the resort than usual for a weekday.

  “I hope so. Besides, they shouldn’t be that hard to impress. Especially not once they get out here and see that it’s not as easy as it looks.”

  Bodhi clapped him on the shoulder. “You got a class now?”

  Sebastian nodded. “Yeah, adult beginner. You?”

  “I’m headed to munchkin town.”

  Sebastian pursed his lips, feeling a little jealous. He’d much rather hang out with five-year-olds than the corporate types he used to spend all day with, but Patrick had asked him and Lane to take the lead on classes for the retreat, and he wasn’t going to let him down.

  He took the lift back up to the main area, board in hand, and trekked over to where the sign for adult beginners poked out of the ground. Four people waited around, chatting, watching the other skiers and snowboarders. The snow crunched under his boots as he walked, and his steps slowed as he approached, a bolt of familiarity jolting him, making everything inside him go cold and hard.

  He saw her first, knew it was her. And it wasn’t because he recognized her face or her voice. No. It was because he’d know that ass anywhere. Even in a pair of hot pink snow pants, there was no mistaking the most glorious ass he’d ever laid eyes on. The ass he’d fantasized about so many times he’d lost count. It was round and thick and perfect.

  The only problem was that it belonged to Kayla Bristowe, the woman who’d gotten him fired and sent him into his current tailspin. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he took her in. She half-turned, giving him a look at her profile. Blond curls tumbled out from beneath her beanie, her cheeks pink from the cold. Pert little upturned nose, full lips, strong, almost square jaw. Even though she was covered up in her winter gear, his mind helpfully supplied the memory of her curves. Those full breasts that strained against her button-down blouses. The flare of her hips in those pencil skirts she always wore. Thick thighs he wanted to sink his teeth into.

  Fuck.

  She turned and tilted her head, smiling at him and Christ, it felt like a ray of sunshine beaming right into the center of his chest.

  And then he pushed his goggles up onto his helmet.

  Her smile vanished, replaced almost instantaneously with a scowl. Another memory surfaced, this one of her smirking at him as he’d been marched out of the building after she’d gotten him fired. After she’d taken from him the last thing he’d had left.

  Red tinged the edges of his vision as they locked eyes. His heart throbbed in his chest, his grip on his board tightening. He forced himself to suck in a breath of cold air, and then another as she stared at him.

  “Sebastian?” she asked, her voice thick with disbelief and disdain. “That was you on that…” She pointed in the direction of the half-pipe and then cleared her throat. “You’re our instructor?”

  “Looks like,” he said, anger beating hotly through him. She had no idea what she’d taken from him. What she’d cost him. She’d played with his life like it was a game. A fucking toy. Because if she knew, she wouldn’t be standing here frowning at him like he was a rambunctious dog who’d just trampled her garden. He could feel the other three sets of eyes on him, but he didn’t care. As pissed as he was, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from Kayla. “And I guess you’re my corporate retreat.”

  “Looks like,” she echoed in a flat voice. Then she jutted out her hip, slamming her hand down onto it.

  Lucky hand.

  “Listen,” she said, all snark and business, “I don’t know if it’s appropriate for you to be involved with this retreat given your history with the company. I’ve worked really hard to put this together, and—”

  He cut her off by taking a step closer, towering over her. “Trying to get me fired again, Kayla?” An energy he didn’t have a name for pulsed through him. It was anger and lust and need and frustration, all curled into one pulsing ball in the pit of his stomach.

  Her eyes widened, her nostrils flaring. “What? I never got you fired. I’m just saying that—”

  “First of all, you did. And second, I don’t care what you’re saying. My former role with Silver Stream has nothing to do with this. Nothing.”

  “Well, I do care! I’m in charge of this retreat, and I think that—”

  “Again, don’t care.”

  He could tell she was fighting the urge to stamp her cute little foot and he bit back a grin. But then she jabbed a finger into his chest. Heat seared through him.

  “Excuse me, but I’m the customer and I think what I say goes.” Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and fuck, it was satisfying getting her all riled up like this. At work, she’d always kept her cool. Ruffling her feathers…yeah. It felt pretty damn good.

  Deciding the best way to piss her off was to ignore her, he stepped away and smiled at the other three people in the class. “Hey, everyone. I’m Sebastian, and yeah, I used to work with you. But now I work here, so if there aren’t any further questions, let’s not waste any more precious lesson time with trivial stuff, okay?”

  He glanced in Kayla’s direction, biting back a smile when he saw her scowling at him. As he demonstrated to everyone how to safely clip into their boards, he kept sneaking little glances at her. As everyone practiced clipping in and out of their bindings, he stepped closer to her, dropping his head so only she could hear him.

  “You’re not practicing,” he chided, wanting to see how easily he could get a rise out of her. “Feel free to quit if you want. I mean, it’s pretty hard, so it’s not for everyone.”

  At that, her head whipped around, her green eyes flashing at him. Fuck, he liked that, all that heat and intensity focused on him. Apparently, his lust for her still burned just as hot as it had when they’d worked together.

  Not that this, here, could turn into anything. Not when she’d ruined h
is life.

  Staring at him, she clipped herself into her bindings. Then, with a triumphant little smirk, she went to unclip herself, lost her balance, and landed on her luscious ass. His instructor instincts taking over, he immediately held out a hand to her, hauling her back to her feet. She popped up, almost colliding with his chest, and for a second, everything inside him went very, very still. With his gloved hand holding hers, their breaths mingling in white puffs, her body pressed to his, he met her eyes. Her pupils were blown, her chest heaving and fuck if his dick didn’t sit up and take notice. After a second, she snatched her hand away with a glare.

  Fighting down the completely unexpected urge to haul her back against him, Sebastian cleared his throat.

  “That’s great. Now that you know how to safely clip in and clip out of your boards, we’re going to get to the meat of the lesson. I’m going to teach you three things today, and if you can master these three things, you’ll be snowboarding in no time. Any questions?”

  “How long have you been working here?” asked a smarmy blond guy named Davis who Sebastian had always loathed. He was an ass-kisser in the extreme but also thought he was better than everyone else.

  Sebastian forced himself to smile. “I meant questions about today’s lesson.”

  When all four students shook their heads, Bastian nodded. “Then let’s get started. The first thing you need to be able to do is the power heel squat. Let me demonstrate.” He strapped back into his board and started to slowly slide down the training hill, both feet facing forward. “You’re going to squat and shift your weight to the heel edge of your board. The more weight you transfer back, the slower you’ll go. You need to know how to safely control your speed. See how if I lift up my toes like this…” He did it, stopping smoothly. “I come to a stop. You control the board with your weight and where you’re shifting it.” He stepped out of his bindings and jogged back up the hill to the group. “The closer your toes are to the snow, the faster you’ll go. High toes lowers your heels, shifting your weight and making you slow down and stop. Let’s all practice this, and once you’ve got the hang of it, we’ll work on shifting weight to move left and right.”

  One by one, the students attempted to slide slowly down the tiny hill, wobbling and falling, getting up and trying again with laughter. Kayla, however, stood at the top of the hill, staring at the snow.

  “Kayla? You haven’t tried yet. I can’t move on in the lesson until everyone is on the same page.” He eyed her with one raised eyebrow, forcing his tone into one of cool professionalism.

  “Oh, so now you’re a picture of competence,” she muttered.

  He put his hands on his hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  But he couldn’t let it go, and with everyone else occupied with learning how to slide and stop, he took the opportunity to push her.

  “Come on, don’t give me that bullshit,” he said, his voice low. “You thought I was incompetent, so you got me fired. That about it?”

  Her nostrils flared and she actually let out a little grunt. “No, you jerk. First of all, I didn’t think you were incompetent, but you proved yourself to be when you dropped the ball time and time again, forcing the rest of us to pick up your slack when you were sleeping off a bender or doing God only knows what else. Don’t blame me for your fuck up. Because the only person you have any right to blame for losing your job is you.” She jabbed her finger into his chest for the second time that afternoon, and he didn’t like it any less this time around. “Don’t blame me for the fact that your privileged ass can’t take any responsibility for how badly you screwed—” She cut herself off, biting her lip. “You know what? This is stupid. Because we don’t work together anymore, and I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Don’t you?” he asked, his tone rough. “Because you fucked up my life pretty bad, Kayla. I lost my apartment. I lost my job. Look at me. I’m a thirty-four year old snowboarding instructor. Yeah, I screwed up. But I was on the edge and you pushed me right the fuck over, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes blazed, her breaths coming in sharp pants. “Your disaster of a life is not my fault. And I am not some little doormat you get to talk to like this. I think we should get back to the lesson.”

  Despite the cold, sweat beaded along his brow and he ground his teeth. “Of course.” His pulse throbbed in his temples, anger churning through him at what Kayla had said. Not because she was wrong, but because she was at least a tiny bit right. He closed his eyes and took a breath, and then pointed at the hill. “So. Let’s see. Like I said, we can’t move on until everyone has mastered this first skill.”

  Holding his eyes, hers burning with pride, she started to slide down the hill. Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk when she pointed her toes down instead of up, flailed and then landed on her ass. Again.

  “Here,” he said, helping her up. “You want to press your weight back on your heels. Toes up, not down. Like this.” He stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her hips. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t say anything, letting him guide her body. Exerting gentle pressure, he rocked her back, showing her how to shift her weight. His blood thickened as every muscle in his body tightened at having his hands on her like that, even though they were separated by multiple layers of Gore-Tex. “Like this. Heels heavy, toes light. You got it?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, shaking her head. “I…” Then she cleared her throat and pushed his hands away, her cheeks bright pink. “Yep. Got it.”

  4

  Three Years Ago

  Kayla smoothed her hands over the skirt of her powder blue shift dress, crossed and uncrossed her ankles, and then reminded herself not to fidget. She was nervous, but this wasn’t the regular kind of job interview nerves. Lord knew she’d been on enough interviews over the past three months that she was a seasoned pro at this point. But those other positions hadn’t been nearly as exciting and enticing as this one. She’d applied for it on a whim, thinking she wouldn’t even get an interview—after all, communications and marketing manager at a major real estate development firm in Manhattan wasn’t exactly an entry level job.

  Yet here she was, waiting for someone to call her name and invite her in to the conference room.

  She crossed and uncrossed her ankles again, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d treated herself to a blow out, and the stylist had made her curls even shinier and bouncier than usual. It was a small thing, but knowing she looked her best always gave her a boost of confidence. She pulled the cream-colored folder holding the documents she’d put together for the interview out of her bag and held it in her lap, just so her hands would have something to do.

  “Miss Bristowe?” A younger man poked his head out of the conference room across the hall. When she smiled and stood, he nodded. “They’re ready for you.”

  Taking a steadying breath, she followed him into the conference room, which was small but pristine, with a sparkling glass table and neat gray leather chairs around it. The lighting fixture hanging above it could’ve been a modern work of art. The floor-to-ceiling windows provided a breathtaking view of Rockefeller Center and Bryant Park.

  This place was money. And God, she wanted in so badly. Not just because it paid well (which it did) or would be a fantastic professional opportunity for her (which it was), but because it was the logical next step on her Perfect Life Plan. She’d finished school, gotten the degrees, done the internships and had worked on a few contracts, but hadn’t landed on anything permanent. If she got this, she was one step closer to having everything she’d ever wanted. One step closer to avoiding the disaster her mother’s life had become.

  Please, please, please, please don’t let me screw this up.

  The assistant retreated and she smiled brightly at the two men who’d stood when she entered the room. The older of the two introduced himself first.

  “Miss Bristowe, hello. Thank you for
coming on such short notice. I’m Robert Stammler, the Chief Operating Officer, and this is Howie Riggs, our head of HR.” The other man nodded at her, looking bored. “We’re waiting for one other…” He trailed off as he checked his watch. “In any case, why don’t we get started? I don’t want to keep you waiting any longer.” He gestured at an empty chair at the head of the table.

  She swallowed and nodded, sinking down into the chair, and then laid her folder on the table, opening it. “If I may, I’ve put together a package I’d like to share with you. It contains my resume and cover letter, as well as my transcripts and references. I’ve also taken the liberty of putting together a mock proposal for a marketing campaign, as well as samples of communications work I’ve done in the past—press releases, training documents, and a few others. May I?” She quirked an eyebrow and Mr. Stammler nodded, taking the packet she offered him. She passed the other to Mr. Riggs, who didn’t open it.

  She forced herself to stay quiet while Mr. Stammler paged through the document. After a few moments, he nodded. “This is impressive. I see you even did a paid internship with Peugeot in Paris last year. Tell me about that.”

  She smiled, settling back in her seat. “I spent three months living in Paris and working under one of the key account managers. I was responsible for putting together presentations for clients, working with factory managers and internal departments to ensure a smooth chain of production, creating profit and market share reports, and assisting in the creation of strategic plans for various initiatives.”

  Mr. Stammler nodded, one eyebrow raised. “And you did all of that in French?”

  Kayla allowed herself a small smile and a nod. “I did. I minored in French at Northwestern and wanted to test myself.”

  “Impressive. Very impressive.” Just then, he looked up and smiled, his gaze landing a few feet above her head. “Ah. There he is. Miss Bristowe, this is Sebastian Prescott, our VP of marketing and project management. Should you end up working here, you would be working directly under Sebastian. Sebastian, this is Kayla Bristowe.”