Holidays with the Billionaire

Chapter 9

Adlee

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I finish up the last of my wood-fired pizza and a salad and set the dishes outside of the room. The room service here is to die for and I have to refrain from ordering everything. It was all fresh and tasted homemade. The food doesn’t cost me a thing, and they had even offered a bottle of red wine to go with my pizza. Who was I to say no?

I’m a little buzzed but I like it that way. I pull out the work laptop that I was told to bring with me and check the schedule for the week. Mr. Fox did most of it and asked me to finish it and clean it up, so I’ve already seen it, but I need to focus and make sure I’m where I’m supposed to be this upcoming week.

Tomorrow morning is a shareholders’ meeting at 9:00 a.m. That obviously means business attire. I’m assuming I’ll be taking meeting minute notes, which I haven’t done, but I’ve sure typed up before. I look at all the names of the attendees and most are foreign to me, except of course my two bosses. I will assume those with a Fox last name are family.

I have no idea where these locations are. Am I expected to find them on my own, or will he pick me up? I mean, his room is just down the hall. I pick up my phone and text him.

Me: Sir, I’m aware of the meeting at 9 tomorrow but I’m unfamiliar with the location. Should I wait for you to swing by and we can go together?

I bite my lip and hit send , tossing the phone onto the bed. Then, I look around the room.

I had already completely unpacked my suitcase, including shoes and undergarments, and hung everything up. I don’t get to travel very often but I don’t like living out of a suitcase. Plus, I had to make sure my clothes didn’t wrinkle, so that’s done.

I indulge in another glass of wine and go to stand at the window. The town of Aspen Peak and its neighboring town, Keystone, look beautiful under a partly cloudy sky and a full moon. The lights of the homes and businesses twinkle over rolling hills but most are set in a deep valley. To the left I can see ski lifts traveling up and down the hill, and I wonder if there are people in them, skiing this late at night.

I shiver.

Who goes to the snow on purpose? I hate living in it, and I have no desire to ski. But that stupid contract Mr. Fox made me sign said I’d have to participate in that stuff. How ridiculous. What does he care if I don’t go skiing or snowboarding or whatever else these maniacs do? Seems with the way he acts toward me that he’d be happier if I stayed in my room when we aren’t working.

My phone chimes and I walk to the bed and pick it up.

Mr. Fox: It’s in the Aspen Room. Look at the hotel directory. Meet me at 8:45, we have to set up.

Rude.

Me: Thx

What a jerk! He can’t be bothered to swing by my room and walk with me? Probably doesn’t want any more questions from nosy old ladies who will ask if we’re a couple.

Ha! A snowball would have a better chance in Hell than that ever happening.

D own the elevator to the first floor. Turn right in the lobby. Go down the hallway to the conference rooms. Aspen Room should be marked.

I repeat it over and over until I have it memorized. I’ve got my laptop, phone, and a bottle of water I’d opened earlier to take some aspirin. That wine gave me a wicked headache and knocked me out. It’s the damn altitude, making me tipsier than I normally get. Denver is about 5,000 feet in elevation, but this town is about 10,000. Can’t freakin’ breathe either. I should have brought canned oxygen.

I take the elevator down in my red pantsuit. I paired it with a white collared shirt underneath and black flats. I feel very festive and this entire place has me in a good mood. I love Christmas, and with the décor and the constant carols playing, it’s hard to be in a foul mood.

I find the conference room easily enough and push it open slightly to find Mr. Fox in there wearing a dark gray suit with a red tie. Oh goodie, we match. He looks amazing though. I can tell he used to be an athlete. I want to ask him when he stopped playing hockey for the Avalanche, but I won’t. I could probably google it. In fact, I should know these things if I’m to be his secretary, even temporarily.

“Miss Phillips, good to see you,” Mr. Laskin says, and I refrain from rolling my eyes. He actually looks happy to see me. Or heck, happy for once period.

“Hello, sir.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” He looks at Mr. Fox. “I didn’t know she was coming. Great call. I have some stuff I need done that will cut into my ski time.”

This geezer cannot be serious. Wouldn’t he break a hip or something skiing down those slopes?

Mr. Fox ignores him and says, “Adlee, please get with the kitchen and make sure they have our refreshments.” He looks at his expensive-ass silver watch that gleams under the fluorescent lights. “They should have been here by now and set up.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, setting my laptop down and heading back the way I came. I obviously have no idea where the damn kitchen is, but I’m not about to ask.

As I exit the hallway to go back into the lobby, I see Bernice talking to the front desk. I make my way toward her.

She sees me coming and smiles. “Adlee! How are you?” She greets me like she’s known me my whole life.

“I’m great, Mrs. Evergreen, thanks for asking.”

“Oh, no. Call me Bernice, dear.”

I grin at her green dress that looks like a Christmas tree with ornaments and lights embroidered all over it. Her red earrings are shaped like Christmas light bulbs and hang loosely from her lobes as they blink on and off. “Will do. Hey, where’s the kitchen? We’re still waiting on the food for the meeting and Mr. Fox asked me to check.”

She immediately frowns. “Oh, dear. That’s not good. It’s supposed to be set up and good to go at 8:45 sharp.” She looks at her watch that I now notice is also shaped like a Christmas tree. “Follow me, honey.”

I do as she says and follow behind, noticing her short brown hair has dark red streaks in it. Wow, this lady is festive.

Without breaking her stride, she bursts through the swinging double doors of the kitchen and starts snapping her fingers. “Laurie, where are the refreshments for the Aspen Room?”

I have no idea who she’s talking to until a middle-aged lady in a baker’s uniform comes up to her. “Sorry, Bernice. We’re a bit behind this morning. Lloyd says he’s under the weather.”

“Well, did you tell someone? I could have called in a temp chef.”

She looks nervous. “No, but with the storm coming, I didn’t think anyone would come.”

“Laurie, this is Adlee Phillips. Mr. Fox’s personal assistant. You’ll deal with her for the week,” Bernice says, softening her tone, not that it had really been harsh. I doubt the woman could hurt a fly.

“Hi, Laurie. Do you need any help?”

Just then, a young man carrying two silver trays full of food comes around the corner.

Laurie looks relieved. “Oh, great. Here’s the food now. Darnell, this is Adlee.”

Since they’re obviously short-staffed, I offer to take one. Darnell hands me one and I say, “Nice to meet you. Follow me.”

The tray is heavy and I’m glad I didn’t wear heels today. I carry it carefully to the Aspen Room and turn backward to open the door with my backside. The door suddenly flings open and I feel myself falling.

“Shit!” Darnell says, but there’s nothing he can do. His hands are full as well.

In seemingly slow motion, I fall backward and the tray full of delicious-looking pastries and various fruits and breads go flying into the air. I land on my ass with a groan. I look up to see Mr. Laskin staring down at me.

His face morphs into a scowl. “What the hell are you doing?”

Is that a rhetorical question?

Mr. Fox quickly pulls me to my feet and a bear claw and a donut tumble off my chest onto the ground. Darnell is already cleaning up the food that fell on the floor, and I feel about two inches high.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

Physically, yes? Emotionally? No, I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I nod weakly.

To my utter mortification, there are now other people in the conference room. They stare at me with unreadable expressions.

One guy who looks an awful lot like Kelton Fox gets up and comes over to me. “Are you hurt?” he asks. “I’m a doctor.”

I shake my head. “Just a bruised ego,” I murmur.

“Seth Fox. I’m Kelton’s brother. Let’s get you seated.” He pulls out a chair next to his brother and I sit.

“Thanks,” I say. I like him. He’s nice.

“Why the hell was she carrying a tray?” Mr. Laskin snaps at Darnell, pointing at me.

“Hey!” I say. “I offered. Don’t yell at him.”

A few soft gasps erupt around the room and I realize I’ve sassed one of my bosses. I don’t care. Jerrold Laskin’s an asshole. He’ll always be an asshole.

“They’re short-staffed today. I would have been fine if the door didn’t swing open at the same time I was trying to get into the conference room,” I finish defensively. I know it’s not Laskin’s fault he opened the door at the same time, but it’s not mine either.

Darnell leaves I assume to come back with more food and I feel bad. I want to help but I don’t dare. I’ll assume they’ll find someone to carry the food in.

I need coffee.

There was already coffee and hot water set up so I make my way over there and get a cup and don’t say a word. I dump sugar and cream in, and go sit next to my boss. I open my laptop and pull up the spreadsheet I know he wanted to be put up. Since we have the same setup at the office, I plug my laptop into the outlet built into the table and go turn the projector on. It flares to life with my spreadsheet and I make a few little tweaks while people file into the room. Darnell and another kitchen staff enter and set up the food, then quietly leave. I mouth a thank-you to them as they go.

It’s 9:10 already and I can see Mr. Fox is getting impatient. I’ve noticed he’s very punctual. He looked very stressed out that the food wasn’t there when I walked in. It hopefully explained the disappointed look on his face when I came through the door.

After Mr. Fox introduces me as his secretary, I tried to remember who everyone is and he starts the meeting. I watch with a little bit of awe at how he commands a room and takes questions without stuttering or hesitating like I surely would have. I can make a mean spreadsheet and write emails all day long, but don’t ask me to publicly speak.

Or carry trays full of food, apparently.