Holidays with the Billionaire

Chapter 11

Adlee

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T he freezing wind bites my cheeks as I sail down the hill. I watched the other skiers like Mr. Fox told me to and got the hang of how to move my hips and legs to keep my momentum going. My boss is a clear pro on the skis, dodging signs that read SLOW and the name of each hill we reach. The slopes tend to fork off and each new one has its own name. I’m glad he’s ahead of me or else I wouldn’t know where to go. He’s obviously a lifetime athlete so the fact that he’s so skilled on skis doesn’t surprise me.

I won’t admit out loud that this is fun, but I’m glad I came. I’m sure he’s going to want to go again, and I’ll commit to one more time, but after that I’ll need to stop. I already plan to be very sore tomorrow. I need to hit the gym more, but I’m always so tired after work, which is pathetic since I mostly sit on my butt all day and do nothing strenuous. But my ass is getting that secretary spread, and it’s not a good look.

I follow directly behind my boss, appreciating his nice ass in those tight ski pants, but trying to pay attention to what I’m doing and my surroundings in general, as well. The view is amazing, tall green trees on either side of the slope, a view of the town, and a clear blue Colorado sky. The goggles were a good idea, as I’m sure the snow would be blinding with the sun beating off it. It sparkles under the late afternoon sun, and I realize now why people love this sport so much.

It takes about ten minutes and I can see the slope evening out, and people gathering at the bottom as their glide down the mountain has come to an end. I observe how Mr. Fox and the others use both legs together to slide to the side, using the skis to stop their propulsion, and I do the same. I almost topple over, as I’m not as graceful as them, but I do manage to stop facing the lodge and all the people taking off their skis to head inside.

I drop my poles and raise my hands in the air. “I did it!” I wiggle my hips for effect.

A few people chuckle at me as they ski around me and come to rest as well.

“Adlee, you should probably—”

Mr. Fox’s warning is too late. I turn my torso around to avoid having to turn my skis, and see a guy about my age heading straight for me.

“Oh no!” I cry, trying to move, but it’s too late.

“Move, lady!” he cries as he hits my back and I fall face-first into the snow, my arms and legs splayed out, skis straight up in the air.

“Get off me!” I mutter, trying to lift my face out of the freezing snow.

I feel when he is suddenly off, and I turn my face to see my boss lifting him up by the back of his snow bibs, placing him on his feet.

“I’m so sorry!” the guy says, his face red, but I’m sure mine is redder, between the icy snow and my mortification.

“A little help?” I groan, putting both arms into the snow to try to do a push-up.

Mr. Fox lifts me up and also places me on my feet. “Once you reach the bottom, you have to move out of the way.”

“I see that now,” I say, spitting snow out of my mouth and using my glove to wipe off the rest.

My boss is biting back a laugh at my appearance. “So another run down the hill is out of the question?”

I look around and see plenty of skiers still gliding down. I can’t puss out now. I raise my chin. “Yes, I’ll go again.”

He says nothing but starts walking toward the ski lift, looking way more graceful walking in skis than I do.

There’s no real line, and once we hop into the car, he looks at me. “Admit it. You had fun.”

I purse my lips and stare straight ahead. “I will admit no such thing.”

He chuckles low and deep and it makes my stomach fill with butterflies.

What the hell? Since when are chuckles sexy? If I was honest with myself, I’d admit that everything he does is sexy. I can’t afford to have a crush on my boss, but the attraction I feel cannot be denied.

This time, we’re not holding hands and I’m not death-gripping his arm as we ride to the top of the hill.

“You know, during the summer they turn this into a mountain-biking park,” he says out of the blue, staring straight ahead.

I think about that thoughtfully. “So it’s all dirt and rock under all this snow?”

He nods and turns in my direction, but I can’t see his gorgeous blue eyes because they’re covered by his mirrored goggles. “What else would be under it?”

I lift a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t know. Asphalt?”

He laughs and my cheeks heat. “Why would they pave the side of a mountain?”

“For easier access. Shit, I don’t know.” I really feel stupid now.

Mr. Fox smiles and then looks straight ahead as my imagination runs wild. I try to picture it in summertime, people with helmets, kneepads, and elbow pads riding fast down this slope on expensive bicycles. Then, something hits me.

“How do they get their bikes to the top?” I ask.

He knocks twice on the seat. “They use these.”

“What, they carry their bikes on this thing?”

He nods. “Pretty much.” Then he turns to look at me. “Do you mountain-bike?”

“Do I look like I mountain-bike?” I deadpan.

“I knew the answer before I finished the question.” He sighs and stares at the scenery again. “You should live a little, Adlee. Nature has a lot of fun things to offer.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have time and I’m out of shape, as you can clearly see.” I gesture to my body.

He turns to me and lifts his goggles, a red rim around his eyes, but they’re the star of the show. I can’t not look at them. I watch as they travel the length of my body slowly, making me swallow hard. He ends his assessment at my face, and then reaches over and lifts my goggles so he can see my eyes.

“You sure look like you’re in shape to me.”

My lips part and for once, I have no snarky comeback. So, I decide to throw caution to the wind and give him a taste of his own medicine. I drag my gaze down his body, then back to him. “Unlike you, huh?” I tease.

Without missing a beat, he replies, “Physical fitness is very important to me.”

“I see that,” I say, trying not to sound too flirtatious, but fuck me, this guy—my boss—is hotter than sin and I suddenly imagine myself naked in his room, violating him ten ways ’til Sunday. I clear my throat and slide my goggles back down. “Played hockey, huh?”

“Yes.” His one-word answer seems like all he’s willing to say, and soon, I can see we’ve got about thirty seconds before we have to dismount this thing and take another trip down the mountain.

I ’m exhausted and want to lie in bed and watch TV, but I have to attend some dinner tonight. My muscles are sore and I know tomorrow it’ll be so much worse. I dress in business clothes because it didn’t specify what type of dinner, and apply more makeup than usual since I forgot to use sunscreen earlier and now I have a lovely goggles outline around my eyes.

We ended up going three more trips down the slope. Mr. Fox tried to get me to do a harder slope and I told him he was pushing it just getting me to do the ones we did.

I arrive at the dining hall and see all the shareholders and my boss’s family sitting around a large table. Servers bring drinks and hors d’oeuvres that I couldn’t identify if I tried.

“Miss Phillips, please join me,” Mr. Fox says, indicating the empty chair next to him.

I smile politely and head there, surprised when he rises from his seat and pulls out my chair for me.

“Thank you,” I murmur, trying not to be obvious as I inhale his masculine, woodsy, spicy scent. It makes me want to lick him.

He sits and immediately a server comes and fills my flute with champagne. I thank the black-and-white-clad waiter with the towel over his arm. He winks his reply and I swallow down a grin.

I take the most polite sip I can while hoping the alcohol loosens me up. I feel like everyone is looking at me.

While Mr. Fox’s brother Seth starts talking about he and his wife’s trip down the slopes today, I look at my boss. “Am I supposed to be taking notes?”

“No,” he replies. “This is not a business dinner.”

“Then why am I here?” I ask as politely as I can without sounding snarky. Again, room service pizza and cable TV are much more preferable to this.

“Because I want you here,” he replies.

I look into his sparkling blue eyes and down at the bottle of beer he’s palming. It looks to be almost empty and even I’m smart enough to know that one beer won’t get this giant man drunk. Aside from the muscles I saw through the ski clothes today, he’s got to be close to six-foot-three.

“And why’s that?” I retort, picking up my flute and taking a sip while I refuse to break eye contact.

“Why don’t you enjoy yourself and the fabulous food they’re about to bring out.” He says it like a statement, not a question. I get the feeling he’s used to getting what he wants.

“Okay. Whatever you want, Mr. Fox,” I reply, tearing my gaze from him to look at his brother, who is still blathering on about numbers that I couldn’t care less about. I pretend to be interested but I really only want to eat, drink, and go back to my room. My muscles are starting to ache and I’ll probably be walking out of this dinner mimicking an 80-year-old with advanced arthritis.

“Call me Kelton,” he says under his breath, surprising me.

I whip my head in his direction and he’s staring down at me. I’m sitting at the corner seat of the table while he’s at the head. I crane my neck up to see if he’s serious.

“Really?” I ask.

“When we’re alone, or in the office, yes,” he replies under his breath while listening—or pretending to listen—to his brother drone on.

When would we be alone, except in the office?

It’s a question I’ll have to ponder for another time because it’ll bring up fantasies I don’t have the right to indulge in. Being alone with Kelton Fox? In an intimate setting? Like I told Gabe—cliché much?

The servers eventually bring out food that is delicious. I don’t question what it is because I have no allergies and nothing smelled like fish, which I despise, so I just ate it. Once the dinner is over, I excuse myself to head back to my room.

“Adlee, wait.”

I turn to see Kelton fast-walking toward me. “Let me walk you to your room.”

I have no reason to object, so I nod and wait for him to catch up to me. He punches the elevator button and we wait in awkward silence for the car to reach us. Once it does, he indicates for me to step inside, and I do.

“That was a great meal,” I say, trying to break the uneasy silence.

“It was bison, in case you were curious,” he says.

I cock my head. “What’s that?”

“A better alternative to beef,” he replies. “Bison are exclusive to this area. I wouldn’t call it a delicacy, but it’s not often served. I fell in love with it as a teen. The meat is much more rich and less fatty.”

I get the feeling he’s using words he normally wouldn’t around me. I can’t even say it’s making me uncomfortable; just wondering what his endgame is here.

“Well, it was delicious. I’m spoiled now,” I reply with a smile, looking up at him. I glance down at the blue tie he wears, wondering how hard it would be to get off him. I’m slightly buzzed from the champagne, but I’m not drunk enough to put the moves on my boss in the confines of this small, brass elevator with the large mirror behind us. I try not to imagine him fucking me against it, our breaths fogging it up.

The elevator dings our arrival, and we exit. He walks me to my door, using his app to open my door. Almost like he’s trying to show me he can access my room anytime he wants.

“Thank you,” I say, my hand on the knob, opening it slightly.

“I had fun today,” he admits. “Tomorrow I have something else planned.”

This piques my curiosity. “What is it?” I ask. “You know, to be prepared.”

“You’ll see,” he answers, a rare smile gracing his full lips that I want to nibble.

“Well, we’ll see if I’m up for it. I have a feeling that walking will be a challenge for me,” I admit.

He cocks his head to the side, looking down at me. “Really?” His arm is braced against the doorframe and his proximity is way too close to be professional.

It makes my breath catch, but I try to act aloof. “Did you miss the part of the story where I told you that I rarely ski, or even exercise? My muscles are already screaming at me.” I smile up at him.

His tongue quickly darts out to wet his lips, and I watch it before dragging my gaze up his face and back to his eyes. He gives me a half smirk. “You should work out more.”

My smile drops as he walks away down the hall to his room. I watch as he enters it, throwing me one last glance before he disappears behind the door.

Fucking asshole.