Slippery Slopes (4 page)

“Can I help you?” a salesman with a mustache asks Melissa.

“Just looking,” she says. “For the Winter Wonderland Ball,” she adds, so he doesn’t think she’s browsing for no reason. As soon as she says that, his face changes.

“Ohh, planning the ball. Come this way.”

From his pocket he produces an old-fashioned skeleton key and leads Melissa behind trays of jewelry, boxes overflowing with expensive perfumes, and gift bags filled with name-brand clothing and sporting gear.

“Where are we going?” Melissa asks, more than a little wary of following this salesman to God knows where all by herself. “No offense, but I have to get going on this project. And I’m meant to be at the chair lift in an hour.”
Skiing with the professional ski team,
Melissa thinks, remembering breakfast and how it was all she could do not to crawl across the table and into James’ lap, telling him everything. Instead, she took Matron’s advice and regaled the team with stories to make them laugh—mainly at her own expense. The time she fell off the lift and wound up in someone’s lap, the time her snow pants ripped on the way down and caused a big draft. They’d laughed at those tales, even James—though he refused to look at her.
It’s like I repulse him,
Melissa thinks as she hesitantly follows the salesman through a creaky metal door.
If I were Charlie or Dove, I’m sure James wouldn’t look away.
Gabe, meanwhile, had given her more than one lascivious look, as if to announce to the entire table that he’d kissed her, that he’d gotten to her first.

“Here we are. Backstage.”

Melissa steps inside the cavernous room and gasps, the sound echoing over the amazing spread before her. “Whoa. Wow. Wow again.”

“Feel free to look around—and when you decide on a theme, let me know.”

To her left are life-sized elephants made out of papier-mâché. To her right, a full-sized merry-go-round. In front of her, animals of all shapes and sizes, giant tea cups, costumes ranging from queens and kings to devils and angels, as well as chandeliers and strings of multicolored beads illuminated by track lights.

Talk about inspiration. They have everything. Suddenly, the photos in the Main House don’t seem out of reach. All I have to do is come up with a kick-ass theme. But what?
Melissa wanders the room, her hand resting on a jack-in-the-box as tall as a tree, then passing by a yellow-brick road all rolled up.
Wizard of Oz? Has it been done?
She pauses, her brow furrowed.
Surfing
—
no. Ice Age
—
no. Something without boundaries.
From outside, the bells chime, alerting Melissa to the ticking minutes.

“Sir?” She calls out to the salesman.

“Yes?”

“Can I come back? I just can’t … I’m rushing and I’m worried I won’t …”

“Fine with me,” he says. “I’ll even give you the key if you like.” He stares at her, bemused. “Don’t look so shocked—it’s not unheard of. Plus, you have a nice manner. I bet you’ll come up with something wonderful.” He hands her the key.

Melissa slips it into her pocket, takes another look at the wondrous collection of objects.
Maybe something will magically occur to me if I close my eyes.
She tries it.
Nope.
“I’ll be back,” she says.
I don’t know when I’ll find the time, but since the ball is happening so soon, I’d better figure out a way.

The back door to the Main House won’t budge. Dove tries to pound it open with her knee, but she can’t, and doesn’t want to risk making a scene. Guests with skis jauntily perched on their shoulders and other staff members walk by, which makes Dove flinch.
If I get caught, I’m done. I won’t even be able to afford to get to the airport for my flight to Nevis, let alone have fun once I’m there.

“Hey, Dove!” Charlie shouts from the very end of the gondola lift line. “Coming up?”

Do I look like I’m heading for the mountain?
Dove wonders, but smiles and just shouts, “Nah, not right now. You have fun!” Charlie waves, then goes back to inching forward in line. Dove uses her hand as a sun visor, checking out who else is in line. Sure enough, James is a few people ahead of Charlie. Dove watches her try to worm her way ahead in line so she’ll be in his gondola.
She’s so determined,
Dove thinks.
Melissa better act fast if she wants to get James’ attention.

Dove gives up on spying and on the back door, and instead traipses around the front. Inside the Main House, the stately room is nearly empty, with just one chalet worker on the pay phone, speaking in rapid French. Dove, who is fluent, understands what the guy is saying, that he misses the person on the other end of the line, that he wishes she could just come here.

“That’s it!”
Dove says aloud before clamping her mouth closed with her palm.
I can ask William to come here. He has funds put away from all the boat charters he’s had. He can come here, be with me, and then we’ll go off together after New Year’s!
She goes to Matron’s office and tentatively knocks on the door, even though she knows Matron is at her pre-Christmas planning session with all the cooks. Not only is Dove skipping out on this
(I’ll blame it on being new,
she thinks, knowing this might not fly), but now she’s breaking one of the cardinal rules. Thou shalt not enter Matron’s office uninvited.

This would be so much simpler if I had my laptop and wifi,
she thinks. But her parents stripped her of most of her belongings, feeling that since she was choosing to leave her Oxford University acceptance behind, she could do without the luxuries they’d bought for her—computer, designer clothing, jewelry, and, primarily, her large trust fund.

Dove takes one last look around to make sure no one’s watching and then slides the red barrette she had clipping her bangs out of her hair. First she bends it all the way open, then, once it’s shaped like a wide
V,
she carefully slides one end into the door’s lock while simultaneously leaning on the door and turning the knob. All this she does with practiced silence, and despite a pounding heart and racing pulse, she manages to slip into the office without anyone seeing.

Hardly a sigh of relief passes before Dove perches in front of the computer, knowing that she has only five minutes before she runs further risk of anyone coming back from the meeting. Quickly, she wakes the computer from its sleep and tries to log on. Only after the security screen comes up does it hit her—
Of course, how stupid of me; Matron obviously has it locked.
All that risk of breaking in, for nothing. Dove thinks about stomping her foot on the ground out of anger but knows the threat of being heard is too much. She tries one more time, typing
Matron
as the password, but of course it’s no good. The screen remains locked.

“Damn!” Dove whispers, and the moment the word escapes from her mouth, she hears the doorknob turning.

Even though Charlie manages to score a ride up the middle mountain with James, it’s Melissa who succeeds in grabbing his attention.

“So, what do you think of chalet life so far?” Charlie doesn’t look at James, feeling that most of the time guys like it when she seems distracted, like she has better things to do than talk to them.

Shoulder to shoulder with members of his ski team and other well-heeled guests, James shrugs. “I guess it’s too soon to tell.” He looks at Charlie, but she looks out the foggy glass window. Below, skiers and snowboarders swerve gracefully down the powdery trails, ant-small from the gondola’s height.

Charlie accidentally-on-purpose stumbles, and clutches James’ arm for support. He helps her, and momentarily they have hand-to-hand contact.
If only he wasn’t wearing gloves,
Charlie thinks. Her own hands are bare, specifically for this purpose. “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable.”

James smiles, looking down at the mountain. A few days and the slopes will be jammed with spectators, camera crews, and journalists all vying for a shot of the Olympians and hopefuls as they compete for top place in the Trois L’or, the international race. Even though its name means “three golds,” only one medal is given. And nine times out of ten, that gold medal means a similar feat at the winter games.

“Oh, no,” Charlie says, shaking her lustrous hair out from her ski hat. “I forgot my gloves. How silly of me.”

James looks at the sweet girl and does what any good person would. “Here,” he says. “Take mine. They’ll be huge on you, but …”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. Really, it’s so nice of you, but …” Charlie plays coy—not annoyingly so but enough to seem even more endearing.

From the other side of the gondola, Melissa has the displeasure of hearing the entire exchange. She tries to get a view of James and Charlie, fighting the urge to wiggle through the crowded car. Bending down, she can see only Charlie’s hair and James’ arms.
He’s giving her his gloves? That’s so nice. But also, crap, she does like him. And clearly he’s at least noticing her.
Melissa tries to chat with the other team members she’s hosting, but it’s tricky to make conversation while trying to eavesdrop.

“Thanks, James. You’re so sweet.”

Gag. Gag.
Melissa rolls her eyes and then notices the gondola is nearing the mountaintop.
Fine
—
if he wants to be a knight in shining Gore-tex, that’s his deal. I have people
to entertain.

“If you’ll step this way,” Melissa says, graceful for once as she exits the blue gondola, “we have a choice of double diamonds to the left, jumps to the right, or, if you’re up for a challenge, the little-known secret path.”

Using the word
secret
always attracts attention, and this time’s no different,
Melissa thinks as most of the skiers head her way. The guests with cashmere accessories and overly plump lips due to augmentation head for the small gourmet restaurant Sommet, “the summit,” where small salads set diners back far too much cash for the staff to ever go.
Someday,
Melissa thinks,
I’ll treat myself to a meal there. At night, with the stars. Probably by myself.
But she shrugs off any thoughts of a nonromantic future and focuses on the task ahead.

“I thought this trail was closed.” Gabe Schroeder points to the small, snowy inlet with his pole.

Melissa tries to forget that she knows what Gabe’s lips feel like, that she let herself be wooed by such a notorious womanizer. “No, not closed. Just restricted.”
Fine, so maybe it was closed, but the cool factor I’ll have if I can pull this off will more than make up for the fact that Charlie’s wearing James’ gloves and that the two of them are
having what looks to be heavy flirting disguised as a snowball fight.

“Great,” one of the teammates, Pierre Luchese, says, his accent making the great sound like he’s coughing up phlegm. “We go down ’der and exploration.”

“Exactly,” Melissa says and starts off on her skis. “Exploration.”

As the group begins to push themselves past the gondola station, they weave through snow-heavy pines and onto a narrow trail dotted with small jumps. “Cool path,” Gabe says, sidling up to Melissa. Once others have passed them, he adds, “Hey, are you ever gonna get over things?” He says
things
as though he didn’t lead her on, didn’t know that James liked her, and that forgetting all the recent happenings would be as easy as drinking water.

Melissa stares at Gabe.
Sure, he’s still hot, but knowing what’s inside of him
—
sleaze
—
makes him less appealing.
“You know what, Gabe? I’m sure Les Trois has a dense female population.”

“Meaning?” Gabe does a trick, spread-eagle over a jump, all the while still looking at her.

“Meaning,” Melissa says, trying to navigate the trail but finding the deep powder more difficult than she thought, “surely there must be enough estrogen elsewhere that you don’t need me to forgive you in order to have a fun holiday.” And having gotten a decent word in, Melissa decides to leave Gabe to stew in his own good-looking slime. She pushes off with her left leg, catching up with Pierre and Gabriella Cordesi, the Italian Junior Pro, who leads the pack.

“Great idea, Melissa,” Gabriella says. “I’m loving this trail.”

“Thanks,” Melissa says. In her mind she gives a nod to Harley, the one who first told her about the trail.
Now she’s far from the snow, basking in the glow of the beach, bronzing without a care in the world.
Melissa wishes just for a second that she’d been offered the job on Nevis, if only so she could be away from James and Gabe, enjoying a change of boy scenery as well as climate.
James hasn’t said two words to me or even looked my way. Guess whatever we had before has melted faster than the snow.

Charlie giggles from a clump of pine trees where she’s conveniently fallen—not a big misstep, just enough to require the aid of a certain someone. “Thanks, James. Here you are, coming to my rescue again.”

“No problem,” he says. His orange-and-black down jacket shows his broad shoulders, his cheeks are ruddy from the cold air. Paused on the slope, he sticks his hands in his pockets.

“You must be freezing,” Charlie says. She gestures with one of his oversized gloves. “Here, take this back.”

Before James can answer, and before Melissa hurls onto the mountain from listening to Charlie try to snare James, someone shouts.
Maybe he never really liked me at all,
Melissa thinks as she breathes hard into her jacket collar.
Maybe he would have always preferred Charlie.
“Hey, look over there—the rope!”

James turns. “I thought that was a Les Trois myth—the tale of the rope swing.”

Gabe shoots back, “Nope, it’s real. And I’m going for it.”

Coiled around the trunk of an impossibly tall fir tree, the rope swing has clearly seen better days. Melissa explains it to the group as she skis over to it, intentionally not looking at James.
The truth is,
she thinks as she sees the orange of his jacket out of the corner of her eye,
it isn’t just that I’m jealous of Charlie
—
or of anyone flirting with James. The truth is that I liked him so fast and so much, that letting go of all that is hard. But it’ll be easier this way
—
easier to drop all interest in guys and focus on my job.