A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(44)

When I text him the news, he replies: Trying to get rid of me?

I just thought you might want your space. And, yup, I’m a coward. It’s me who probably needs a quiet moment alone to freak out. Spending time with Reed has put me into an emotional tailspin, and I don’t know how to get out.

I need to figure it out soon, because I can’t avoid the afternoon human resources meeting with the Sharpes. They need to see me as a manager.

I slip in just as the meeting is starting. Reed lifts his handsome face and gives me a wink as I make my hasty entrance.

An actual wink. I feel my face heating up already.

Thankfully, there’s a seat available next to Mark where I’m not in Reed’s line of sight. I sit down, my face impassive. The HR talk should be a dull topic, but Brian, our HR manager, does a great job of keeping things moving. He’s titled his presentation: How to Hire and Manage 1500 Seasonal Workers Without Losing Your Mind.

It’s a sharp presentation. His slides describe how the mountain uses an international work force to run the lifts, sharpen the skis, babysit the kiddos, teach them to ski, pour the cocoa, and a hundred other jobs.

“Never a dull day around this lot,” Brian says in his cute Aussie accent. “But there’s always something borking up our plans. Like, I hear we’re getting a foot of snow tonight.”

There’s a murmur of agreement as all eyes drift toward the window where the first fat flakes are already falling.

Then, to my pleasant surprise, Grandpa Sharpe cuts the meeting short, even though it’s only four thirty. “Can we call it a day, kids? We three have a dinner reservation in Denver.”

“Denver,” Mark repeats. “I know seventy miles doesn’t sound like a big drive to a Texan, but do you have a four-wheel-drive vehicle? It’s supposed to snow all evening, and I’m a little worried about your return trip.”

“That may be an issue,” Trey announces, looking up from his phone. “The driver I hired canceled, and I’m trying Uber now.”

Uber to Denver? I hold back my snort. Not likely.

“What we need is a helipad,” Grandpa Sharpe announces with a chuckle. “Problem solved.”

“If we had one, we’d use it for ski trips more than business dinners,” Mark says. “I know just where I’d put the helipad. If only I knew a helicopter pilot.” He and Reed share a glance, and Reed rolls his eyes.

Reed’s younger brother, Weston, is a helicopter pilot, of course. But the middle Madigan son has just as little interest in visiting the mountain as his brothers.

“Is that a trend? Skiing from a helicopter?” Grandpa Sharpe asks.

“Hell yes,” I say. “Adventurous skiers love to access terrain they can’t reach from a ski lift. Untracked powder is excellent skiing, as well as a big ego boost.”

“Write that down,” Grandpa says, nudging his grandson.

“Yessir!”

“Tell you what,” Reed says. “Let me lend you guys my rental SUV. It has studded snow tires—I asked for those when I saw the forecast.”

The middle Sharpe regards him with surprise. “That is mighty kind. We might just take you up on it.”

“You should,” Reed says grandly. Then he actually smiles. “I’ve been difficult this week. Let me make it up to you. I don’t need the car tonight, but it’s all gassed up and just sitting in the parking lot.”

“I like it,” Trey says. “I’ll drive the thing myself.”

“Perfect,” Reed says. “And if you don’t like the road conditions, just stay overnight in Denver. Better safe than sorry.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll make it back,” Grandpa says. “But we’ll take you up on that car.”

“Let me get the keys.” Reed rises. “Ava, could you let me into your office?”

“Of course.” I jump up.

“I need to run up to my room,” the middle Sharpe says. “Trey, get the keys? Meet us out front?”

“Sure, Papa. Take your time.”

I follow Reed out of the room, feeling wary. If he wants to talk about last night, I don’t even know what I’ll find to say.

Luckily, he’s not in a talkative mood. I follow his quick footsteps toward the front doors, where he asks Hardy to bring the car around. Then we reverse course and walk back toward the office wing.

“It’s really nice of you to lend them your car,” I say as we fall into step beside each other. “I don’t know why they’d want to go all the way to Denver for dinner, anyway.”

“Neither do I,” Reed says darkly. “But I intend to find out.”

“Wait.” I skid to a halt on the slate tiles in front of the office. “What do you mean? What are you up to?”

“I think these guys lie,” Reed says. “But maybe they’ll prove me wrong.”

“How will they do that?” I press.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his dark eyes meeting mine. “Fuck, don’t answer that. Just please unlock the door. I promise to explain, but I’m in a hurry, here.”

We’re locked in a stare down, and my heart gives an unwelcome shimmy. He’s standing so close to me that I can smell his aftershave. I can sense the heat of his body through his cotton shirt.