Page 66 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

"Potential." I turn to him, my excitement building. "This resort has untapped potential in the luxury wedding market. The intimate scale, the unique spaces, the exclusivity of location—they're all perfect selling points for high-end events."

"Go on." His smile widens as he follows my reasoning.

"You'd need a dedicated wedding program. Specialized packages. Seasonal offerings. Strategic partnerships with premier vendors." Ideas flow faster than I can articulate them. My professional instincts engage with a familiar challenge in a new context. "And incredible marketing—not just photos but a complete brand story about mountain romance and exclusive experiences."

"Sounds like a business plan in the making." He leans against his desk, watching me admiringly. "One that would require experienced leadership."

The implication hangs between us, unspoken but clear. Before I can respond, his phone rings—another resort matter requiring immediate attention.

"I need to handle this." He gestures apologetically toward the door. "Feel free to keep reviewing the photos. We can continue this conversation later?"

After he leaves, I remain in his office, scrolling through wedding images while my mind races with expanding possibilities. What began as casual observation has ignited something I recognize from my earliest days at Elite—the thrill of identifying untapped potential, of envisioning something extraordinary where others see merely adequate.

I open a blank document on Lucas's computer and begin typing, capturing ideas before they evaporate. Initial market analysis. Competitive advantages. Service offerings. Pricing structures. Revenue projections. Hours slip by unnoticed as the outline of a business plan takes shape beneath my fingers.

By late afternoon, I've moved beyond basics to detailed program components—signature wedding packages named after mountain peaks, seasonal specialties leveraging the resort's natural advantages, and exclusive experiences only Angel's Peak can offer. The more I develop the concept, the more convinced I become of its viability.

This isn't just a viable alternative to Paris—it's potentially more fulfilling and more challenging in the ways that matter to me. I'm building something from vision to reality, using my skills to execute others' dreams and create something uniquely mine.

Ours, perhaps, if Lucas sees the same potential.

Darkness falls outside the windows as I refine the document, adding financial projections based on industry standards and my experience with Elite's high-end clientele. When Miranda's message demands my decision, I respond without hesitation: I won't be accepting the Paris position. A formal letter will follow tomorrow.

Relief floods through me as I send the message, followed by certainty that I've made the right choice. Not for Lucas, though he factors into the equation, but for myself—for the vision of success that aligns with who I am now, not who I believed I needed to be.

I save the document, attaching it to an email addressed to Lucas with the subject line: "A Proposition."

In the body, I write simply: Not a business plan yet, but the beginnings of one. I see tremendous potential for the Haven at Angel's Peak in the luxury wedding market. I'd like to discuss how we might develop this together.

My finger hovers over the send button, aware of all this email potentially initiates—a new career direction, a reason to stay, a future intertwined with Lucas's in ways both professional and personal. I take a deep breath, clicking send, committing to this new path.

As I gather my things to return to my room, my phone chimes with a text notification. Lucas's name appears on the screen with a message that sends heat cascading through me: Come to my cabin. Now.

The commanding tone, so different from his previous messages, triggers memories of our earliest encounters—the primal chemistry that preceded deeper connection. I hesitate only briefly before responding: On my way.

Chapter 16

This Is Where We Begin

Night has fully descendedas I follow the now-familiar path to Lucas's cabin. Lights glow from within, casting warm rectangles on the surrounding snow. When I knock, no one answers, but the door swings open at my touch.

The cabin appears empty, though a fire crackles in the hearth. A folded note with my name written in Lucas's strong hand sits on the kitchen counter. I open it, fingers trembling slightly, my pulse quickening at the simple instruction:

*I've read your proposal. We have much to discuss. But first, something more urgent. Follow the path.*

Rose petals form a trail across the floor, leading toward the bedroom. As I follow them, my anticipation builds with each step.

I notice subtle changes to the familiar space—candles casting golden light, the scent of sandalwood hanging in the air, soft music playing.

The path ends at the archway to his bedroom, where black silk restraints dangle suggestively from the wooden beam above. Another note waits on a small table beneath them, this one more explicit:

*Strip. Kneel. Wait. Put on the blindfold.*

Beside the note rests a black silk blindfold, its presence both an invitation and command. Heat pools low in my belly as I recognize the game—his dominance that perfectly complements my need to surrender control.

I remove my clothing piece by piece, folding each item neatly despite the desire coursing through me. The air kisses my bare skin, raising gooseflesh across my arms and breasts. I lift the blindfold, securing it over my eyes before lowering myself to my knees on the soft rug beneath the archway.

Darkness heightens every other sense—the whisper of air against my skin, the distant crackle of the fire, the subtle scent of Lucas's cologne that tells me he's entered the room even before I hear his footsteps.

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