Page 26 of Worth the Rush
“Right,” she says, walking back over to where her parents are arguing. “Daddy, I’m going back to the chalet. I’m bored, and it’s cold,” she tells him, trudging by, not waiting for a reply. She would have been waiting a while if she had. Her father continues to talk in circles with her mother. Their son sits on the snowboard he hasn't bothered to strap into. I’ll try one more time to get him interested.
I head to the top of the hill and come down the steeper side, making sure to hit the two small jumps we have for the intermediate riders. I do a front hold on the first one and decide to do a Rodeo on the bigger one. I launch myself high and flip myself forward, twisting at the same time, landing goofy footed. It’s clean. A practiced move I’ve done more times than I could count. The man and his wife cheer for me, and she even claps. I chuckle.
The son does take notice, though, and stows his phone in his mom’s jacket pocket.
“Whoa, do you think you could teach me to do that?” he asks, excitedly.
“You’re probably not quite there yet, but the best place tostart is getting on the board and getting comfortable,” I say. He nods and goes to strap into his board. Movement up above in the lodge’s big window catches my eye, and I peer up to see Ivy. She’s standing by a Christmas tree. Looking as beautiful as she was when I saw her this morning. Her all-black spandex thing she was wearing with a puffy vest over it was so damn cute. It also gave me a great view of her long legs. I wave, expecting her to look away. She just stares and then barely lifts her hand before backing away.
Ivy Rutherford is an enigma to me. Half the time, I think she hates me, and half the time, she looks at me like she wouldn’t mind climbing me like a tree. Both are becoming a problem for me because my body reacts the same either way. I like her fire. The way she handles herself. She asserts dominance, and damn if I’m not all in for that.
She’s gorgeous and tempting, but I can tell there’s so much more to her than what I see. I want to know her.But damn,she is prickly. Maybe I’ll go see if she’s running hot or cold after I finish up with my class.
An hour later, I’m walking down the warm, now holiday-scented hallway to my office. I think back to a few days ago when I found Ivy curled up on my couch and chuckle. She was so short with me when she woke up all flustered and embarrassed. Her office door is open, so I peek inside. I take just a moment to observe her. She’s got her hair up on top of her head with a purple pen stuck through it, and she’s chewing on theend of another one. She’s looking at a notebook in her hand. The sight makes me smile; she looks so fucking cute.
“Do you buy those pens in bulk?” I ask into the quiet space. She jumps, knocking her chair back, and the look on her face tells me I should have knocked. I should have announced my presence. I should have thought about how she punched me in the face the other night outside the bar. I feel like shit. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Or, well, surprise you that much.”
Her hand is on her heart, and she glares at me like she’s about to shoot lasers out of them. I’m starting to believe she may be able to. “What. Is. Wrong. With. You?” she says slowly. Like she’s barely containing a little demon inside her. It’s so fucking cute, but that’s not the point right now, I try to remind myself as I smash my lips together and cough.
“I am sorry,” I tell her sincerely. She stands up straighter and puts her hands at her sides.
“Was there something you needed, Alder?” she asks, her voice regaining its steady tone and also the icy bite that’s always lingering just under the surface.
“I was just checking in. I finished my classes for the day, and there is a couple arriving later today staying in the chalet on the west side of the property. I think it needs some snow cleared. Do you want me to get Terry over there to take care of it?” This is only the backup reason I stopped by, but she doesn’t need to know that. She tilts her head, suspicious of me.
“That would be great,” she tells me., “I should probably get a basket ready to send out too,” she mumbles more to herself than to me.
“A basket?” I ask. “For what?”
“Yeah, I’ve started gathering some local items and puttingthem together into welcome baskets. I’m starting with the bigger chalets, but eventually, I would love to have a scaled option for all guests,” she says while busying herself with some papers on her desk until she finds what she’s looking for. “Actually, I need to speak to Winnie about a couple of ideas I had for some pre-made mixes to have in the gift shop as well,” she continues.
“Gift shop?” I sound like a fucking parrot repeating everything she says, but we don’t have a gift shop.
“Yes, Alder. A gift shop.” She says it slowly, like I’m a small child. And why am I just as happy when she’s treating me like I’m dirt under her boot as I am when she’s laughing at something stupid I said only to make her laugh? Ivy Rutherford is a mystery I am all too willing to investigate. Sign me up.
“When did we get this gift shop, princess?” The nickname she so aptly has earned makes her green eyes snap to mine, narrowed—stunning.
“We don’t have one yet, Mr. Holloway,” she huffs out, then walks around to the front of her desk, leaning back against it and crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts together. It feels calculated, but she can’t help it that she has really nice tits. I swallow. Now could be a good time to mention that I’ll be the one finalizing these plans of hers, but she keeps talking. “I’m working on getting one up and running before the Christmas and New Year’s rush. I’ve been talking with as many local businesses as I can, as well as two clothing shops to print merchandise for us. Edgemont sweaters, hats, beanies—” She points to my head. “Sweatpants, T-shirts… you get it. I feel like it’s a missed opportunity here.” She shrugs her narrow shoulders.
“And you think people will want to buy things that say TheEdgemont on them?” It’s a little of a foreign concept to me. I’ve worked on the mountain since I was a teenager, and I love it here. I mean, I moved to my cabin from town, but for someone to want a souvenir? Interesting.
“They absolutely will. People, families especially, love having keepsakes,” she tells me, and I think about that for a minute. How many sweatshirts does Lo have from all her trips? How many do I have from all our vacations growing up? A lot. I can’t believe no one thought of it sooner. It’s nice to see her care about this place. It’s nice having her here in Silverthorne.
“That’s a really good idea, actually,” I tell her, but it must have been the wrong thing to say because she snorts and looks up at the ceiling.
“Actually?”Oh.I see the error of my ways. I could have complimented her more fully. “Yes, Mr. Holloway. I actually have good ideas. Even for a spoiled princess.” She throws the words at me.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Miss Rutherford. I was trying to pay you a compliment,” I explain.
“Yeah? Do you have much practice doing that? Because you’re sorely missing the mark from where I stand,” she volleys. Damn, she doesn’t give a fucking inch.
“Do you ever give anyone the benefit of the doubt? You have a way of taking anything I say and twisting it into something to be mad at me for,” I ask, a little incredulous.
“No,” she says simply. I stare at her, and she stares back at me. What happened, or what she must have gone through to make her behave this way? I want to crack her open like one of my books and read all that’s between her pages. Looking at her gemstone eyes, almost glowing with defiance, I want to reachinside her and drag all the things she’s keeping hidden out into the afternoon sun.
I know she wants me to take the bait, if she didn't, she wouldn’t bait me as often as she does, but I won’t. Instead, I step closer to her. Leaving my spot against the door frame, I walk until I stand directly in front of her. Towering over her from where she’s still leaning against her desk. She looks up at me, and I see her bristle.
She’s ready for the fight. I won’t give her one this time. “Then I guess all I can do is apologize.” At my words, her face shifts from stone to confusion. Yeah, baby. Lay down that sword. “It wasn't my intention to offend you, but I can see how what I said may have been offensive. I’m sorry about that. I think your idea is a damn good one, and I’m on board to help.” Her pouty lips part. I think in shock. I’m thankful, in this moment, that Mary Holloway made sure her boys knew how to apologize to a woman.
