Page 67 of Artfully Wild
I think I love it.
Although the ride to the top floor to Camp’s office feels like eternity, I find I like spending the extra time thinking about mine and Jacob’s morning in bed. His head between my legs and the thing he does with his tongue, swirling slowly around my clit while he stretches me with his fingers one at a time as he moves faster and faster until—
The elevator doors open and I jump, heat rising in my cheeks from embarrassment. I wish I could have skipped this meeting and stayed in bed with him.
Hopefully, this won’t take long and I can get back to the warm covers to continue where we left off and I’ll have a new business deal along with it.
“Ah, there you are, Miss Waters.” Mr. Camp rounds the corner of his office and stretches out an arm to wrap around my shoulders. I step back and offer my hand instead.
“Mr. Camp, thank you for meeting with me.” He hesitates at first, but takes my hand and follows with a firm handshake.
“Let’s chat in here,” he says, motioning to his office—a room I had known all too well growing up. Not much has changed since the last time I snuck in here to play whatever game Jacob and Hudson had concocted while it was empty. His desk is still deep mahogany, topped with different trinkets. A golf trophy in the corner, perched next to one of those physics things, Newton’s crib or whatever.
The walls are lined with bookshelves full of picture frames, books about resorts and skiing, binders of past years’ statistics and whatever else the owner of a ski resort could possibly need tucked away on his book shelf. As a kid I was convinced one of the books would open a secret passagewayCluestyle if I could just pull the right one.
Once we are settled, Mr. Camp leans his elbows on his desk, threading his fingers together, all traces of the family friend gone, fully replaced by the intense businessman I saw come out rarely when he had to reprimand employees over the years. The glimpses of the businessman are what deterred me from joining in on the pranks with Jacob. I like Mr. Camp, but as a kid I never wanted to be on the side of one of his scoldings.
“Let’s get into it.”
Okay. Here we go. I force myself to sit up straight and cross my legs at the ankles (Queen Clarice style in case you were wondering), and place my folder on an open spot on his desk.
Pulling out the papers he sent to me to sign over the store, I hand them over to him. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d finally be able to buy this gem,” he says, signing his name at the bottom of the contract.
I keep my features steady, waiting for the right moment to bring up my proposal.
Once he is done signing, he hands it over to me.
“Actually,” I say, taking the contract and ripping it in half, then in fourths. “I’m not selling.”
Camp’s mouth falls open as he looks at the discarded paperon his desk. The silence stretches between us and for a minute I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. But then a booming laugh escapes him and he slams a hand on the wood. Continuing for another minute or so, he swipes a tear from his eye. His laughter subsides and as he gains his composure again, he turns back to me.
“You could have just said so.” Another chuckle escapes his mouth. “You didn’t have to be so theatrical about it.”
“Yeah, well, I like the dramatics, I guess.” I shrug my shoulders, acting as if I am completely unfazed—and definitely not nervous—about what I am going to do.
“So if you weren’t going to sell to me, then what are you doing here?”
It’s my turn to lean forward with my elbows on the desk, fingers threaded together under my chin. A woman ready to get what she wants.
“Because I have a business proposition for you, Camp.”
Holy fucking shit.Holy fucking shit.
That worked. Thatworked.I didn’t think that was going to work. I didn’t think he would go for it considering he had always wanted to buy out the store itself, but it did. He went for it. And he actually seemed to really like my ideas. The marketing team for the resort did too, which he called in after he had paperwork drawn up. We have virtual meetings planned throughout the week to figure out logistics and what exactlyour game plan will look like, but I’m not going to worry about any of that now.
Right now, I am going to bask in the little bubble of happiness that I am determined to keep from bursting.
God, I feel…excited.
I feel exhilarated.
I feel like this elevator could go a little bit faster so I can get to Jacob and tell him everything. By the time the doors open, I am practically bouncing on the balls of my feet—bare feet, because I ditched the heels the second I left the office. Vibrating with excited energy and tension, I tip toe run to our room and jam the key into the lock. It takes a few times to get the door open, because I refuse to take my time.
Once I get it though, I rush in immediately searching for Jacob. Throwing my stuff to the side of the door, I find him in the kitchen, making hot cocoa. He’s standing at the counter looking out the window, mugs in hand like he was about to fill them with the packets he has placed to the side. The kettle beeps signaling the water is ready, but Jacob remains still. His gaze focused outside.
Dread replaces the happiness I felt moments before and the bubble starts to leak a little bit of air. Gently, I place a hand on his arm and squeeze. When he doesn’t respond, I drop my arm and follow his gaze, but see nothing out of the ordinary. Just trees, snow, and mountains. People out in the distance on the lifts, creeping up toward the top of the slopes.
When I look up into Jacob’s eyes though, it’s as if he isn’t seeing anything. Like he’s frozen in time, waiting for someone to reset it.
