I pause, tilting my head to one side as I try to recall our first date.
“The night your ex showed up, and I used it as an excuse to kiss you,” Ethan reminds me.
Heat climbs my neck as the memory hits, dragging a smile out of me. I do my best impression of a normal, fully professionalhuman being. But honestly? We’re one supply closet tryst away from landing in HR’s office.
“That was a fake date, and this is a perfectly modest dress.”
Ethan smirks. “There was nothing fake about that date or that kiss.”
In retrospect, I know he’s right. We were fooling ourselves back then.
I take a seat in the chair across from Ethan, ready for our morning meeting, but he seems to have other ideas.
“Let’s cut out early today and go to Aspen for the weekend.”
I roll my eyes, sure that he’s kidding. “It’s Labor Day weekend, Ethan. I’m sure every hotel in Aspen is booked up.”
“Good thing I own a house there then.”
“You do?”.
I obviously know that Ethan is rich, but the real estate market in Aspen is no joke. Even a modest home costs about five million dollars, and the mega mansions will set you back a nauseating eight figures.
“Well, technically I co-own a place with my brother. Garrett uses it more than I do, mostly for ski trips in the winter. It’s just a small cabin, but it’s private and secluded.”
Translation: lots of sex, and zero chance of running into any of his previous hook ups. The latter part bothers me less than Ethan probably thinks. He’s always been upfront about his past, and he’s never pretended to be a saint. As long as he’s honest with me, I can handle the rest.
But I’m certainly not going to turn down three days in Aspen with him.
“Alright, let’s go to Aspen,” I say with a smile.
26
Ethan
Admittedly, the Aspen house was not the most financially responsible decision my brother and I have ever made. But whenever I pull up to the cabin, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Tires crunch over the gravel as I ease to a stop in the driveway. In the passenger seat, Margot leans forward, taking in the two-story cabin with its wraparound porch and stone chimney.
“Thisis your small cabin?” She arches one brow so high it’s practically burrowed in her hairline.
“It’s small compared to most of the mega mansions around here. This place doesn’t even have a wine cellar,” I joke.
Margot scrunches up her face, feigning disgust. “Wow, what a dump. We should probably just turn around and go home.”
We both laugh as we get out of the car. I get our bags out of the back while Margot stands beside the car, taking a deep breath of crisp, mountain air. I stop what I’m doing just to watch her. The way her chest rises and falls. The way a few tendrils of hair dance across her neck, blown loose from her hair tie by the gentle breeze. The way she burrows into her blue sweater a little more and smiles over at me.
At that moment, it feels like I might float away if she wasn’t there to ground me. The feeling is so unexpected that it knocks me off kilter. I never expected to feel this way about someone. Now that I do, I’m constantly surprised by how much those feelings continue to grow with each moment I spend with her.
Before we head up the steps to the front door, I fish my phone out of my pocket and discreetly disable the outdoor security cameras. My brother has access to the camera feed as well, and that’s certainly not how I want Garrett or Emma to find out that Margot and I are dating.
Margot has been oddly evasive about this particular topic. She doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to tell her best friend about us. Not having to explain ourselves to my brother or his fiancé used to put me at ease, but it’s starting to feel a little strange to keep this from the two most important people in our lives.
But until the board takes their final vote on Margot’s promotion, the fewer people who know, the better for both of us. I’m fine with tabling that discussion until a later date.
The door opens with a gentle creak, and I drop our bags in the foyer. Margot steps inside, wide-eyed and slowly turning to take in the vaulted ceiling, wood beams, and massive stone fireplace. But it’s the sweeping mountain views out the back window that have her scurrying across the room, failing to even notice the collection of books flanking the fireplace. In one swift move, she unlocks the back door and steps outside onto the deck. I follow her, leaning against the door frame and crossing my arms.
“It’s on a river?!” she says, turning back to me. “How is this place even real?”