Erica felt disgusted. Standing there all alone, half-naked in the bathroom trying to fix her hair and makeup, it finally dawned on her; things weren’t getting better. She’d done everything imaginable, bent over backwards, made herself available, vulnerable, and for what? To be treated like a damn dairy cow, paraded about on a carousel of endless milking until she inevitably ran dry and was replaced by the next heifer in line? Bull. Shit. It was certainly convenient, just not for her.
She pulled on a Carhartt flannel and began buttoning it.
The sheer audacity of that swine. I just can’t even.
Most of her celebrity interactions went about as well as she might have expected…considering; young, perky ski instructor alone for the day with an older male client who usually didn’t take no for an answer. That certainly had not been the case with Brad. Bradley Cooper had been every bit as charming and gentlemanly as she could have dreamed. He was a delight. And somehow even more handsome in real life, if that was possible.
The day’s lesson had gone swimmingly, the lifts had closed, and she was just walking him through Icon Lodge to a waiting car when she’d noticed Ellis Feldstein lurking in the shadows. How does he always seem to know right where I am? It was rather unsettling the way he treated his female staff, like pawns. Dressup dolls with which he could do as he pleased, moving them around the checkerboard with careless replaceability.
Not all of them.
She seemed to be the only one who resisted his bullish prodding, the only one to ever tell him no. Parading drinks around his mansion in a skimpy outfit hardly seemed like a sensible way of spending her evenings, even if it paid her way through graduate school that much sooner. Let the thirsty bartenders and girls with low self-esteem play his ugly game. She was a ski instructor not a showgirl. And not for long.
After a cordial goodbye, Ellis had cornered her between the valet stand and luggage carts, his breath a hot mixture of Bourbon and spearmint, as if the gum could do anything to mask his unquenchable habit.
“I shouldn’t need to remind you that your job doesn’t end when the skiing is done. I have a lot riding on Mr. Cooper this weekend. Everything actually. And your relationship with him …or should I say, lack thereof, is concerning the hell out of me.” His eyes were milky yellow around the outside and dead on the inside. “I need more effort, Erica.”
Just the way he says my name. She squared herself, standing tall. “Are you insinuating I should have climbed in the car after him? Spread my legs? I shouldn’t need to remind you that I’m not an escort…should I?” She tilted her head ever so slightly, challenging his perceived authority.
“With all that talking and attitude, Christ, you’d make a terrible escort.” He closed the distance, positioning his mouth uncomfortably close to her ear. “Listen, I don’t give a hot damn what you have to do, you’re going to play ball this time.” He took a step back, glancing down at his Jaeger-LeCoultre watch. Really goes great with your shorts.
She fought the urge to laugh, only a smirk eking out. Not that the Swiss timepiece wasn’t spectacular, it was, truly. And she of all people would know. Her father was a master watchmaker, specializing in repairing high-end watches in London, the UK, half of Europe really. One of her favorite memories growing up was guessing the back story of each aristocrat who graced his workshop, making up an entire life for them before searching them up on the computer the second they left to see the facts. Taste, style, each watch signaling something unique about the wearer, or, in this case, their lack thereof.
Thin rectangular pink gold face, light brown calfskin band, Ellis’s pudgy wrist oozing out on either side, suffocating the beautiful work of art, equivalent to hanging the Mona Lisa in a dark tunnel where it could no longer be appreciated.
“Oh, I do apologize,” she said breezily. “But as you can see, it is past four o’clock. We will have to finish this conversation at a time I’m actually being paid to give a shit.” She smiled thinly.
His eye twitched and she felt like he was fighting the urge to reach out and strangle her. If only you could get away with it…
She shuttered at the thought of the encounter and the piggish man who got away with far too much. Although…there had been something freeing about the altercation. Like it had not only given her the fuel to do what was best for her, but also the clarity she had been missing. Permission, perhaps? And for that reason, she knew tonight would be her last. She would do what she should have done fourteen months ago.
Now, how many buttons to leave undone?
Even one was more than Winston deserved, the foolish boy. She bit her lip, loving the idea of having three undone just to torture him. The way he would try his best not to get caught looking down at her cleavage. He would wait for her to turn her attention then steal a glance…so predictable. Screw him!
Why did she keep letting him do this to her? So noncommittal, juvenile. Enough is enough.
Although she knew damn well the reason why; she just didn’t want to admit it.
Damnit, you like him. He made her laugh, feel light. He was intoxicating and immature, a free spirit bound only by impulse, handsome but not a self-obsessive Chad like the rest. If only his lack of drive didn’t drive her mad, he might actually be palatable. The unfixable toy.
Gross, you’re doing that thing again – smiling just thinking about him. She scolded herself, buttoning all but the top button before gathering her things and quickly rushing out of the bathroom and back to her table in Yeti’s Grind, her home away from home coffee shop, office, hangout, hideout, war room, whatever the day required of her because it was the place she spent her time when she wasn’t on the mountain. My very own little workshop.
Warm and inviting, she all but crashed into her favorite leather chair, quickly opening her computer. The windows offered a tremendous glimpse of Vail Village, the ice rink, cobble stone paths, people, ski slope, none of which she was able to process at the moment. When thoughts and ideas came, she worked.
Time around her stopped as she typed furiously, frantically spewing out a rough draft from the deepest recesses of her subconscious. Everything had to be put down on the page before the fleeting rip cord was pulled away.
I’ll certainly miss this place…though some things are far more important.