Cooped Up for Christmas - Sabrina York

Chapter One

One phone call. That’s all it took.

One lousy phone call from Grant and everything went to shit.

No romantic European getaway with Dirk in the Alps, sitting before a roaring fire with a cup of cocoa—and a whipped cream pouf—cradled in his muscled-arms, après ski.

No nocturnal visits to Munich’s Christkindlmarkt to snag a cone of sugar-roasted almonds.

No well-earned—through blood, sweat, tears, and bile—vacation.

Damn Darcy and her inane inclination to insinuate herself into romantic drama. She’d fallen in love, she said. She was lost, she said. She couldn’t live without him, she said. What kind of tripe was that? Men were a dime a dozen. Fish in a barrel.

Batteries in a vibrator.

One conks out? Pop in another. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

Nothing to quit a job over. Q.U.I.T. Quit?

And this was not just a regular job. It was a career.

A springboard, perhaps.

In our business, we serve some of the most powerful people on the planet—politicians, cultural icons, movie stars, and business leaders. Sometimes in the most intimate ways. We’ve all signed NDAs. No one in Eden’s ranks has ever broken that sacred trust.

Eden, Inc. was a venerated name in the luxury hospitality industry. Guests knew they could trust us with their secrets. As a result, employees could go from working at Eden properties to working directly for a billionaire. Or a top-crust company. Or a sheikh.

This wasn’t a job. It was an audition.

You didn’t give up something like this for a man.

And Darcy? What on earth had happened to that beautiful, brilliant, independent Goddess of Feminine Strength and Wisdom? What had cooked her brain into a pudding? Had it been lust?

Yes. Of course it had been lust. Nothing burned as hot.

Love is a slow simmer.

But the trouble with the slow simmer is that it’s easy to huff out the flame.

Speaking of huffed out flames, one of my headlights flickered just then, and died.

Great. This was a challenging enough drive through the mountain roads in the snow without chains. Now I was blind to half the road as well.

I should have waited for daylight. I knew it. But—in a high-pitched and panicked voice—Grant Willits, the property manager, had informed me the clients were coming in at 10 am sharp tomorrow morning. They’d been very clear about that, and adamant that all staff present themselves in the drive at 10:01 sharp for inspection and introduction. I had to get there way before that, suss out the staff, prep the house, and make sure everything was in line. God only knew how Darcy had left things, in her besotted state of mind. There was no time for the luxury of daylight.

I leaned closer to the windshield, as though that would help penetrate the darkness, blocked out the incessant cheer of the Chipmunks singing on the radio, and tried to focus through the sloshing windshield wipers to spot the sign. I’d been to Eden’s Mistletoe Lodge at Shannon Lake before. I’d interned here, back when I was a kid. But that had been for a summer season. The trees hadn’t been heavy with snow, drifts hadn’t mounded on the roadside. Nothing looked familiar. Not even the view of the lake through the trees. I checked my GPS. Yep. Right on target.

Coolio. I started humming along with Alvin as I wound my way along the snow-covered track, dappled in moonlight.

And ah. When I turned that last corner… Yes. There it was.

Eden’s Mistletoe Lodge.

The property I remembered the most. And best.

An incredible swell rose through me as I felt it again. The tingle I hadn’t felt in…years. That fresh, free flush of youth.

Remember when life was an adventure and we loved to explore? Remember when mistakes were just boo-boos someone could kiss away? Remember that sweet, innocent lightness of soul?

Okay. Maybe it would be fun to walk down memory lane again.

And at Christmas. How lovely.

Maybe this unexpected disaster was a gift in disguise. Maybe I might owe Darcy a debt of thanks for jetting off after her lover, even though she knew damn well an extremely important client—who had paid an extraordinary amount of money to command the Eden’s Mistletoe Lodge at Shannon Lake, and its accompanying and bookable amenities for the entire week of Christmas—was about to check in.

It was always a good idea to at least try to see the bright side. Right?

Yes, I would have to miss a scintillating and romantic winter vacation in Switzerland with Dirk, but, if I was being honest, Dirk had been kind of pingin’ on my nerves lately. Nothing bad, though. Just that,