Chapter Six

12/28/23

Dear Theo,

After our recent discussion I'm writing to let you know that I accept your terms. I am happy for you to take the lead with the company, aiming for a sale early 2025, provided a profit is made. Having read through the contract from the solicitor it appears our year started when we both agreed to take on the running of the business, which I'm thinking should count from the first day I came into the office before Christmas. So would you agree we are looking at a January 2025 sale? I will be in Austria until this coming April, but will be contactable via this email address should you need to get hold of me. I would appreciate it if you could keep me abreast of any major developments—I'd like to feel confident should I get asked any questions about the business at any point. It would also be great if you could keep me up to date as to whether we look on track to turn a profit—perhaps we should check in on a monthly basis?

Many thanks,

Lexie

1/15/24

Dear Theo,

Further to my previous email, I just wanted to check that all had been received and understood? I'd appreciate it if you could confirm receipt, and let me know if this is all acceptable to you. As I've said, I'd also like to be kept up to date as to whether the company looks on track to turn a profit, and with any big developments or new ideas you may be bringing in.

Many thanks,

Lexie

2/3/24

Dear Lexie,

Sincere apologies for the delay. Given it was my idea to run the company this way, you can be sure that I accept the terms. However, as the tax year runs April–April, we will not have all the information as to whether the company has turned a profit for "our" year in business until April 2025. I suspect your dad was assuming you would be happy to wait a full tax year. I will ask Ange to send you the P&L sheets after each of our quarterly meetings. The only person who would question you on the running of the business would be, I assume, the solicitor, to make sure that we are fulfilling the terms of the contract. However, he's not suggested that he will be checking up on us in any way, and as you've agreed to be a silent partner, so to speak, I see no reason for you to have a say in any developments I may or may not implement—it would only confuse matters as you wouldn't have the context. Rest assured that I know what I'm doing and will be working hard to ensure the legacy of the business. I certainly don't want to see Richard's dream fall apart now.

If you ever need more information, please do call Ange in the office. I'm sure she'd be only too happy to help.

All best,

Theo

2/3/24

Dear Fuckwit,

If you could take the time to drag your pompous head out of your pompous ass, you'd see that a) what I'm asking for is perfectly reasonable, b) you're really not as clever as you apparently think you are, and c) you're a total dick.

2/7/24

Dear Theo,

Given that the solicitor may ask questions, like you said, I really think that keeping me up to date on the basics might be a good idea. I'm not asking for much here—I don't want to know the day in and day out, I just don't want to get caught out and risk losing the money from the sale of the company. Also, you don't have to treat me like I'm a complete imbecile—I'm not. Trust me, I would rather speak to Ange than you—if Richard had left half the company to her we wouldn't be in this mess at all. Maybe that's why you and my dad got on. Because you are also a complete wanker.

2/12/24

Dear Theo,

While I appreciate I will be taking a back seat here, I think it is advisable for you—or Ange, if you prefer—to keep me relatively up to date as the year progresses. The P&L sheets would be great, but perhaps you could send me updates at the same time? I don't want to be involved with the running of the company, I know we are both clear on that, but as you say, there is a possibility—albeit slim—that I will be asked questions by the solicitor to make sure I am fulfilling my side of the contract. I wouldn't want to risk all your many hours of hard work by failing to ask a few simple questions—wouldn't you agree?

Many thanks,

Lexie

2/13/24

Dear Lexie,

Noted.

Theo

Lexie gritted her teeth as she read Theo's reply. The fucking nerve of him. She took a calming breath of cold mountain air. The sky was a bright blue today, sunlight glittering off the snow. It was half term, so there were people everywhere, but she could still draw a sense of calm, being up here. She hadn't wanted to be involved, she reminded herself. She didn't really want to know the ins and outs of what Theo was doing with her dad's company—she didn't care. She was in it for the money, that was all. And Fran had looked it over with her, and declared Theo's idea sound—there was nothing in her dad's stipulation, from a legal perspective, that said they had to split the running of the company fifty-fifty. Still, Fran had also advised that Lexie ought to be seen to be involved: that even though she wasn't going to be hands-on, there should still be a paper trail that showed she had participated to some extent, in case this was called into question when the time came to sell. Theo was just being deliberately obtuse.

Arms covered in a dark blue ski jacket came around her waist, and warm breath tickled her cold ear. "What are you doing looking at your phone when you've got all this?"

Lexie twisted to give Mikkel a wry look over her shoulder. "You mean the mountains? Or you?"

He grinned. "Both."

She smiled and put her phone back into her jacket. She'd invested in a ski suit a few years ago before her first ski season, and she thought it was a cool one—turquoise, white, and purple—but she still didn't quite pull off "skiing chic" the way Mikkel did in his Viking God way. "I'm just checking up on…some stuff." She hadn't really explained to him what was going on. He knew her dad had died—all her friends here did, because she'd come back into the bar the night she'd gotten the call, in total shock. But she hadn't been able to dredge up the emotional energy to tell him everything else, given it would mean explaining some of the backstory with her dad, too. And he hadn't asked. They didn't talk much about their pasts or wider lives outside the Alps—kept things casual to the extreme. Lexie preferred it that way.

Mikkel rested his chin on her shoulder. She could smell his cologne—a fresh citrus scent—and though it made her want to stay like this with him, in a little bubble, she sighed. "I have to get the girls from ski school soon."

The family had left in early January, back to London, where the girls went to some fancy private school, which meant Lexie had had the chalet to herself until this week—though it hadn't actually been as freeing as she'd imagined, given she was constantly worrying about spilling something or leaving a mark that hadn't been there before. She'd also had a lot of time with not a lot to do—which she'd thought would be great, but in reality had meant her mind refused to let up, turning the situation with her dad's company over and over. Still, she'd had plenty of time to work on her skiing—and plenty of time for sex with Mikkel.

Mikkel pulled back, so she could see her reflection in his sunglasses. "Race you to the bottom?"

She laughed, but he was already off, pushing away with his poles and executing a perfect parallel turn a little way down the mountain. She snapped into action too, pushing herself off and feeling a familiar lurch of excitement. She never won their races—and she had a suspicion that Mikkel might actually be a bit put out if she did—but it pushed her to try to go faster each time. Halfway down she hit a mogul at the wrong angle and was thrown into the air for a beat, before landing at speed. She nearly fell, her heart giving a painful thud, but she regained her balance and pushed herself into the turn. By the time she got to the bottom she was breathing heavily and full of adrenaline. This was what she loved about this place—this was what made living out of a suitcase worth it.

Unbidden, a flash of a memory came to her. This had been happening to her more and more since her dad died—the memories that she'd spent years trying to bury were now resurfacing. Good memories, as well as bad. Like this one—she and her dad, at the top of a ski slope. She'd been six, she was pretty sure, and they'd flown out to the Alps on Christmas Day itself, no doubt because it was cheaper—something she'd only realized years later. Her dad had sat next to her on the plane, and the whole thing had been impossibly exciting, getting up early to go to the airport on Christmas Day.

Keep your eyes peeled, Little Lex. Maybe we'll see Santa and his reindeer flying next to us on their way home to the North Pole.

They'd spent a week in a tiny chalet with just one bedroom—the three of them all camped together. And she'd learned how to ski for the first time. Her mum had hated it, declaring skiing "not her thing," which meant Lexie had spent lots of time with her dad, as he tried to teach her how to do it. Not that he was an expert at skiing, but he'd always been willing to give anything a good go. It had been one of the things she'd missed the most about him, after he'd gone—that sense of adventure, the excitement she'd feel when she saw the glint in his eye and knew he was about to pull her into something fun.

Race you down the mountain, Little Lex. It could only have been a tiny slope, she knew that now—but it had seemed huge at the time. She hadn't wanted to show him she was scared, and anyway, she had felt brave because he was there, and he was always brave. She could hear the faint echo of her mum's voice in the background, her mum oddly faceless in the memory. Oh, Richard, please be careful. But they were off, reaching the bottom in no time.

You beat me! Richard's voice, coming up just behind her. If only we lived near a mountain, you'd be an expert skier in no time.

It was odd, now, to think about it. Maybe that holiday was what made her want to spend time in the Alps all these years later. She stuck her poles into the snow, looked around for Mikkel. She saw him by the queue to the chairlift, chatting to a woman with long, cascading red hair. Didn't having her hair like that get in the way when she was skiing? Her ski suit was bright turquoise and somehow she managed not to look like the squished marshmallow that Lexie always felt she was when she put on her trousers. When Lexie shuffled closer, she heard the woman laugh brightly at something Mikkel said, then watched as she brushed her hand over his arm before she left for the chairlift.

Lexie rolled her eyes as she unclipped her skies and put them over her shoulder, heading toward the pickup area for ski school. Mikkel hadn't noticed her yet, and she didn't want to embarrass herself by going up to him. She knew he flirted with other women, and it wasn't like they were exclusive. But still, seeing it didn't exactly feel good .

She waved to Bree and Bella as they shuffled toward her, fishing her phone out of her pocket when she felt it vibrating. Her heart gave an unpleasant little spasm when she saw who it was.

Rachel. It wasn't the first time she'd called recently. She kept calling every couple of weeks, like it had become a habit. Lexie waited for it to ring out, then slipped her phone away again as the girls trudged up to her.

She should call Rachel back, she knew she should. Or she should answer, next time. She wasn't a total bitch—she'd replied to a few of her text messages. But she didn't know what to say to her. Rachel probably wanted to talk about Richard's house—clear the air, or whatever. The problem was, Lexie didn't want to talk about it. She was trying not to blame Rachel. She knew, logically, that it wasn't her fault that she'd been the favorite daughter, the one her dad had bothered to get to know, the one he'd valued more highly in his will. And she didn't want to blame her—but she worried she'd accidentally say the wrong thing, and she really didn't want to end up in an argument. It was pitiful, she knew, that she didn't know Rachel well enough to predict how the conversation might pan out, whether Rachel was likely to get defensive or not.

Next time, she told herself. She'd answer next time, when she could figure out what to say.