2. Jake

Chapter 2

Jake

Ethan, the hot CEO of that bigshot security corporation looks at me like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. I can’t help the self-satisfied smile. But I mean, he was ogling me just now.

I don’t know how I sensed it, but I just did. It’s like there was this weight on my shoulders as little zaps danced across my skin. I just followed the feeling and there Ethan was, his gorgeous blue eyes like laser sights locked on their number one target.

I flash him my killer smile as I approach, unable to hold it in. I very much wouldn’t mind being his target. Especially in one specific meaning of the word.

“Hey, Mr. VIP,” I say, propping my hip against the side of the leather couch across from him. No one is sitting on it, which gives us a trace of privacy. “Are you here for the ice-sculpting activity?” I check the time on my phone. It shows quarter to four. “It’s a bit early for that. It doesn’t start until five.”

He slants his eyebrows, playing up the broody frown that seems to permanently rest on his face. It makes him look adorably confused, like he’s walked into a sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like sushi. Not that I know whether he likes sushi. I’ll ask him later.

“Ice-sculpting?” he echoes back in his pleasantly low tenor, placing his cup on the low oak end table. Judging by the smell, his coffee is the instant kind that the hospitality staff leaves in every guest room.

I hum to myself and study him as his confusion deepens. He’s wearing the light gray form-hugging suit from earlier, though he’s left out the black tie. The top buttons of the white dress shirt under his vest are undone, offering a teasing view of his prominent collarbone.

“Yes.” I tilt my chin at the massive floor-to-ceiling window to our left. A sliding door leads to the outside patio with the awning. It’s where the hotel sets up the performance stage in the summer, while in the winter it’s used for the outdoor activities.

Ethan twists his head, glaring at the window. A lock of his dark brown hair slips in front of his eyes and he uses his hand to tuck it away. But it persists, so after another failed try to subdue it, he lets it be. “Oh. No. I’m not here for the ice-sculpting.” He gives me an evaluative look, his gaze lingering on my arms and my rolled-up sleeves. “Are you?”

I swear I see a momentary spark of heat in his dark blue depths, but it’s gone so quickly I can’t be sure I didn’t just imagine it. I guess it doesn’t matter too much since we are simply enjoying a conversation between a hotel employee and a guest. Yep, that’s what I’m calling this. I’m being professional and fulfilling my duty to be nice and hospitable, that’s all.

Shifting my weight, I ride out a wave of excitement. He seems a little on edge as he waits for my reply and the silence stretches between us. I don’t know why, but I get a pleasantly queasy knot in my stomach. It’s like I enjoy his nervousness. Or maybe it’s the fact that I am the one making this impeccable, stoic, no-nonsense CEO nervous…

I stare at his beautiful face until he meets my gaze again. Time slows down and my surroundings turn muffled. I poke my tongue out and wet my lips. His eyes zero in on my mouth. I like them there. There is some apprehension in them now, and he seems ready to bolt or scold me for being a nuisance and interrupting his idyllic brooding time. It makes me want to tease him more, to play with fire and see when I will get burned.

“I am not,” I say finally, smiling.

He scowls. Scrunches his face as if he is trying to remember what we were even talking about. A few frown lines appear at the corners of his eyes, confirming he does it a lot. I don’t blame him—I bet being the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company is hella stressful.

“I just got off my shift, so I’m headed out,” I add when his very intense staring begins to get to me. I can’t tell if he’s trying to undress me with his eyes or wants to murder me for butting my nose where it doesn’t belong.

Ethan scrunches his nose, huffing out a silent breath. His piercing blues stray from me, locking on the window. “It’s snowing.”

I take in the pristine scenery past the glass. Beyond the patio, I can see the hills stretching behind the hotel. They are covered with evergreen forests beyond which the snowy rock peaks begin.

“It is.”

He blinks. “You are going out in this weather?”

For a moment, I focus my attention on the snow. It’s lazily falling from the sky as if it has no care in the world. If I want to grab the few things on my list, now is the best time to do so. The forecast projects heavier snowfall once it gets dark.

“Yes? It’s only going to get worse. I’ve a few errands to run, and I’d rather not do them amidst an actual snowstorm.”

Ethan visibly shivers, his arms coming around him in a subconscious hug. Distaste passes over his face, lingering even as he clears his throat. “Of course. That makes sense.”

It’s obvious he doesn’t like the cold. I bet he also lives somewhere south where the temperature doesn’t drop below sixty-five. Now that I think about it, he does sport a bit of tan even if his complexion is on the paler side compared to mine. I’ve lived in Canada all twenty-five years of my life, but my mom is originally from New Mexico.

Tucking my hands in the pockets of my uniform, I flash him another smile and push off the couch. “Well, I better get going then. I’ll see you around, Ethan. And if you haven’t tried ice-sculpting, I recommend giving it a go. It’s great fun, even if you suck at it like me.”

He cracks a smile at that. It’s subtle and a little awkward, which tells me he doesn’t smile as much as he should, but it stays with me all the way to the village even though I try to shoo it away from my mind. I manage that by the time I head back, but then I remember how nice and soft his hand felt when we shook, how different his slender fingers were from my chaffed ones.

I stifle down a smile, biting on my lip. He intimidates me a little, but in a good way. I expected him to be a lot more stuck-up, to act like he’s above me, but his slight cluelessness and how out of his element he seemed both in the morning and in the lobby only fueled my curiosity.

He doesn’t want to be here, that much is obvious. And he looks like he has absolutely no idea how to relax. So, being the pro at chilling that I am, is it so wrong of me to want to make his stay here at the North Paradise a little less awful?

The Hotel doesn’t pay me for that—I’m a chef-in-training and my duties are in the kitchen—but it’s been a long time since someone intrigued me and I have no intention of letting this opportunity slide. Especially when my hunch tells me I’m not alone in thinking that.

Even if the grumpy billionaire I’ve set my sight on might require a nudge or two.