3. Ethan

Chapter 3

Ethan

I stare at the wonky ice carving that’s supposed to be shaped like a star but looks more like a blob. The other participants, who Jake omitted to mention are mostly kids, have done a way better job at theirs. There are even a couple who did the more advanced fish shape.

“It’s okay. You’ll get the hang of it,” the instructor tells me as she stops by my workbench and studies my abomination of a sculpture. “Some people are just better with their hands than others. Plus, Terry and Ema have been coming to the ice-sculpting activity for a week.”

Yes, thanks. Now I feel so much better that random kids are better at this as me, an adult who prides himself as a quick learner. Honestly, it’s downright embarrassing. And I don’t like to feel embarrassed. Or like I failed. Or that I couldn’t ace something from the first try.

Since I took over the company, I’ve doubled our revenue and employee retention rates. I went by feel, doing what made sense to me. Yes, I relied on the stuff I learned at business school and what I observed others do, but I put my own spin on things. An improvised, one hundred percent gut-feeling-based spin.

So, excuse me for feeling a little salty over fourth graders beating me at ice-sculpting. As silly and inconsequential as it might be. I allowed myself to be talked into the activity by Jake, so actually, I suppose half of the fault lies with him.

Yeah, that sounds about right. He’s the one that indirectly convinced me to try this and as such he needs to take responsibility. It’s only fair.

“It’s a little rough around the edges I’d say, but it definitely has potential.”

My heart launches out of my chest, crashing into my ribcage. I whelp, spinning on my heel so suddenly, I headbutt Jake in the chin. He groans, stumbling back and rubbing his jaw. But the smile doesn’t drop from his handsome face. It only gets more potent, like the thrills chasing down my spine as the caress of his warm breath lingers behind my ear and spreads through the rest of my suddenly alert body.

“Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologizes, offering a half-sympathetic, half-amused smile as I fight to catch my breath.

Just like Charlie hates haunted houses, I’m bad with anything even remotely reminiscent of a jump scare. Horror movies are the only exception, and it’s just those gory slashers that you watch for the creative dying. Or the comical special effects.

I take a deep breath and attempt to collect myself. The flush spreads from my ears to my cheeks as Jake aims those disarmingly captivating eyes my way and chews on his bottom lip to stop his smile from turning into a grin. I think he can tell that the ice-sculpting didn’t exactly go as planned.

“It’s okay,” I say, my voice coming out a little hoarser than usual. I convince myself that it’s because of the combination of the cold and the scare he gave me.

Jake steps away and crosses his arms. He’s decked out in a thick winter jacket that makes him look even more muscular, and a woolen cap that does a bad job at taming his wild curls. If his hair was a couple inches longer, I bet he wouldn’t even be able to put it on. For some reason, the moment the thought crosses my mind, I feel an almost irresistible itch to run my hands through his messy locks. But I push it down by letting my attention steer toward his face again. It’s a little rosy from the chill, and I have to suppress an even stronger urge to rub the coldness from his skin.

“I hope you enjoyed some of it,” he says, casting his gaze around the emptying patio. “Though we do pride ourselves in having some of the best ice-sculpting talents in the whole country. Don’t stay out for too long, Ethan. You are a little underdressed.”

He leaves me with that parting comment and disappears back inside the hotel with his bulky backpack.

Dinner is Mediterranean-themed. I took my laptop with me to the restaurant, so I could try and do some work while eating. But the wonky internet and the fact that I don’t actually have anything to do kind of ruined my plan.

A frisson of irritation crosses through me. I still can’t believe Jenny screwed me over like this. I get where she is coming from, in theory, but I really am at a loss about what to do with so much free time. Back home in Miami, I’d always find something to do around the office even if I didn’t have any meetings to prepare for. It’s just how it is—no matter how efficient your company is or how reliable your employees are, as the owner there is always more you can do. I mean, look at Ana and even her brother, Ben, who’s Charlie’s partner. Even though he’s technically not the CEO since his sister is in charge, he’s just as busy as I when he’s not fawning over my brother.

A smile stretches my mouth as I think about those two. They’ve been into each other since they were teenagers, though neither had the balls to do something about it at the time. And then Ben’s family moved… only for him to run into my little brother at a haunted house on Halloween of all things.

After another futile attempt to find some leftover piece of work that needs doing, I give up. My PA has done an impeccable job of ensuring there isn’t anything, which means that I am really stuck here for a week with nothing to do.

Sighing as that reality truly sinks in, I stand so I can get myself some food. Before I manage, a hand presses on my shoulder to halt me and a plate with grilled meat and vegetables is placed on my table. It smells divine—like garlic, paprika and lemon—and the fries with feta cheese look extra yummy.

“I took the liberty to bring you the chef’s recommendation,” Jake says, sliding into the chair across from me and adding a bowl of Greek salad to the mix.

I eye him suspiciously. “Shouldn’t you be at the counter?”

“Shouldn’t you be enjoying yourself on your holiday instead of working?” He pointedly stares at my laptop.

“What makes you think that I’m not?” I challenge back, putting in extra effort so I don’t smile.

He hums, propping his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. “Well, for one, you are the only one yet to eat something. Second, you are on your fourth coffee. Third, you’ve been staring at your laptop like you are trying to turn it off with just the power of your mind.”

I gape at Jake. Well, well. It looks like someone has been keeping tabs on me.

Shrugging, he snatches a fry from my plate and pops it into his mouth. A sheepish smile lights up his face. “It gets a bit boring once the rush hour is over. And since you didn’t get anything to eat despite being here since we opened dinner service, I got curious why that might be.”

“And you arrived at the conclusion that it’s because I am working?”

My heart stutters at the smile he flashes me. “Well, yes, Ethan, I did.” He curls his mouth as his twinkling eyes roam the rest of me. “But, I mean, the suit kind of made it easy to guess. After all, why else would someone like you be scowling, if not because of work?”

He is not wrong I suppose, though I imagine he has it backwards. I’m annoyed because I don’t have any work, and not because work interrupted my enjoyment.

“Or…” He shakes his head, chuckling at something he must find funny. But he doesn’t seem inclined to share what it is with me as he lets the silence settle between us.

Okay … I raise an eyebrow expectantly. He ignores my nonverbal cue and steals another fry.

It’s not like it matters to me what he was laughing at. It really doesn’t. He doesn’t have to tell me. Except that, for some reason, it’s kind of bugging me. I want to know. You don’t just start to say something which evidently has to do with me and then stop yourself before you’ve actually said it.

Usually, I’d have let it slide—I don’t particularly care about every random person’s opinion—but an episode of childlike curiosity within me insists that I must know.

“Or?” I prompt, feeling a tinge of irritation slip into my voice.

He grins and leans back into his chair. “Or… Maybe you are one of those workaholic businessmen who scowl because of lack of work.”

I blink at him, my jaw going slack. I pride myself as someone who’s mastered the art of channeling proper social behavior in public, but here Jake is, reading me like an open book for no reason. We don’t know each other. I’m the one who’s typically great at dealing with people. Aside from Jake, it seems. He’s a bit like a tornado, hard to predict, hard to counter, hard not to be pulled into the gravity of.

“Bingo. Would you like a reward?” I say a snappily.

But his megawatt smile doesn’t drop. His gaze retains the hint of amusement too, compelling goosebumps to rise all over me.

I haven’t felt out of depth for so long. It’s novel and a little scary. But it’s also titillating not to have control over the situation like this. To go with the flow, to let someone else dictate the pace. I don’t exactly know how to handle this, how to act. A part of me wants to shut it down, but another one can’t help but be intrigued.

Jake pushes off the table and smooths out his apron. He circles the table and pauses by me, leaning in. I freeze, my heart banging inside my chest as the scent of rosemary, mint and lemon engulfs me. God, he smells so fucking good. I don’t even know how I picked out the exact herbs, but I don’t care either. Not when he is so close, the heat emanating from his body seeping into mine.

His hand gives my shoulder a feather-light squeeze as he lets out a soft puff of air against my neck. My skin bristles, my entire body coming alive as a wave of alertness ripples within me. Anticipation twists my stomach, but I can’t afford to entertain the reason for it or I might do something stupid.

“That depends, I suppose,” Jake purrs, his sexy tenor dipping lower. “What kind of reward do you have in mind, Ethan?”

I will combust. I almost do, as he inhales me greedily. But mercifully, he’s out of my personal space a heartbeat later, leaving me with my pulse pounding in my ears and my hands clenched in fists atop the lace-covered tabletop.

I watch him, I can’t help it. He weaves his way around the other tables and the salad bar, returning to his station where meat is cooking atop a rectangular grill. As he flips a rack of ribs over, he looks at me and winks. My insides decide they are riding an imaginary rollercoaster even though I’m sitting on a chair in the hotel’s restaurant.

I need to calm down. And chill. It’s been a while since someone had gotten under my skin like this and so fast, but I still know how to act cool. Aloof. Uninterested. It’s been drilled into me and after years of mastering it, I have an impenetrable facade.

Taking a bite from the juicy pork skewer Jake brought over, I stifle an appreciative moan. It tastes amazing. The texture is tender and flavorful, and the salad brings a crunchy zing. But I can’t let it get to me, no matter how tempting that might seem. Bland and quick, that’s what I like when it comes to food and sex. No-strings-attached encounters with people from any of the dozen dating apps when the itch needs scratching. It’s an exchange with no expectations.

You don’t have any expectations from Jake either. And he seems interested.

I scoff, trying to slow down my still elevated pulse. Heat pulsates under my skin, pooling south to my slowly hardening cock. It’s true. Jake is a chef-in-training nobody that I won’t see ever again. He’s exciting and spicy, a pleasant distraction I wouldn’t mind indulging in while my hell week lasts.

There is just one issue.

As perfect a candidate as he might be, I’m afraid he might be a little too spicy for me.