“Really? How did I miss that?” Kayla looked at the photographs that came up on her screen. Jackson O’Neil was at least two decades younger than she’d imagined him to be. Instead of the usual corporate head and shoulders shot, there was a photograph of him skiing down what looked like a vertical slope. Her head spun as she looked at the gradient. “Is that Photoshop?”
Stacy peered over her shoulder and made an appreciative sound. “That man is seriously hot. I bet he drinks vodka martinis, shaken not stirred. It’s not Photoshop. All three O’Neil brothers are skiers. Tyler O’Neil was on the U.S. ski team until he injured himself. They’re always flinging themselves off some cliff or other.”
“So I’d probably better not mention I feel dizzy at the top of the Empire State Building.” Kayla clicked off the picture. “Snowdrift Leisure is a fast-growing, successful company
. Why isn’t he focusing on that?”
“Family. The O’Neil family owns the Snow Crystal Resort and Spa in Vermont.”
Family. The most destructive force known to man. “Never heard of it.”
“I guess that’s why he’s contacted us for help.”
“If he’d wanted to run the family business, why didn’t he do that straight off instead of setting up his own company?” She clicked through the Snow Crystal website, looking at images. A large Alpine-style hotel and log cabins nestling in a forest. A couple, smiling adoringly in the back of a horse-drawn sleigh. Laughing families skating on a frozen pond. She quickly returned to the images of the cabins. “Maybe he’s a guy who prefers a challenge.”
“No doubt he’ll tell you why when you meet. He asked for you. He saw what you did for Adventure Travel.”
Kayla stared at the log cabins, and thought how peaceful they looked. “Are they putting the business out to pitch?”
“Brett thinks if you can impress Jackson O’Neil tomorrow, the business is ours.”
“Then we’d better make sure we impress him.”
“I’m sure you will.” Stacy hesitated. “Have you ever skied?”
“Not exactly. I mean, I’ve never actually worn a pair of skis as such, but I skidded on the snow outside Bloomingdales last week. I felt as if my gut was going to come up through my mouth. Skiing must give you a similar feeling.”
Stacy laughed. “My parents took me to Vermont when I was little. All I remember was ice. Even the trees were frozen.”
“That’s perfect because I love ice.”
“You do?”
“Absolutely. Ideally I prefer it crushed in a margarita or carved into a swan as a centerpiece on a buffet table, but I can go with it under my feet if I have to. I’ll be fine, Stacy. I’m helping them promote the company, not going on holiday there. When I worked on that African Safari account, did I have to hug a lion? No, I did not.” Kayla felt the familiar buzz that always came when facing a new business opportunity. Her fears of the dreaded Christmas period were soothed by the knowledge she now had a legitimate reason to bury herself in work. She’d get through it, as she always did, and no one would be any the wiser. “Be an angel and dig up as much information as you can on Snow Crystal and the O’Neil family, particularly Jackson. I want to know why he took a backseat in his highly successful business to return home and run a place I can’t even find on a map.”
“I’ll have it for you first thing tomorrow.” Brisk and efficient, Stacy made a note in her book. “Maybe you should take a break, Kayla. You’re forgetting it’s Christmas!”
“I’m not forgetting.”
She’d been trying to forget for a decade and a half. There was no forgetting.
Whenever she left her apartment or her office she walked with her head down, avoiding glimpses of glittering window displays and twinkly lights, but nothing helped.
Stacy tidied the stack of invoices. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind and join our team trip to see Santa?”
It felt as if someone were sawing through her stomach.
Dragging open her drawer, Kayla pulled out indigestion tablets and swallowed two. She wondered whether taking the lot would put her out until after Christmas. “Can’t, sorry, but I appreciate the invitation.”
“There will be Christmas trees, elves—”
“Oh, God, poor you.”
“Why poor me? I love Christmas.” Stacy shot her a puzzled look. “Don’t you?”
“I adore Christmas. I’m totally gutted I can’t make it. I meant poor me, not poor you.” The effort of smiling was making her jaw ache. “Think of me while you’re mingling with elves.”
“Maybe you should come anyway and talk to Santa. You can give him your Christmas list. Dear Santa, please give me the Snow Crystal account together with a massive budget, and, while you’re at it, I’ll have Jackson O’Neil naked. Hold the gift wrap.”