Remember Me. Laura Browning
her at the touch of his hand. “Have a good evening, Lucy. I’ll see you here. Six thirty. Be ready to ski, okay?”
“I will.” He started to turn away, and she added, “Thanks for the invitation, Brandon.”
His grin was lopsided. “We’ll see if you still feel the same way tomorrow afternoon.”
* * * *
At loose ends, Brandon called Matt Petersohn, Falcon Summit’s owner, right after he’d settled in his suite.
“Hey, Matt.”
“Bran!” His friend’s voice was warm over the phone line. “They told me you’d checked in. Everything good, dude?”
“Perfect, as always. You free for dinner?”
“Yeah. Why don’t I have it delivered to your suite around seven? We can chow down then sit and scratch while we talk about why you don’t come out here to ski much.”
Brandon laughed, agreed and hung up. At last, some of the tension from his work at Barrett Newspapers drained out of him. God only knew, he’d wanted to take over Seth’s position, had been overjoyed when his elder brother had put his foot down and walked out the door. But in the last few months, he’d also come to realize how much of a buffer Seth had been between Alexander Barlow-Barrett and the rest of them.
Now Brandon was the one juggling his father’s rigid personality against what he knew was the best interest of the company. The industry was changing at a pace far beyond what anyone could have predicted when Brandon had graduated from business school ten years ago. Seth had been quiet and dogged, but he’d been making changes during that whole time.
The problem was everything had to be ramped up big time if they were going to keep their flagship national daily a household fixture. And, damn it, he needed his father to realize the only way it would happen was without the smell of ink or the feel of newsprint. Those days were gone, but they could still compete. There was another market out there between fancy phones and e-readers, but they needed to tap into it now. The whole world was plugged in. It was time Barrett Newspapers lived the same way.
By the time Matt showed up at his door with a couple waiters pushing carts with covered trays trailing him, Brandon had showered and exchanged the suit for a pair of well-worn jeans and a thick Nationals sweatshirt. His feet were bare and he had a bourbon in his hand. He set the glass aside so he and Matt could do the back-slapping guy hug thing.
“Damn, Matt,” Brandon said, eyeing his friend’s thick black braid and close-cropped beard, “you’re taking this mountain man thing to heart.”
Matt flicked a finger at Brandon’s conservative haircut. “You’re the one to talk, Mr. Powerbroker. How’s it feel to be heir to the throne?”
Brandon shook his head. “Some days, not a whole lot different than stepping into a pile of horse shit.”
“Papa Barrett snarling again?”
“It’s not the snarling. It’s the rigid immobility.” Brandon stared around him. “You’ve made changes here.”
Matt laughed. “Had to. Too much competition from other places. We’ve added some glitz and enough luxury to make Grossvater Petersohn flip over in his grave, but the bookings are up—and not just during ski season. We’ve added guided hiking and fishing trips during the summer.” Matt uncovered a couple plates and Brandon smelled the rich aromas of wine sauce and butter.
“Damn. Let’s eat. I am freaking starved.”
They were almost finished when Matt looked across the table with a grin. “So my concierge tells me you came in with a drop-dead-gorgeous blonde. Keeping her all to yourself?”
Brandon stiffened for a moment, then laughed. “Not sure yet. I met her on the plane. She’s here on vacation. Turned me down flat for dinner tonight, but I’m hooked up with her to teach her how to ski.”
“Good work.”
“Can you get one of your guys to outfit us around seven thirty? I’ll pay them extra.”
“No problem. Scott’s been looking for some OT. You sure you want to teach her yourself? I could have him give her an hour private lesson, then you could hold her hand down a couple of beginner slopes before you hit the expert runs.”
Brandon leaned back in his chair, feeling full and mellow after the meal. “You know, in most circumstances I would take you up on your offer, but I have the feeling teaching Lucy Cameron to ski might be fun. She’s built like an athlete.”
“You going to teach her anything else?”
Brandon sipped his brandy and stared into the fire. “We’re not at that point yet, but I will tell you, my cylinders start firing whenever I see her.”
Matt laughed. “Well, she’s safe from me, buddy. You know I have a hands-off policy on guests to begin with, but it’s definitely hands off of any territory you’re marking. We’ve been tight for too long to compete over a woman.”
Brandon smiled. “’Preciate that, Matt.”
“I’ll say no sweat for now, but I reserve the right to change my response to an aw shit if she turns out to be worth the glazed look in the eyes of the front desk clerks.”
Chapter 2
Lucy smoothed the thin, high-tech long underwear along her legs and over her hips. After shimmying into the top, she finished layering on the new clothing. She grinned at her reflection. Ski Bunny Lucy. She stared into the mirror in her room, and her smile faded. Somehow, she doubted a man like Brandon would be quite so interested if he knew her real title was Stripper Lucy. She stared at her hands, turning them over to examine them. It would be nice to be able to tell him she was an artist for a living, but so far her work in clay hadn’t earned her any money. Taking off her clothes and dancing earned her living, and a damned good one. But not one she wanted to share with everyone.
Hell, who was she kidding? She didn’t want to share it with Brandon. For a little while, she wanted to be able to live the fantasy she really was sophisticated and classy like him. It was just one week. What could it hurt? She would never see him again. Somehow, the thought made her throat tight.
When she saw him in the lobby, saw the welcoming smile lighting his face, she couldn’t help but laugh and return it. “Good morning, I’m not late, am I?”
“No.” He took her hand and tucked it through his arm. “Come on. We’ll grab breakfast first, then we’ll get you set with equipment.” He ushered her into a small private dining room off the main one. There was a veritable feast on the table. “I didn’t know what you might like, so I asked them to bring in a sampling of several items.”
Lucy gaped. “I—I only have coffee and a bagel most mornings. Sometimes I splurge following a workout and have a latte.” She put a hand to her throat. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
Brandon laughed. “Dig in. You’ll be glad of the calories after I get you out on the ski slopes.”
Once she buckled on the ski boots the first time, she decided this might be a whole lot harder than she had anticipated. Accustomed to being able to move fluidly, she felt like Frankenstein’s little sister, and could only marvel at how natural Brandon was, even with the boots on. They practiced putting on and taking off the skis. He set their poles aside for the time being, explaining he wanted her to understand how to maneuver the skis first and learn to balance without depending on poles.
“We’ll pick them up once we get you going on the intermediate slopes. For now, you can hold on to me.” He grinned at her, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He was more patient than she had imagined. Lucy couldn’t help thinking he could be doing so much more if she’d just had the courage to turn him down.
When she had graduated to the point where she was snowplowing her way downhill with him skiing backward