Billionaires Dollar Series

“Now, why would they do that? Have you told them anything about me?”

“Nothing,” I say truthfully. “I’m pretty sure your reputation precedes you in this case.”

His eyes narrow. “Which one of them is André?”

I have to school my features to hide my surprise. He remembered the name of the last guy I’d dated? And then it hits me-Skye had mentioned him last weekend, at dinner. Invited him to the chalet, in fact.

“He couldn’t come tonight,” I say sweetly. It’s not really a lie either. He couldn’t come, on account of not having been invited.

Nick shrugs. “What a shame. I’m sure I would have enjoyed meeting him.”

He would not enjoy meeting you, I think. “Really? That’s an unusually nice sentiment from someone who’s never nice.”

“Nice,” he snorts. “As if you’ve ever been nice to me.”

And perhaps it’s the two glasses of wine I’ve had, or the anger at his offhand comments, but I actually blurt the next words out. “You were rude to me first.”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Even as I say it, I can hear how childish it sounds.

Nick doesn’t seem to mind. He takes a sip of his brandy instead, a furrow in his brow. “You’ll have to remind me.”

“The poker game,” I say, pushing my hair back behind an ear. “I asked to join and you turned me down in front of everyone in the room.”

He looks shocked, but then he laughs. It’s a dark thing. “That? I was saving you! Those guys were absolute assholes.”

“As were you.”

“As was I,” he agrees. “As I said-saving you. That game was nothing for you. You were what, nineteen? And Cole’s younger sister?”

“I’d just turned twenty-one.” I cross my arms over my chest. If that had been his reason, there had been no reason to be rude-nor to be rude at every turn since. “Motivated by altruism? I’m sorry if I don’t buy it.”

Nick shakes his head. Not for the first time, I wonder if his nose has ever been broken. “I’m not surprised.”

“I guess civility is only for work, then.”

“That was our agreement, yes.” He tips his glass of brandy in my direction, voice dripping with condescension. “Extending it to around the clock would probably be more taxing than you could manage.”

Me? I’m the one who’s only ever wanted to be his friend. I grit my teeth. “I’m going on that ski trip,” I say fiercely.

If he’s bothered by the non-sequitur, it doesn’t show. “Oh, so am I,” he counters.

“And I’m an excellent skier.”

“As am I.”

“Excellent.”

“Perfect.”

We stand there glaring at each other. My heart beats against my ribs, aware how much closer we’re standing than when we began talking. Nick’s eyes are dark flames. For the first time in years, I feel like he’s looking at me and seeing me, not Cole’s little sister. He might not like what he sees, but it feels like a victory regardless.

“Mr. Park!” A voice breaks us out of our staring contest. A portly man appears at Nick’s side, a mustache hiding his nervous smile. Thomas York, head of the fundraising committee.

Nick’s face smooths back into schooled impassivity so quickly that I wonder if I’d imagined the passionate irritation there. “Mr. York.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your, erm, discussion, but I was informed by your people that I was to find you as soon as possible. Well, here I am.”

I watch in fascination as Nick nods. “Thank you for making the time. Let’s talk. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Porter…”

I produce my widest, most beaming smile. “Of course. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. York. And Mr. Park… do take care. I want you to be in perfect shape when I race you on the slopes.”

Nick’s eyes glitter in the dim lighting. “Prepare to lose,” he says.

Whistler is a sight from the air. At my request, the helicopter makes an extra round before we descend over the snow-ladened landscape. Mountains stretch high around us, dark green pines barely visible beneath a blanket of heavy white.

It’s one of the many sights I’m determined not to take for granted. Nor is international travel. The Canadian border might only be a two-hour drive from Seattle, but I’d never left the country until I was well into adulthood.

I force my mind away from the thought. It’s easy to stray too close to childhood memories, and I’d rather not dwell on most of those.

The helicopter makes a smooth landing on the helipad. Kept free from ice and snow all year round, there’s no quicker way to travel. If Cole were here, no doubt he’d make some quip about how it saves him time-and time is money. He’s never truly appreciated this kind of thing, having grown up with money long before he made his own billions. Blair, despite her sunny nature, is the same. Both of them come from comfort. That was as clear as the privilege they’d been raised with.

They displayed it often, but never deliberately. It just hung around their shoulders like a cloak and shone through in their speech. In shared childhood memories of Caribbean cruises and ski trips.

The difference didn’t feel insurmountable with Cole. It never had. But with Blair? It had been a sign over her head from the first time I saw her. NOT FOR THE LIKES OF YOU. Hell, I’d added to that monument myself over the years. Little roadblocks and diversions. Cues to say the thing she’d least like hearing.

And the difference between us grew until it became a mountain.

Unbidden, my mind conjures up the image of them both when we’d been told about the pregnancy. Cole was happy, in that deep, content way, and good for him.

Blair had cried. She’d actually cried, happy, warm tears that she wasn’t the least bit ashamed about shedding. Joy had illuminated her from within, leaving her practically glowing, as she hugged them both. She wore her emotions on her sleeve.

It’s been nearly two weeks, but the memory still hits me every now and then. Never had I seen her so happy. It wasn’t a face she generally showed around me.

No, with me she’s a hissing cat. Teeth bared and hackles raised. It’s predictable and safe, at least. Easier by far to face.

A car is waiting for me by the helipad. The driver makes his way in silence up the snowy streets of Whistler, passing chalet after chalet on the mountainside. Cole and Skye should already be there, having flown up a day earlier. I suspect Blair had gone with them.

A job that’s respected. A wife who adores him. A child on the way and nothing but a good life to lead. For a moment, I nearly drown in my own bitter envy of Cole. It doesn’t happen often-I couldn’t be the man if I tried-and it doesn’t last long.

When the car stops outside a chalet that’s as much window as it is pine, my indulgence in self-pity is over. The house is nestled in a snowy hillside and entirely surrounded by firs. I take the steps in two and let the staff handle my luggage.

Cole stands by the front door. Wearing a woolen sweater and with at least a few days of unshaved growth on his face, he looks like he’s given up entirely. He’s also grinning widely.

“Christ, man,” I say. “Are you trying to become one with the mountain?”

He pulls me in to slap me on the shoulder. “Yes. Perhaps then it’ll stop seeing me as an enemy.”

“An enemy?”