"Coordinating with Spencer's team on the eastern terrace. They're preparing for the incoming storm." He hesitates, then adds, "Also, your mother called again. Twice."
I suppress a sigh. "Did she mention why?"
"Only that it was 'vital to discuss the holiday arrangements.’” Marcus's expression remains neutral, but there's a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "She seemed particularly interested in confirming Ms. Parker's attendance at the gala."
That gets my attention. "Sloane? Why would my mother ask about Sloane?"
"I couldn't say, sir." But the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth suggests otherwise.
"Marcus."
"She may have inquired whether you and Ms. Parker were... involved."
I nearly drop the tablet. "Involved? Where would she get that idea?"
"Perhaps from your extended history of friendship, sir. Or the fact that Ms. Parker is the only person you've ever allowed to adjust your tie in public." His voice remains perfectly professional, but there's no mistaking the amusement lurking beneath.
"That's absurd," I say, more sharply than intended. "Sloane and I are colleagues. Friends."
"Of course, sir." Marcus takes back the tablet. "Will there be anything else?"
"No." I pause, then add, "Actually, yes. Call Jensen's and have them deliver my gray cashmere to Ms. Parker's office. The one from the Milan collection."
"The one you said would never leave your closet unless the board voted unanimously to require casual Fridays?" His eyebrow raises fractionally.
"The very same." I turn back to the window, dismissing him. "And Marcus? Not a word about this to anyone."
"As you wish, sir."
When the door closes behind him, I run a hand through my hair, still slightly mussed the way Sloane arranged it yesterday. The thought of my mother matchmaking again makes my stomach knot, but for entirely different reasons than usual.
My phone buzzes with a text from Callum Reyes:Media briefing notes ready for review. Warning: Reporters asking about ‘holiday romance’ angle for story.
I frown at the screen. Holiday romance? Where are they getting that from?
Before I can respond, another text comes through, this one from Sloane:Don't panic, but Brynn says the Rockies Reporter is running a ‘CEO Finds Mountain Love’ teaser. I swear I didn't plant it.
Heat creeps up my neck. I type back:I assume you're already handling this.
Her response comes instantly:Obviously. Told them you're married to your job, but having a torrid affair with community integration. They seemed disappointed.
Despite everything, I smile. This is what I've always appreciated about Sloane, her ability to diffuse tension, to make the unbearable somehow manageable.
I text back:My mother asked Marcus if we're involved.
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. Finally:Yikes. What did you tell him?
The truth. That we're friends and colleagues.
Another pause, then:Right. Of course. The truth.
Something in her response makes me hesitate, a weight settling in my chest that I can't quite identify.
I'm still staring at my phone when Brynn Ellison knocks and enters without waiting for permission, something only Sloane usually dares to do.
"Sorry to barge in," she says, not looking sorry at all. "But I need immediate approval on these campaign mock-ups if we're going to hit the printing deadline."
She spreads several large prints across my desk. ‘Winter in Hope Peak’ dominates each design, with variations on the tagline beneath. The most prominent features a shot of the main street, fairy lights twinkling in the snow, with the Blackwood logo subtly integrated into the storefront banners.
