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I take the elevator to the top floor and give the door a light tap before going in. Sebastian’s office is huge, just outside the penthouse suite where he lives. When he decided to build Tate International’s tenth resort in tiny Longdale, Colorado, the rest of the brothers—there are six of us total—were a little surprised. We have locations in places like the subtropical paradise of Lord Howe Island, Australia. Plus, if you’re going to build in Colorado, you might as well do it in Aspen where your guests can ski.
But no, it had to be here, just off-shore from Longdale Lake, where we spent our summers growing up living with our aunt, Stella. And then when my career ended and there was nothing in Texas left for me, I came here, partly to rehabilitate my knee, but mostly just to lay low out of the public eye and help Sebastian with odds and ends.
“What happened to you?” Sebastian asks, his gaze steely and his mouth turned down in a frown. To be fair, he’s usually frowning, but I’m unsettled that it’s directed toward me specifically.
“Nothing. What did you need?” I finish my limping and slump into the leather chair opposite his massive desk. It’s all corporate “The Man” style because Sebastian is corporate to a tee. But this version of the all-powerful mahogany desk happens to be a much lighter stain. It’s still nice and intimidating, though.
He glares at me before continuing. “Were you running?”
Did sweat on my forehead and my out-of-shape breathing clue him in? I sigh. “Yeah, trying to.”
Something of a smile crosses his face. “That’s good to hear,” he says. “I’m glad you were feeling up to it.”
I was. Barely. Now with the humiliation and my knee hurting like it is, I won’t be trying it again for a while. And I can’t shake the annoyance that I couldn’t tell if by “feeling up to it” he meant emotionally or physically.
I don’t like being pitied. I get weirded out when people treat me like they don’t know what to do with me.
Idon’t know what to do with me. And that’s why I don’t mind, most of the time, when Sebastian summons me for some mundane task. I guess it’s nice to be needed.
“You rang?” I ask.
He sits back in his office chair and regards me again. “It’s interesting you were down in the gym, because the thing I need you to do involves that.” He stares, considering me, his mouth bunched up to one side. “Now that the gym’s done, I’m asking you to be in charge of it.”
“In charge of it?”
For Sebastian to relinquish any part of his baby—the resorts—is a surprise. “What would I do? Wipe down the equipment and hand out towels?”
He smirks. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But no. I was thinking about putting you in charge of all the leisure activities we offer.”
“Aren’t you going to hire a general manager?” That’s what always happens. Sebastian’s on the front lines for the beginning stages all the way until the resort is fully operational. Then he hires someone to take over and he moves on to the next location.
“Eventually. But until then, I need you to run the recreation. Give the guests things to do.”
It sounds…juvenile. Like something an intern from some outdoor rec program would be asked to do. “Are you letting me be the CEO of Fun, Sebastian? Gonna give me a little metal badge to pin on my shirt? Like when kids think they’re the sheriff?”
“If you want to wear a badge, I’ll give you a badge,” he offers, but his expression grows serious again. “Now that the resort’s operations are in full swing, I’m looking to expand. I’d like to offer our guests more. We’ve got to compete with the skiing industry. Not that we’ll draw the skiers away from their resorts. But it would be helpful to give our guests more to do, especially during the winter when the lake isn’t fit for use.”
It’s not fit for use because it’s frozen over in spots—it’s brutal. I realized that last winter when I was holed up in the cabin I bought here.
“I want to maximize our new gym,” he says. “That can also be draw.”
“I don’t know, Sebastian. I’m not planning on being here much longer. The hospitality industry isn’t really my thing.”
Except, it’s everything to Sebastian. He glowers, his brows threatening to affect his vision. “Where are you gonna go?”
He’s called my bluff. He knows I have zero plans. Not because I don’t want to move on with my life. I just don’t know how to do that without football. Without Callie.
“I’m working on some plans.”
I’m not working on some plans.
I used to daydream about making a comeback—reentering the league with a healthy knee. But that’s not happening.
And I just need to figure out what to do.
He nods. “Well, until those plans get worked out, you can do this for me. I’m giving you the activities so you can be up and moving around. I know you don’t want to be stuck behind a desk. And you’re probably sick of hanging out by yourself at the cabin.”
“I don’t understand what you want me to do.” It comes out like a protest, and I feel my palms start to sweat.
