Snow Job by Tara Wyatt (best large ereader .txt) 📗

got the hang of it, we’ll work on shifting weight to move left and right.”

One by one, the students attempted to slide slowly down the tiny hill, wobbling and falling, getting up and trying again with laughter. Kayla, however, stood at the top of the hill, staring at the snow.

“Kayla? You haven’t tried yet. I can’t move on in the lesson until everyone is on the same page.” He eyed her with one raised eyebrow, forcing his tone into one of cool professionalism.

“Oh, so now you’re a picture of competence,” she muttered.

He put his hands on his hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

But he couldn’t let it go, and with everyone else occupied with learning how to slide and stop, he took the opportunity to push her.

“Come on, don’t give me that bullshit,” he said, his voice low. “You thought I was incompetent, so you got me fired. That about it?”

Her nostrils flared and she actually let out a little grunt. “No, you jerk. First of all, I didn’t think you were incompetent, but you proved yourself to be when you dropped the ball time and time again, forcing the rest of us to pick up your slack when you were sleeping off a bender or doing God only knows what else. Don’t blame me for your fuck up. Because the only person you have any right to blame for losing your job is you.” She jabbed her finger into his chest for the second time that afternoon, and he didn’t like it any less this time around. “Don’t blame me for the fact that your privileged ass can’t take any responsibility for how badly you screwed—” She cut herself off, biting her lip. “You know what? This is stupid. Because we don’t work together anymore, and I don’t owe you anything.”

“Don’t you?” he asked, his tone rough. “Because you fucked up my life pretty bad, Kayla. I lost my apartment. I lost my job. Look at me. I’m a thirty-four year old snowboarding instructor. Yeah, I screwed up. But I was on the edge and you pushed me right the fuck over, sweetheart.”

Her eyes blazed, her breaths coming in sharp pants. “Your disaster of a life is not my fault. And I am not some little doormat you get to talk to like this. I think we should get back to the lesson.”

Despite the cold, sweat beaded along his brow and he ground his teeth. “Of course.” His pulse throbbed in his temples, anger churning through him at what Kayla had said. Not because she was wrong, but because she was at least a tiny bit right. He closed his eyes and took a breath, and then pointed at the hill. “So. Let’s see. Like I said, we can’t move on until everyone has mastered this first skill.”

Holding his eyes, hers burning with pride, she started to slide down the hill. Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk when she pointed her toes down instead of up, flailed and then landed on her ass. Again.

“Here,” he said, helping her up. “You want to press your weight back on your heels. Toes up, not down. Like this.” He stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her hips. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t say anything, letting him guide her body. Exerting gentle pressure, he rocked her back, showing her how to shift her weight. His blood thickened as every muscle in his body tightened at having his hands on her like that, even though they were separated by multiple layers of Gore-Tex. “Like this. Heels heavy, toes light. You got it?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, shaking her head. “I…” Then she cleared her throat and pushed his hands away, her cheeks bright pink. “Yep. Got it.”

4

Three Years Ago

Kayla smoothed her hands over the skirt of her powder blue shift dress, crossed and uncrossed her ankles, and then reminded herself not to fidget. She was nervous, but this wasn’t the regular kind of job interview nerves. Lord knew she’d been on enough interviews over the past three months that she was a seasoned pro at this point. But those other positions hadn’t been nearly as exciting and enticing as this one. She’d applied for it on a whim, thinking she wouldn’t even get an interview—after all, communications and marketing manager at a major real estate development firm in Manhattan wasn’t exactly an entry level job.

Yet here she was, waiting for someone to call her name and invite her in to the conference room.

She crossed and uncrossed her ankles again, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d treated herself to a blow out, and the stylist had made her curls even shinier and bouncier than usual. It was a small thing, but knowing she looked her best always gave her a boost of confidence. She pulled the cream-colored folder holding the documents she’d put together for the interview out of her bag and held it in her lap, just so her hands would have something to do.

“Miss Bristowe?” A younger man poked his head out of the conference room across the hall. When she smiled and stood, he nodded. “They’re ready for you.”

Taking a steadying breath, she followed him into the conference room, which was small but pristine, with a sparkling glass table and neat gray leather chairs around it. The lighting fixture hanging above it could’ve been a modern work of art. The floor-to-ceiling windows provided a breathtaking view of Rockefeller Center and Bryant Park.

This place was money. And God, she wanted in so badly. Not just because it paid well (which it did) or would be a fantastic professional opportunity for her (which it was), but because it was the logical next step on her Perfect Life Plan. She’d finished school, gotten the degrees, done the internships and had worked on a few contracts, but hadn’t landed on anything permanent. If she