The Billionaire's Festive Reunion
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Cara Colter
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When fate brings a billionaire face-to-face with his first love, he is determined not to lose her again in the first installment of the White Christmas in Whistler duet. FROSTY REUNION TO FIERY FOREVER? It's the busiest time of year for billionaire ski resort owner Brad. After losing his wife, he's determined to make this festive season memorable. But rescuing his first love, Faith, from a frozen lake isn't what he had in mind! The passion between them is as potent as ever, but now that Brad knows true heartache, he's wary of letting anyone close. Yet the yearning to uncover why Faith ran from him decades earlier is hard to ignore… Can Christmas weave its magic for a snow-kissed second chance?
CHAPTER ONE
“CASSIE,” BRAD DANIELS said to his daughter, “it’s the third day of November. You just got the Halloween things put away. It’s a little early to be working on details for Christmas, isn’t it?”
His daughter—he was the only one allowed to call Cassandra “Cassie”—gave him the raised-eyebrow look. It was so like her mother, Cynthia—in charge, would not suffer fools lightly, a need for perfection—that he felt a shiver go up and down his spine.
He used to call the pair of them his dream team.
“Dad! We’re actually behind where we should be. The tree for the front lobby needs to be a blue spruce and it has to be twenty-eight feet tall.”
“One foot for each year of your life?” he asked dryly. “By the time you’re my age we’ll have to raise the ceiling.”
He was treated to the look again.
“The height of the tree has nothing to do with my age, as you well know.”
He grinned at her, just to assure her that, yes, he did well know.
She sighed. “Do you think you just go to the Boy Scout Christmas tree lot and get one of those the day before you need it?”
His daughter was beautiful, as her mother had been. Willowy, fine-featured, blue-eyed. She had done something with her hair that turned the natural blonde to an unearthly shade of platinum that was extraordinarily striking, even as he wondered, What is this generation’s rush to gray? It would come soon enough.
As gorgeous as she was, Brad found her intensity—a kind of earnestness—to be the most compelling thing about Cassie. He felt a rush of tenderness for her.
The last two years there had been only the most desultory efforts at making Christmas the spectacular event that was expected of the Cobalt Lake Resort, the ski and accommodation destination in Whistler their family owned.
Christmas had been one of the things they were best known for before the loss of Cynthia in a horrible accident had left Brad and Cassie reeling.
This year, from the almost feverish look of determination sparking in those blue eyes, it was clear that Cassie was planning to make up for it, with the best Christmas ever.
“You’re right,” he conceded. “Bring on Christmas. I’m sorry. I won’t be much help. I don’t have any idea where the Christmas stuff is.”
“Oh, Dad, it’s all in the main storage room, on shelves Mom labeled!” She looked at him indulgently. “Go back to running your empire, and I’ll look after the resort. But remember, Christmas isn’t a season, it’s a feeling.”
It was her favorite Christmas quote.
Brad groaned. “I have a feeling I’m going to be hearing that a lot over the next two months.”
“It’s not even two months.”
“You’re making my head hurt.”
Cassie smiled at him then, and regarded him thoughtfully.
“Hey! Are you thinking I look old?”
“Not at all. You’re only fifty-six. I was actually thinking how great gray hair looks on you.”
His hair, salt-and-pepper when Cynthia died, had turned completely gray over the ensuing two years.
“Not every guy can say that,” Cassie said affectionately, “but you look very distinguished, like Gregor Watson.”
Watson, an actor, had just departed. He was one of many celebrities who had become a regular at Cobalt Lake, enjoying the upscale boutique nature of it, and that the resort was small enough they could go to great lengths to protect the privacy of their guests.
Security had had their work cut out for them this time, though. A couple of very determined members of the paparazzi had camped just outside the private property line, somehow having gotten wind of Watson’s stay.
Security had nicknamed the most persistent of them “Gopher” because he kept popping out of various hiding places looking for the money shot.
He had not succeeded, however, in getting his prize—a photo of Watson, who had been named World’s Sexiest Man about a million times.
“World’s Sexiest Senior, here I come,” Brad said dryly.
Cassie laughed.
As always, it was like the light had come on in his world. From the day Cassie had been born, it had been a source of amazement to him that two people as different as he and Cynthia could somehow create such a miracle.
It had been an accidental pregnancy. He remembered, clearly, on their twelfth anniversary, Cassie standing in front of them, hands on hips, doing the math.
“But I’m twelve! Did you get married because of me?”
“Oh, darling,” Cynthia had said so smoothly. “We found out I was pregnant the very same day we had our engagement party. Which made it just about the best day of my whole life.”
It was the tiniest of white lies, but what was important was that Cassie had been completely satisfied with the answer, and as far as Brad knew, it had never been mentioned again.
Brad sometimes wondered if that accidental pregnancy was part of what had sent his wife’s need to be in control into overdrive. And now, he found himself wondering something else.
He felt he and Cynthia had enjoyed a good relationship, based on mutual respect for each other and love for their daughter.
Cynthia had loved Cobalt Lake, and as his parents aged, she had basically taken over the daily operations of the resort. By the time his parents had passed, she had been shifting the place to fit her vision.
Brad had always pursued other business interests, thinking of Cobalt Lake, even though it was a substantial holding, as more of a family hobby than a viable business venture.
Cynthia had proven him wrong on that front. She had taken the property from what had essentially been—despite the delusions of grandeur of his mother, Deirdre Daniels—a quaint little mom-and-pop ski hill to one of the most sought-after vacation destinations in Canada.
And Cassie seemed intent on taking it to the next level.
Had Cynthia been as happy with the marriage as he had been?
He had thought so. And then, two weeks ago, in search of a paperclip, he had looked through the desk his wife had always used. He had come across an envelope. It looked as if maybe it had been taped underneath the lip of the drawer, and the tape had dried over time, so that letter had whispered out of its hiding place, maybe even from him opening the drawer that had been closed for so long.
“You know, Dad,” Cassie said carefully, drawing him back to the present, “maybe you’re ready to meet some—”
“No,” he said firmly, “I’m not.”
The last thing he needed was his type A daughter thinking he needed to get back in the game. Much as he loved Cassie, Brad couldn’t imagine anything worse than becoming one of her projects and having her devote her considerable energy to finding him a new partner.
He hoped his tone would be enough to make her back off, but, of course, that was not Cassie.
“Why not?” she pressed.
“I don’t have the energy for it. If you think Christmas gives me a headache, you can’t even imagine how I would feel sitting across a restaurant table with a perfect stranger, trying to think of things to say.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that. Traditional dating can be kind of lame. People need to think outside the box. Think how much you’d find out about someone if your first date was in a panic room!”
“I don’t even know what that is.” But he wasn’t sure it could sound more awful than that.
“It’s like a puzzle, only in real time. You get locked in this room, and you have clues and you find your way—”
He pressed his temples. “Here comes the headache.”
She laughed. “Okay, okay, backing off. But if you did decide you were ready, you could tell me, and I could help you.”
By locking him in a room with a stranger?
Really? At least the name was apt. Panic.
“I’m just letting you know,” she said softly, “that I wouldn’t be mad, or resentful that you weren’t going to mourn Mom forever. I’d be behind you one hundred per cent if you decided it was time to move on. It has been two years.”
He knew that Cassie’s grief for her mother was still raw, and so, while misplaced, it was such a generous offer.
Under all that drive, there it was—a loveliness of spirit that she tried to hide from the world, as if it was a weakness.
“Thanks, sweetie. You’ll be the first to know if I need a captain for Team Brad.”
Not that it will ever happen.
“Go find your Christmas decorations,” he told her gently.
She waved a hand at him, and left in her typical flurry of energy.
After she was gone, Brad got up from his desk and reached for the jacket, which was hanging on the back of his office door. Time for a run. He’d always been a runner, and since Cynthia died, it brought him comfort he no longer got from the ski slopes. He called it his physical therapy.
It was cold and crisp today, the ice starting to form on the lake. He warmed up with a few stretches, but even when he started to run, his mind didn’t clear.
He hated it that he had never questioned the strength of his and Cynthia’s relationship while she’d been alive, or even after she died.
But that envelope, yellow with age, addressed in her firm hand...
Beloved
She had called him dear sometimes, and darling on occasion, but beloved? Never. So who was that letter for?
He had not opened it, or even decided if he would, but the questions it had stirred up were upsetting.
Was there someone she had loved before him? Had she married him only because of the pregnancy, because she thought she had to?
And an even worse thought: had the pregnancy been an accident at all? Or had his being a rising star in business—achieving billionaire status before he was thirty—been something that Cynthia, from a working-class background, wanted?
His mother had alluded to that possibility once or twice, until Brad had made it clear it would not be acceptable to him for his mother to air her habitual harsh judgments on the newest member of their family.
Cynthia had shown her mettle in very short order. She had left those humble beginnings behind her without a backward glance, sliding effortlessly into the world of prosperity that his business interests, more than the resort, at least at first, had provided.
She had been a perfect fit for that world, classy and refined. Okay, occasionally she’d overdone it, like using French words to sound chic. And when things reached her standard of perfection, she was fond of pronouncing them marvelous.
Still, any kind of accident, never mind pregnancy, was so out of her nature.
And yet, an accident had also killed her.
If she was happy, why had she loved those midnight skis by herself so much? Why had she taken a chance that night and gone into the avalanche zone?
Had she addressed a letter to Beloved before or after their marriage? Why had she kept it?
Should he open it, or respect the fact she had kept it secret? What if it blew apart everything he had believed about their marriage?
Brad shook off his thoughts, irritated with himself.
He had Cassie. And none of the rest of it mattered. At least not now.
It was colder out than he had thought it would be. His breath came out in icy puffs. He took the wide sidewalk that led him to the boardwalk that surrounded Cobalt Lake. He drank in the amazing view of Mount Sproatt. As always, the crisp air was a balm to his soul.
He caught sight of Gopher, hiding out in a group of trees just off the property line. He nodded to him, not letting on how annoying he found him, and thought to himself, At least if he’s here, unaware Gregor departed this morning, he’s leaving someone else alone.
He began to ramp up his speed, sprinting by one of the hot-chocolate-and-s’more stations provided by Cobalt Lake Resort. It was empty right now, but tonight the pathway would be lit up and people would be sipping hot drinks and taking—just as Cassie had planned—selfies against a magical backdrop that just happened to include the resort’s logo.
It wasn’t quite ski season, so there wouldn’t be throngs yet. Christmas was the busiest time of year.
Brad noted the lake had formed quite a thick crust of ice around the edges. The water at the center was still open, though, and was the exact shade of dark blue that had earned the lake its name. If it stayed this cold, the lake would completely freeze over, and they’d be skating soon.
The ski portion of Cobalt Lake Resort was sandwiched between the two giants, Whistler Mountain and Blackcomb Peak, both of which he could see from here. Like their more well-known neighbors, Cobalt Lake was scheduled to open at the end of the month, snow conditions permitting.
They had a new ski pro, Rayce Ryan, arriving. He had been an Olympic gold contender before a skiing accident had shattered his leg.
Cynthia had always looked after hiring resort staff in the past, so this was Brad’s first venture into it at Cobalt Lake. He hoped the new hire wouldn’t come with the bitterness of dreams as shattered as his leg.
Skiing accidents had a way of changing how people felt. Brad lifted his eyes to the majesty of the mountains around him. All his life he had loved the mountains and the slopes so much. Cassie had been raised on skis.
Now, his daughter wouldn’t ski at all.
And neither would he.
After Cynthia’s death the resort had implemented a GPS tagging system for all their guests who ventured onto the slopes. It had already helped them find several skiers who had gone out of bounds and gotten lost.
But still, in the shadow of these mountains, Brad was aware how puny his defenses really were.
No matter what anyone thought, he was aware that the idea you could protect others was largely an illusion.
Again, he needed to shake off the shadows that threatened the beauty of the day. The sky was clear and blue, an osprey screeching and spreading its wings over the lake, the peaks of the mountains—Blackcomb, Whistler, Sproatt—shimmering with snow that had fallen at the higher altitude, but not down here.
Then, as if confirming Brad’s thoughts about man’s illusions about control, the perfection of the day was completely fractured. Suddenly, screams pierced the pristine mountain air.
