Page 108 of The Lodge

“We’ve got a problem,” she says as soon as I answer. “More stuff has popped up—are you alone right now?”

I sit a little straighter.

“Yeah. Why?”

“One of these stupid tabloid posts has a picture of you. Well,Iknow it’s you—but it’s just the back of your head. And, uh, you’re with Tyler. They’re calling you his ‘mystery girl.’?”

Ohno.

That drone we saw must have gotten something after all.

“Has anyone gone on record to confirm the Jett Beckett rumors yet?” I ask. “Check Gloss specifically. They seem really invested in breaking the story.” I saw the follow-up from Aspen as soon as the gondola doors closed.

“I’m not seeing anything there or anywhere else yet, no,” Chloesays. “But Alix, I’m worried aboutyou—do you have any sort of hat, or, like… sunglasses?”

I snort.

“As in the classic celebrity disguise? Because thatalwaysworks.”

“Hey, it might help,” she says, laughing. “Here, I’ll send you the link. I just don’t want people to, like, mob you.Youknow the truth. Theywantthe truth. They’re snowed in with nothing better to do—I feel like they’ll do anything to get to you since they can’t get to Tyler.”

She’s right.

I hate that she’s right.

I’ve never been on this side of celebrity news before:inthe story, not just writing it.

It feels way more invasive than I ever imagined, and I haven’t even left the quiet cocoon of this gondola yet—I know it doesn’t hold a candle to what Tyler’s been through, but even just the idea of people trying to track me down makes my skin crawl.

“Promise you’ll be careful?” she says.

“I will. Thanks, Chlo.”

“Always. Just wish I could do more from here.”

When we’re off the call, I check out the link she sent over. I can tell it’s me, but other than my back and hair, there are no identifying details. I do wish I’d grabbed a hat before leaving in such a rush earlier—a hair tie, anything.

I sigh, leaning back. I’m almost at the bottom of the mountain, and then I’ll have to make it all the way through the village and back to my penthouse without being recognized. My one consolation right now is that my face didn’t make it into any photos. Also, Gloss hasn’t posted anything Jett Beckett–related yet, so I suspect they’re still awaiting confirmation from their “promising source.”

For now.

Which means—maybe—there’s still time for me to convince said source tostayquiet.

Even though Lauren leaked the original photo that started this whole mess, I don’t believe she’d share more about it, especially not after our conversation earlier. And besides, how would Gloss have known to reach out to her? She’s no celebrity, and not obviously connected to the situation unless you dig pretty deep. Could Aspen have approached more obvious sources—namely, River or Sebastian—like she did with me? I could see either of them selling Tyler out: River, since he set this entire thing in motion in the first place—or Sebastian, because he was blindsided by it all.

I take a shot in the dark, follow my gut.

Can we talk?I type out to Sebastian.Meet at the penthouse ASAP?

I keep my head down and walk as quickly as I can through the village. I pass the café, busier than before, more people out doing things now that the worst of the storm has passed. A few resort guests mill around the ice-skating rink and along the sidewalks—fortunately, they’re mostly looking at their phones, probably scrolling social media in pursuit of their next Jett Beckett leads. I manage to make it past all of them without sparking anyone’s attention.

Just outside my own building, though, a larger group has assembled by the front door—which they clearly assume is theonlydoor. I nod hello, figuring it would look blatantly suspicious if I just ignored them, and keep going until I’m well past them. The path curves past the far side of the building; I dart around the corner and head for the private penthouse entrance, which—mercifully—is both unmarked and unattended.

I slip inside as fast as I can.

Back in the penthouse, I find Lauren right where I left her: sitting on my bed, staring at her phone, scowling. Puffin is stretched out beside her, his soft fur pressed up against her leg.

She must have moved at some point, though. The stain from her latte earlier has all but disappeared, only a faint hint of brown remaining.

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