Page 2 of The Proximity Effect

The vehicle slowed to a stop beside me, and the passenger window rolled down, revealing a man who looked like he was in a luxury car commercial. Dark hair, strong jaw, and the kind of brown eyes that seemed to take in everything at once.

“Do you need some help, ma’am?”

Something in me snapped, the way a candy cane does when you’ve had enough of sucking on it and just want to bite down. I was done being the polite, accommodating woman who always tried to see the bright side. Right now, the bright side could kiss my frostbitten ass.

“Do I need somehelp?” I gestured wildly with my free hand.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but I was a teapot letting off some steam, and this well-dressed stranger in his heated car was about to get scalded. Maybe it was the cold numbing my common sense, or the fact that my life had turned into a cosmic joke, but I’d officially reached my limit of playing the sweet, understanding damsel in distress. Did he really think I was casually hauling my suitcase up this hill in ballet flats for the cardio?

“I needed help at the airport, where a shuttle service was supposed to pick me up, as advertised. But of course, it’s ‘temporarily suspended.’” I made aggressive air quotes, nearly pulling a muscle in the process. “Who suspends their shuttle service in the middle of winter? What’s next? No hot water? Should I expect to have to hunt my own dinner?”

His lips tugged in the barest hint of a smile. “Would you like a ride?”

“And don’t even get me started on—wait, what?” I blinked rapidly, my righteous tirade screeching to a halt like a record scratch in my brain. I’d been so caught up in my impromptu performance of ‘Woman on the Edge: The Musical’ that I’dcompletely lost track of where my complaint was even heading. Probably something about the fact that my left shoe was making a weird squelching noise.

“A ride… to the resort.” He repeated it slowly, enunciating each word like he was explaining physics to a caffeinated squirrel. Which, okay, fair enough—I probably did look a bit unhinged, standing here gesturing at trees with mascara halfway down my face.

I pressed my lips together, mentally running through the pros and cons list my therapist would want me to make in this situation. On one hand, stranger danger—everything I’d learned from true crime podcasts and my mother’s weekly forwarded chain emails screamed ‘bad idea.’ On the other hand, my feet had lost all feeling about five minutes ago, and I was pretty sure my toes were staging a mutiny against the rest of my body. Plus, he looked more like an upscale realtor than an axe murderer—though I suppose that’s exactly what an axe murderer would want you to think.

Before my imagination got away from thinking of all the nefarious things this man might do, I was walking toward the car.

He got out to help with my bags, and oh, wow, he was tall. Really tall. The kind of tall that made my five-foot-seven frame feel downright petite. As he lifted my larger suitcase with ease, I caught him glancing at my chest before quickly averting his eyes.

Right. My blouse. The white silk one that was now completely soaked through and doing absolutely nothing to hide my lace bra. Because apparently, I hadn’t reached my humiliation quota yet.

I crossed my arms, feeling my face heat up despite the cold. “I usually wait until at least the second date before putting on this kind of show,” I joked weakly.

He coughed, the sound suspiciously like a covered laugh, and shut the trunk. “The heat’s on full blast inside.”

I practically dove into the passenger seat, sighing in relief as warm air hit my frozen face. “Thank you.” I suddenly felt guilty about my earlier outburst. “I’m Tessa, by the way. And I’m sorry for verbally assaulting you about shuttle services. Totally not your problem.”

“Archer.” The name suited him—sharp and sophisticated, like the cut of his obviously expensive coat. His name reminded me of those fancy cocktails that look intimidating on the menu but turn out to be exactly what you need. Not that I was comparing this stranger to alcohol, but after the day I’d had, both were looking equally appealing as coping mechanisms.

He pulled back onto the driveway, which really was basically a narrower road, and luckily the drive was mercifully short. Though it was long enough for me to realize how much I would have suffered trying to walk the whole way. My feet ached thinking about it.

When we pulled up to flat ground, I let out an audible gasp. The website hadn’t been lying about this part at least. Sterling Pines Resort was straight out of a winter wonderland fantasy. Stone and timber rose majestically against the darkening sky, with warm light spilling from enormous windows. A massive fireplace dominated what I could see of the lobby through the entrance.

“It’s beautiful.” I felt a flutter of excitement despite my embarrassing arrival.

Archer parked in a spot marked ‘Management’—which should have been my first clue—and insisted on handling my bags despite my protests. I followed him through the grand entrance, trying not to drip melted snow too obviously on what looked like very expensive flooring.

“Oh, and Ms...?” He turned to me as we approached the front desk.

“Callahan. Tessa Callahan.”

“Ms. Callahan,” he continued smoothly, “I’ll have maintenance retrieve your... ah... personal item from the pine tree first thing tomorrow morning. I do apologize for the shuttle service issues. We’re currently restructuring our amenities.”

The warmth that had started returning to my body immediately rushed to my face. My brain did a spectacular double-take as several horrifying realizations hit me at once—this devastatingly handsome man was not some random good Samaritan; he was clearly in charge of something here; and he had witnessed not only my meltdown about his resort but also the tragic trajectory of my favorite thong.

“Oh God,” I wheezed, genuinely considering making a break for the door and living in my stranded rental car forever. “You’re... you work here.”

“Something like that.”

I wanted to melt into the floor like the snow that was currently pooling around my ruined shoes. “I am so sorry about my little... um... speech back there. About the shuttle. And the hunting for dinner comment, which was totally uncalled for. I’m sure your restaurant is lovely. Not that I’ve seen it. Or that I’m assuming you have one. Though you probably do. I’m going to stop talking now.”

Who was I kidding? The restaurant was one of the reasons I’d chosen this resort over all the others in the area. I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time zooming in on their menu photos online, analyzing their plating techniques, and daydreaming about the kitchen setup they must have to produce those gorgeous dishes.

It was the kind of place I’d always imagined running myself—before Declan had oh-so-helpfully explained why that wasan impractical pipe dream. And now here I was, making an absolute fool of myself in front of someone who probably had the power to ban me from ever tasting their legendary pine-smoked salmon.

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