Page 59 of Dating Goals
The helicopter touches down on a private landing pad, and we’re immediately greeted by staff in crisp black uniforms who escort us toward a massive stone structure nestled against the mountainside.
“You said we were going to a chalet,” Anika says, craning her neck to take in the soaring stone facade with floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the snowcapped peaks.
“Yes. A Swiss Chalet,” I say with a big grin.
“Griffin, this isn’t a chalet,” she says with a laugh. “This is a château. You live in a chalet.”
“What’s the difference?” I ask, enjoying the way she rolls her eyes at me.
“About fifty million francs and fourteen bathrooms.”
“Well I don’t know about that, but in Canada, we have a chicken restaurant called Swiss Chalet,” I admit. “They make this amazing Rotisserie Chicken Poutine. The best you’ve ever tasted.”
Anika’s face scrunches up like I’ve just suggested putting ketchup on fondue. “That is not Swiss food. That is a crime against Switzerland.”
“It’s delicious is what it is,” I counter, guiding her to where an attendant is checking coats. “French fries covered in gravy and cheese curds, topped with rotisserie chick…en.”
Words stick in the back of my throat as Anika slips off her coat to reveal the midnight blue gown. It cascades around her like liquid starlight, hugging curves I didn’t even know existed beneath her usual jeans and flannel. The fabric makes her eyes impossibly blue. Not the pale blue of a spring sky but the deep, mysterious blue of a mountain lake. More beautiful than Banff.
“Holy…”
“Is this okay?” she asks, gesturing at herself with a nervous laugh that punches me right in the chest.
She does a little twirl, and the dress flares slightly, revealing a slit that makes her legs look endless.
“More than okay,” I manage to say.
“Thanks,” she says sheepishly, smoothing her hands over the silky material. “How did you know my size?”
I tap the side of my head. “Goalie instincts. We have to size up shots in milliseconds.”
“You sized me up, did you?” Her eyebrow arches with that snarky challenge I’ve come to crave.
“Every chance I get,” I admit, more honestly than I intended.
The coat check clerk smirks as she scans a claim code onto my phone, but I barely register her at all. I can’t take my eyes off Anika.
We’re then guided through massive wooden doors and enter a grand foyer with a chandelier that looks like it’s made of actual ice crystals, casting rainbow prisms across the polished stone floor. The ceiling soars three stories up, with balconies overlooking the space from each level.
Everywhere I look, elegant people mingle. The sparkle of diamonds and black tuxedos, the tinkling of crystal glasses meeting in toasts. The space buzzes with conversation and laughter, punctuated by the gentle notes of a string quartet playing in the corner. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see snow beginning to fall, each flake illuminated by the outdoor lighting like tiny stars drifting down from the heavens.
“Wow,” Anika whispers, her fingers tightening on my arm.
A waiter glides past with a silver tray of tiny, artfully arranged bites.
“What is this?” I ask, picking up something that resembles a miniature work of art more than food.
“Seared foie gras with black truffle and gold leaf, sir,” the waiter replies.
Anika snorts softly beside me. I snag two, thanking the waiter before he moves on.
Anika examines hers critically. “This is also not Swiss food,” she declares taking a tentative bite, then her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “It’s…actually good.
I escort Anika deeper into the gala, trying to look like I belong among these ultra-wealthy investors. The thing is, I do belong here. At least on paper. I invested in Titans stock just likeeveryone else in this room. The difference is, I’m supposed to be spying on the guy who signs my paychecks.
No pressure.
Anika’s practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes darting everywhere, like she’s trying to memorize every detail.
