Page 1 of One Golden Ring
1
DARCY
Ireally, really wish I hadn’t eaten so much gingerbread.
This is averyout-of-character thought for me, but here I am, stomach threatening a full-scale revolt as we whip around the winding Angel Mountain roads like my boss thinks this rented SUV has wings and could just fly off the edge and sail right over the snowy trees instead of skidding us into an icy grave.
But it’s not my fault I’m feeling this way. When we arrived at the little village at the bottom of the mountain we took a quick break to fill up the gas tank and the sweet little old lady at the register of the service station was selling homemade gingerbread and boxes of candy canes. What was I supposed to do,notbuy some?
Mr. Lockwood probably would have rolled his eyes if he’d seen me, but he was in his own world. I’ve always had an undeniable sweet tooth, and I think I’m allowed one bad habit since basically all I do these days is work.
I’m pretty sure all Derek Lockwood does for fun iswork out. And as far as I can tell he lives on protein shakes and whatever he has to eat for the sake of appearances during his working lunches.
I know that I’m going to be spending the next few days here with him while he checks on his ailing grandfather, so I’ll be glad to have some nice treats tucked away. I just wish I hadn’t scarfed down one of the enormous, still-warm cookies before we headed out.
Don’t you dare get sick in this car, Darcy Keller. Focus on your boss. That’s your job.
Easier said than done. From the moment we left the office I was completely lost in my phone trying to reschedule all his meetings and other obligations for this weekend. But then my cell service went out as soon as we started climbing the mountain, so I’ve got nothing to distract me from the drive.
It feels like I went from the corner office of a skyscraper into the middle of an icy mountain in a heartbeat.
I honestly can’t believe I’m here at all.
Mr. Lockwood has always been a private person. I’ve been working for him full-time at Hearts & Circles Interactive for three years and I still don’t know much about his private life.
The only family member of Mr. Lockwood’s that I’ve ever met is his thirteen-year-old daughter, Judi-Bloom. I didn’t know his grandfather had fallen ill, because I didn’t even know he had a grandfather until a few days ago.
I was a little surprised when he told me to shuffle his whole calendar on a moment’s notice so that he couldmake this visit, but I was completely caught off guard when he insisted I come along.
I glance over at him and my stomach flip-flops again, but for all the wrong reasons.
Derek Lockwood always wears a bespoke suit and a silk tie, but right now his jacket is thrown across the back seat and he’s got his white button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing tan forearms rippling with muscles that I’m definitelynotnoticing.
His jaw is tight, but I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t like driving on these icy roads, or if it’s because this rented vehicle won’t fly as fast as his Lamborghini back in the city.
The man does everything with an intensity I would probably find exhausting if I weren’t so horribly, helplessly attracted to him.
Don’t think about that,I remind myself for about the millionth time in three years.
Instead, I cling to the seat and pray for safe passage and a steel stomach.
It’s going to be okay. This is not how my story ends. I haven’t even paid off my student loans.
After a few minutes, the curves ease a bit and I take a deep breath and let myself look around.
The little village at the bottom of the mountain was the most charming thing I’ve ever seen, with cute little shops hung with icicle lights and decked out in holly and evergreen wreaths like something you’d see on a Christmas card.
But up here, as the night moves in, it just feels… wild. More like the mountains I remember from my days in the Wilderness Girls.
Except with alotmore snow.
I wasn’t expecting that. When I researched this place online, I read that last year they didn’t get a bit of snow until it was almost Christmas Day.
Obviously this year has been a little different.
But the snow is beautiful and we’ll be staying in a pretty mountain chalet overlooking the woods—I think.
For some reason, Mr. Lockwood booked the stay himself, even though I normally arrange his work schedule, travel arrangements, and even his limited personal obligations. But I searched the area on the short-term rental sites before we came, and the only thing I could find was a bunch of super fancy chalets on the mountain above an old-fashioned lodge. And he’s definitely not an old-fashioned lodge kind of guy.
