Christmas with the Maverick Millionaire. Scarlet Wilson
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of insulin and pumps. She wasn’t sure what kind of regime her patient would be on but she wanted to have some background knowledge on anything she might face.
Her phone pinged as soon as she hit the tarmac. Great. An email from the doctor with detailed instructions. She struggled to grab her case from the revolving carousel and headed to the exit. She would have time to read the email on the journey to her hotel.
She scanned the arrivals lounge. Her heart gave a little jump when she saw a card with her name: ‘Samantha Lewis’. It was almost like being a pop star.
She trundled her case over to the guy in the thick parka. It was late at night and his hat was coated with thick snowflakes. There was something so nice about being in a place covered with snow at Christmastime. Even if it was bitterly cold.
‘Samantha Lewis?’ He grabbed the handle of her case as she nodded. ‘Is this it? Just one case?’
She grinned. ‘Why? How many should I have brought?’
His face broke into a wide smile as he shook his head. ‘Last time I picked someone up here she had ten suitcases, including one for her dog.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
He nodded. ‘No kidding.’ He had another look around. ‘No skis?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m here to work, not to ski.’
The guy’s brow wrinkled. ‘Hmm. Sorry.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Dave, Mitchell’s sidekick. You name it, I do it.’ He started to walk towards the exit. ‘I’ve got a jacket and hat for you in the car.’ His eyes skimmed up and down her body. ‘It might be a little big but it’s definitely your colour. I know you were called at short notice and we were worried you wouldn’t have any gear with you.’
She tilted her head to the side. ‘Who is Mitchell? I’ve not been told who I’m working for yet. And gear for what?’
An icy blast hit them as soon as they walked through the airport doors. Her grey duffel coat was no match for the winter Alpine temperatures. How nice. They’d bought her a coat and hat. She wasn’t quite sure whether to be pleased or insulted.
He raised the boot on a huge black four-by-four and pushed her case inside. It was the biggest one she owned but it looked tiny in there. She blinked as she noticed the winter tyres and snow chains. Just how deep was the snow around here? He opened the door for her and she climbed inside. On the seat behind her was a bright blue ski jacket, slightly longer in style so it would cover her bum, along-side a matching pair of salopettes, hat, gloves and flat fur-lined black boots.
Her fingers brushed the skin of the jacket. It felt expensive. Thickly padded but light to touch.
Dave climbed into the driver’s seat and nodded at the gear. ‘Told you it was your colour. It matches your eyes.’
She blushed. Her eyes were the one thing that most people commented on. She wasn’t sure whether being blonde-haired and blue-eyed was a blessing or a curse.
Dave started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, heading towards the main road. It felt like being in another world. They were surrounded by snow-covered Alps. The lights were glowing in the town in front of them. It looked warm and inviting against the black fir trees and high mountains.
‘So, you haven’t told me. Who do you work for?’
Dave’s eyes flitted sideways for a second to look at her then focused back on the road ahead. ‘No one’s told you?’ There was a knowing smile on his face.
She shrugged. ‘Not yet. But I thought I was going to have to sign the non-disclosure in blood.’
‘You’re lucky you didn’t.’ She was joking, but he made it sound as if he heard that every other day.
‘What’s the big secret?’ Curiosity was beginning to kill her. She hadn’t given it much thought on the plane flight over, she’d been too busy focusing on the diabetes aspects and developing plans for a newly diagnosed adult patient. Plus, she still had that email to read. She glanced at her phone. Her 3G signal had left her. She had no idea what phone signals would be like in the Alps. She would have to ask for wifi access when they reached the hotel.
‘Mitchell Brody. He’s the big secret. He’s just been diagnosed and he starts a world tour in three weeks. The timing couldn’t be worse.’
Her mouth fell open and her heart did a little stop-start. So not what she was expecting to hear. ‘Mitchell Brody? The Mitchell Brody?’ Now she understood the need for a non-disclosure agreement. Mitchell Brody, rock star, was pure media fodder. Every time the man blinked it practically made the news. Roguishly handsome, fit body and gorgeous smile. But he was the original bad boy. The papers were full of stories about him waking other guests in hotels by rehearsing at four in the morning. Huge headlines about bust-ups between band members and managers. Wrecked rooms and punch-ups with other stars were everyday news. Whoever was the model of the moment, was usually the woman photographed on his arm. He was worth millions, no, billions.
Dave shrugged. ‘Is there any other?’
She gulped. The neat plan she’d imagined in her head instantly scrambled. Mitchell Brody wasn’t the kind of guy who’d take kindly to planning all his meals and insulin doses. He lived by the seat of his pants. The guy had never played by the rules in his life—chances were, he wasn’t about to start now.
She sagged back against her seat as she realised just what she was taking on. ‘Wow. I didn’t expect it to be him.’
Dave seemed amused. ‘Who did you think it would be?’
‘Honestly? I had no idea. Maybe some kind of TV soap actor or rich businessman. Mitchell Brody, well, he’s just huge.’ She looked out of the window at the passing streetlights. The shops were full of Christmas decorations and the buildings lined above were vintage façades of eighteenth-century houses in multicoloured pastel shades of pink, blue, yellow and peach. It was like summer, in the middle of winter. Gorgeous.
The car turned up a mountain. ‘What hotel are we staying in? Do you think I’ll be able to speak to the chef?’
Dave frowned. ‘What makes you think we’re staying in a hotel?’
She watched as they started up the mountain range, passing Tirol-styled hotel after hotel. ‘Isn’t that where everyone stays?’
‘Maybe everyone who isn’t Mitchell Brody. He’s owned a house up here for the last five years.’
‘He has?’ The snow was glistening around them. The hotels were gorgeous—so picturesque. All set perfectly on the mountainside for easy access to the Innsbruck snow slopes. She shifted a little uncomfortably in her seat. Snow slopes. The signs were everywhere. Why else would anyone buy a house up here? She wrinkled her nose, she couldn’t remember any of the press stories being about Mitchell’s antics on the snow slopes. Nope, those stories were all about Caribbean retreats and private yachts. She cleared her throat. ‘Does Mitchell like to ski, then?’
Dave laughed. ‘Does Mitchell like to ski? Do bees flock around honey? Does some seventeen-year-old try and sweet-talk her way past me at every venue we go to?’ He shook his head and gestured towards the back seat. ‘Why do you think I brought you the ski gear?’
‘To stop me from getting cold?’ Her voice squeaked as she spoke, as the true horror of the situation started to unload. Her one and only skiing trip as a teenager had resulted in her spending most of her time flat on her back—or face down in the snow. Water had seeped through her jeans and down the sleeves and neck of her jacket. She’d finally hidden back down at the ski centre in front of a roaring fire with a hot chocolate in front of her. When the ski instructor had eventually come looking for her to persuade her back onto the slopes, her answer had been a resounding no.
Even the thought of skiing sent a shiver down her spine, which Dave misinterpreted. ‘Better put your jacket on, we’ll be there in a minute and it’s freezing out there.’