Open Skies by Marysol James Read Free Book Online Page A

She was sure that she looked perfectly composed, as she sat there in her tailored grey dress pants and white blouse with three-quarter sleeves and a forest-green blazer. Her feet were encased in black, strappy high heels and emeralds glittered on her ears, around her neck, and on her finger. She was determined to look like a woman of means, a woman with money of her own, a woman who could make it in the world and stand on her own two feet. The thought that a bunch of horse-riding yahoos from Nowhere, Colorado might see her as a gold-digger or – even worse – as some pathetic poor relation of David Asshole Reid burned her.
    She glanced out of the window at the mountains below. Julie had lived in New York her entire life, and even though she’d been to the Swiss Alps with Steve, she’d never seen the Rockies. She stared down at them, her thoughts full of nightmare scenarios and things that she’d now have to learn to deal with, one way or the other.
    A hotel with guests who would have terrifying requests for things like heat and electricity and entertainment and staff competence. Clean sheets, scrubbed toilets, streak-free windows facing the mountains.
    A restaurant which had to be kept to a certain standard of cleanliness and hygiene. Permits and certifications and inspections and insurance. Menus, wines, daily specials, a food budget, maybe a temperamental chef who shouted at everyone in a French accent (either real or affected), waitstaff who forgot crucial pieces of cutlery and spilled things on the diners.
    A staff of people that she’d possibly have to fire in six months, no matter how well they performed, one of whom was over sixty. Who’d hire Mathilda Velasquez, once Julie handed her that pink slip? What if she started to like the staff? How would she actually fire a group of people that she liked? She’d never fired anyone in her life – let alone a team of twenty-five.
    And, worst of all, the biggest worry of all, a stable full of horses. Gigantic, stinking, vile creatures who could stomp her to death without a second thought.
    “So, are you from Denver?”
    It took Julie a second to realize that the spreadsheet man had taken off his glasses, picked up his wine glass, and was speaking to her.
    “Oh. Oh, no. I’m not. Are you?”
    He shook his head. “No. Just there on business.”
    She nodded politely.
    “And you? On business?”
    “Well, yes. Kind of.” How to explain how she had ended up in this seat next to him?
    “What kind of business? If you don’t mind my asking.”
    “A hotel,” she said reluctantly. “Right near the mountains. It’s quite a tourist attraction, I guess.”
    “You guess?” He peered at her, his head cocked to one side. “So, have you never been there before?”
    “No. It’s my first time.” She was tired of this conversation now, and gave him her coolest smile. “If you’ll excuse me, please.”
    He obliged and stood up, and she sashayed off to the restroom. In the flattering light of the first-class restroom area, she brushed her teeth and redid her makeup. She shook her hair out before pulling it back again with an elegant tortoise-shell clip. She moisturized her hands and spritzed herself with JAR Bolt of Lightning perfume. The scent of rose and citrus filled the air and she closed her eyes, trying to relax. They were landing in less than thirty minutes.
    At the thought, her breath started to get short, her throat started to close. Panic and fear were rising, and her body was shaking.
    Blue. Blue. I’m in the blue room. It’s safe and calm and everything is OK.
    She opened her eyes again, meeting her own cool, detached gaze in the mirror. She could do this. She could.
    After all, it wouldn’t be the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life; not even close.

**
Rosie Yates was standing on the fourth level of the Jeppesen terminal at the Denver International Airport. She was thrilled that the new boss was arriving on Southwest Airlines: that gave Rosie the