Page 2 of A Billionaire for Christmas
Her weary thoughts were broken by the steep and treacherous drive up to the Lounge.
Much better to travel on the gondola swinging high above her like an ornate royal carriage rather than on this dimly lit, icy track.
Especially in this weather. The snow was coming down so heavily and being blown around by a howling gale with such force that she could barely see two feet in front of the snowmobile and had to fight to keep control of it.
Molly made it to the top of the track with some effort.
She was just able to make out a small covered area, and she pulled up to the back entrance of the Cigar Lounge.
Up close, the whole place was lit up like a Christmas tree with the slow, rhythmic thrum of music seeping from the large wooden doors.
The huge shutters over the windows were closed.
There were no outward clues as to what was going on inside, or how many people were in there.
Molly checked that the pallets of food piled high on the trailer and the crates of fine wines, champagnes and spirits were intact.
There was enough for at least two hundred people.
She fell on the staff door gratefully, bursting through into the warmth.
As she removed her helmet, she was immediately greeted by two other staff members relieved she’d come to the rescue.
‘Thank goodness you’re here! We’ve got so many different events on tonight.
Things are getting quite messy. They’re all trying to drink each other under the table.
I’d have sent the gondola down for supplies, but the sheaves and cables have frozen over.
We’ll unload the pallets while you prep the canapés. ’
Molly politely acknowledged the frazzled woman in front of her as she got to work.
‘You’re a star. Thank you. Oh, and did Petra tell you about the no phones policy and the no unnecessary eye contact or flirting thing when you go into the parties?
We’ve got some big names in upstairs, so security is super tight and staff down to the minimum.
Just keep your head down and you’ll be fine. ’
While she could hold her own with the best of them when it came to preparing delicious food, she was way out of her depth when it came to socialising and mixing with crowds of happy, drunk people. Blending into the background was second nature. ‘Not a problem.’
‘I’m Keela, by the way. I work exclusively up here. You must be new. Where have they got you working? Private, corporate or main hotel?’
‘I’m Molly.’ She decided not to reveal that she was the current owner of a struggling restaurant tucked away in a corner of the square, that she was working two jobs just to scrape by and hadn’t felt a man’s touch in over three years.
‘Main hotel. Catering contractor. I’ve hardly left the kitchen.
’ Since Molly had started six weeks ago, demand for her skills had skyrocketed.
Her speciality hors d’oeuvres had gone viral around the resort.
Keela gave her a sympathetic shrug. ‘Work, eat, sleep is pretty much the standard here, unless’ – she gave Molly a conspiratorial wink – ‘you’ve been here for five years like we have.
’ She waved a hand in the direction of a friendly-looking barman who was heaving a crate of bottles onto his shoulder.
‘We know where all the fun is to be had.’
Molly managed a tight smile. She wasn’t here for fun. She was here to fulfil a promise, the only thing that mattered to her right now.
‘Here. You’ll need this costume.’
‘Costume?’
‘Yeah, sorry. We are “required” to blend in. You can change out of your snowsuit in there.’ Keela pointed to a door on the far side of the stockroom.
‘Help yourself to any stuff you need. It’s all brand new.
Pick whichever shoes you want. They all scream high-class stripper but at least they’re designer and you get to keep them. ’
‘Thanks.’ Molly took the outfit out of the bag, unfolded the delicate tissue paper and gasped. She held the fragile material in her hands. Where was the rest of it?
She tilted her head anxiously. ‘Is this really necessary?’
‘First time in burlesque?’ Keela grinned at her.
She reached for a bottle from a nearby crate and untwisted its top.
‘House rules. Here, have one of these. It’ll help you relax.
’ Keela handed her a shot glass. Molly downed it and immediately coughed.
Keela laughed gently. ‘Dutch courage. You’ll need it. ’
Peeling off her snowsuit, Molly inspected herself in the large mirror standing against the tiled wall.
She was much thinner than she was used to due to all the grief and stress, but at least she was strong from all the running around she had done over the last year.
Her thick, long, dark brown hair hung around her shoulders, framing her green eyes, which looked huge in her slightly gaunt face.
She knew she had a haunted air. Every time she could bear to look at her own reflection, all she saw was her friend gazing sadly back.
Molly unhooked a cotton robe and wrapped it around herself.
It was warm and instantly soothing. As she picked up her snowsuit, the letter fell from her coat pocket as though reminding her why she was here.
She gingerly picked it up and unfolded the damp sheets of paper.
She regarded the bucket list that came with the letter.
A copy. Molly already had the original, one hundred dreams and goals crammed into a battered journal documenting her friend’s final year of life in photos, scribbled memories, dates and places.
It was dotted with affirmations and such a precious reminder of all the things that shaped the person Ava had become.
Brave, courageous, kind and generous, a positive force of nature, smiling right to the bitter end.
Emblazoned across the front page was a famous quote by Mae West, Ava’s favourite of all the quotes inside: You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough .
The last twelve pages of the journal were yet to be filled. Twelve challenges remained. Twelve promises yet to keep. Twelve days to do them. And for the millionth time, Molly closed her eyes and whispered, ‘Ava, what were you thinking?’