The Cinderella Weekend

By Jenny Mills

Life hasn’t exactly been rolling out the red carpet for thirty-nine year old Margaret O’Malley, so when she wins an all expenses paid, week long vacation in a luxurious mountainside chalet, she isn’t about to turn it down. Problem is, Maggie’s not the only one who arrives at the exclusive ski resort looking for rest and relaxation.

     Pierce Gordon has been coming to Silver Mountain for the past fifteen years and he is not happy at finding a feisty redhead and her man-hating cat parked in his living room. But when he finds out he’s partially to blame for the mix up in reservations, he offers Maggie a solution. She can stay at his chalet for the week and he’ll try to stay out of her hair as much as possible.

     Unfortunately, as the week goes on Maggie realizes she doesn’t want Pierce staying out of her hair, and worse, when Pierce finds out it’s Maggie’s fortieth birthday, he decides to give her a weekend she’ll never forget. But like Cinderella in the fairytale, Maggie soon discovers that glass slippers are easily shattered and that dreams have an unfortunate way of turning back into reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jenny Mills
• Release date: Jul 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533728456

Jenny Mills

Jenny Mills is the contemporary pseudonym of multi-published historical author Gail Whitiker, who makes her home on an island in the Pacific Northwest. In true Gemini fashion, Jenny has more ideas for stories than she’ll ever have time to write, and they run the gamut from urban fantasy to traditional romance; likely because she grew up reading everything from Pride and Prejudice and Scaramouche to A Woman of Substance and The Day of the Triffids (she still doesn’t eat fiddleheads!)      Jenny would love to be a tech savvy promoter—but isn’t—and accepts that she’s far more comfortable writing stories for readers than making it known that she has written...which explains why you won’t find her on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram or Tumblr. But if you would like to see what else she has in the works (and so you won’t think she is a complete Luddite) visit her on Gail Whitiker’s website at www.gailwhitiker.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

Snow. Draping the mountain in a pristine white blanket that seemed to go on forever. Above that, sky; cloudless and clear as it stretched to the horizon in an unbroken band of blue. And all around her, air so crisp, so unbelievably clean it almost hurt to draw it down into city-polluted lungs.

Margaret O’Malley closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of utter contentment. She was finally here; standing at the foot of Silver Mountain, surrounded by the sights and sounds of the exclusive ski resort at the height of the season. The dry squeak of boots on freshly packed snow. The swoosh of skies and snowboards as they slid downhill. And every now and then, a hint of wood smoke, fragrant and musky as it drifted by on the afternoon breeze.

Heaven, that’s what it was, Maggie decided. And thanks to the good people at Snow Dairy, she and Barrymore were going to be enjoying it for the next seven days in a fully equipped luxury chalet complete with ski equipment and daily maid service.

What more could a woman five days away from her fortieth birthday ask for?

Tucking her brand new Serengeti’s into her bag, Maggie turned and walked into the office. The postcard confirming her reservation was in her purse, along with the letter of congratulations from the president of Snow Dairy, the company that had sponsored the Snow Butter Makes It Better contest.

Maggie hadn’t expected to win the contest, of course. She’d never won anything of value in her life and certainly nothing as exciting as a luxury ski vacation. But when an official looking document had arrived in her mailbox four months after she had dropped her ballot into the blue and silver box at the grocery store, all that had changed.

The congratulatory letter, signed by the president himself, had informed her that she was the lucky winner of a seven-day, all expenses paid vacation at Silver Mountain Resort, and now, here she was, ready to embark on the vacation of a lifetime.

Maybe life really did begin at forty, Maggie reflected as she walked up to the reception desk and rang the bell. Lord knew she was ready for it after the mediocrity of the last thirty-nine.

Be right there!

The voice, reminiscent of magnolia blossoms and long hot days in the sun, belonged to the gorgeous blonde receptionist who emerged from the back office a few minutes later. She flashed Maggie a toothpaste bright smile. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, ma’am. Can I help you?

Ignoring both the ma’am and the incongruity of finding a Georgia peach on the frosty slopes of northern Colorado, Maggie set her paperwork on the desk. You certainly can. My name is Margaret O’Malley and I’m here to collect my prize.

Confusion dawned on the Southern Belle’s face. Your prize?

Yes. I won the Snow Butter Makes It Better Contest, Maggie explained, sliding the president’s letter across the desk. A seven day, all expenses paid ski vacation here at Silver Mountain.

You did? The girl's cornflower blue eyes opened wide as she scanned the letter. Well, so you did. Congratulations, Ms. O’Malley, that’s real nice for you. I never win anything but I sure do keep on trying. Well, I guess we’d better see about getting you checked in. The manager’s stepped out so I’ll have to do it myself. Hope you don’t mind.

I don’t mind at all, Miss...

Call me Sandy, the girl said as she typed something into the computer. We don’t stand much on formality around here. Now, let’s see which chalet they’ve booked you into. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. This is my first week here at Silver Mountain so I’m not completely familiar with the routine.

That’s all right, take your time, Maggie said, aware that not even the lack of an immediate confirmation was going to dampen her spirits this morning. The girl was new. It was only to be expected she wouldn’t know where everything was or anything about a contest that had been held so long ago.

Unfortunately, when the lovely Sandy still hadn’t been able to locate the reservation after five minutes of checking, Maggie’s confidence began to falter. Is there a problem?

Well, I don’t rightly know, Sandy admitted, staring at the screen. There doesn’t seem to be a reservation for you. Are you sure Mr. Buckholtz knew you were coming in today?

He must have. I made the reservation five months ago with a— Maggie glanced at the confirmation card. Sarah-Jane Ellesmere. She assured me that everything would be taken care of.

Oh dear. Sandy bit her lip. Miss Ellesmere doesn’t work here any more. Mr. Buckholtz had to let her go.

You mean she was fired?

I’m afraid so.

Maggie stared at the card. I see. Damned if the luck of the Irish wasn’t following her right to the foot of the mountain. Well, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. It’s probably just an administrative oversight. I’ll wait in the manager’s office until he gets back and then we can straighten this all—

Oh now, wait a minute, here’s something, Sandy said, eyes still focussed on the screen. It’s in a different section of the calendar. M. O’Malley. Planned visit, February 18th to the 24th. Well, isn’t that great? Looks like we’re not going to have to wait for Mr. Buckholtz after all.

Maggie gratefully closed her eyes and let go the breath she’d been holding. Thank you, God, and yes I will go to church on Sunday.

From there, matters progressed as smoothly as sweet-potato pie. Maggie filled in the required registration forms and was handed the keys to a mountainside chalet the vivacious Sandy assured her was one of the most luxurious in the complex.

The owner had it completely redone last summer, she confided. Brand new appliances, new flooring and furnishings, and it has an absolutely amazing view of the mountains.

Sounds like paradise, Maggie said.

About as close to it as you’re going to get around here, Sandy agreed. Now, if there’s anything else you need, just give me a call. I’m on duty every day from nine until six.

Thanks, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Maggie said, confident that from here on in, everything was going to be fine. Thanks for all your help though.

Uh-huh. You have a real nice stay at Silver Mountain, Ms. O’Malley.

With those cheery words ringing in her ears, Maggie walked out to the rental car she had picked up at the Denver airport and climbed into the driver’s seat. How could anyone not have a nice stay at a resort that charged five hundred and seventy dollars a night!

She turned the key in the ignition and heard the engine roar into life, drowning out the more ominous rumbling coming from the back seat.

Now, Barrymore. I know you don’t like being left out in the cold, but what was I supposed to do? Maggie said as she put her foot on the brake and glanced in the rear view mirror. If I’d taken you inside, they might have told me pets weren’t allowed, and then where would we be? I’m not about to Fed-Ex you back to Chicago.

The growling subsided into an affronted meow, but Maggie wasn’t fooled. I know. You don’t like cars and you hate being shut in your carrier. But the good news is you’ll be out of it soon enough and then it’s going to be rest and relaxation for the next seven days. In short, Maggie said as she headed off down the road the lovely Sandy had told her to follow, we are about to embark on the vacation of our lives!

* * *

The chalet was the ultimate in mountainside accommodation. Three thousand square feet of luxury living spread over three levels that boasted million dollar views from every window. With cathedral ceilings, stone fireplaces, and too many skylights to count, it was the kind of home Maggie had seen written up in those glossy interior design magazines. The winter home of Mr. and Mrs. Somebody Somebody the Third, of New York and Palm Beach.

Clearly, it was the home of someone with exceedingly good taste and enough money to indulge it.

For the next seven days, however, it was going to be the home of one Margaret Moira O’Malley, Commercial Account Manager from Chicago.

She stood in the entrance to the vaulted living room and tried to look as though vacationing in a million dollar ski chalet was just one of the many perks of a successful executive’s life.

Too bad she wasn’t that successful.

The wood’s replenished every morning, Ms. O’Malley, but if you run out, just buzz the front desk and they’ll send somebody up with more.

The voice belonged to the strapping young man who had arrived at the chalet shortly after Maggie, obviously sent by Sandy to help her get settled in. He was tall, blond and outrageously good-looking.

Maggie began to wonder if anybody who worked at Silver Mountain wasn’t. Thanks, that’s great.

No problem. I put the rental skies, boots and poles in the mudroom, along with a couple of helmets for you to try out, he said. Take anything you don’t like back to the rental shop in the morning and they’ll look after you. Ask for Jim.

Sounds good but I’m sure everything will be fine.

Maggie felt a silly grin work its way to her lips. She was dreaming; she had to be. Any minute now, she’d wake up and find herself back in her two-bedroom apartment in Chicago, with old Mrs. McConaghey muttering to herself across the hall and the rock drummer pounding away in the apartment above. She hadn’t been treated this well since Aunt Bea had come to stay with her after Patrick had moved out.

Maggie had been thirty-four then; a young woman struggling to come to terms with a marriage and a life that had fallen apart. Now, she was a few days away from forty.

Funny how the years just slipped away.

In the kennel in her hand, Barrymore growled his impatience.

Hush! A few more minutes and I’ll let you out, Maggie whispered. I’m not about to have you scare the life out of our young friend there, and I know damn well you’ll try.

She set the basket down on the kitchen floor and pulled off her gloves, gazing at her surroundings with awe. The kitchen was ultra modern; smooth white cupboards with no handles, gleaming stainless steel appliances and dramatic black granite countertops.

Maggie could just picture herself standing at the counter, whipping up a pot of savoury beef stew to be enjoyed in front of a blazing fire with a full bodied red wine and maybe the company of a man she’d met on the slopes that day—

The kitchen’s fully stocked, as is the bar in the living room. Oh, sorry, Ms. O’Malley, did I startle you?

Maggie laughed, surprised that her thoughts had drifted in that direction. She’d sworn off men the same day she’d sworn off chocolate...and she’d found giving up chocolate way harder. No. Just daydreaming. What time do the lifts open?

Eight thirty, seven days a week. The blond Adonis smiled, revealing perfect white teeth in a deeply tanned face. I’m Sven Thorensson by the way. One of the ski instructors here at Silver Mountain.

Of course you are, Maggie thought wryly. And his name had to be Sven or Steel or any of those impossibly masculine names only a man like him could carry off. She tried not to smile as she shook his hand. Thanks for your help, Sven. And call me Maggie.

You bet. See you on the slopes?

Probably, though I hate to think what kind of mess I’m going to make of it. I haven’t been on skies in years.

I offer private lessons in the afternoon, he said. Give them your name at the hut and they’ll tell you where to find me. I guarantee I’ll have you back in top form in no time.

Then, to Maggie’s astonishment, he winked.

Lord in heaven, the angels were pouring forth their bounty upon her head. A man too gorgeous for words—and probably half her age—was flirting with her.

Now Maggie knew she was dreaming.

She pulled some bills from her pocket and slipped them into his palm. Thanks for the offer, Sven. And for your help.

No worries. Have a great holiday, Maggie, Sven said.

Then, with another wink, he was gone, leaving Maggie alone in her million dollar chalet with the memory of carved cheekbones and a flirtatious smile dancing in her head.

Yessiree, if today was any indication, it was going to be one hell of a week!

* * *

Night settled over the majesty of Silver Mountain. Hills and valleys grew silent as the gondolas slid to a halt and life at the bustling ski resort moved indoors.

For Maggie, relaxing in front of a blazing fire with a glass of brandy in one hand and her head nestled back against the soft leather cushions, life didn’t get much better. She had only been at Silver Mountain for a few hours but she already felt like a new woman. One who didn’t have to worry about filing monthly reports with Head Office or resolving a seemingly endless supply of staffing issues.

A woman far more interesting and exciting than the one who’d left Chicago less than twelve hours ago.

Even her outfit reflected the change. The emerald green cashmere robe had been a wildly extravagant purchase, but for the first time in her life, Maggie hadn’t cared. From the moment she’d seen it draped over the rattan chair in the window of the exclusive boutique, she’d known she was going to have it. The vibrant colour complimented the green in her eyes and softened the fiery auburn in her hair to a pleasing reddish gold.

Maggie had always been a sucker for anything that did that.

Now, as she lay back on the sofa, feeling pleasantly fuzzy from the wine she’d enjoyed with dinner and the brandy she was sipping at now, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift away to a place far removed from accounts that didn’t balance and customers who always complained.

And why shouldn’t she? That’s