Chapter Three

Hallie's POV

My knee was too swollen to bend, so skiing was out.

I spent the whole day soaking in the resort's outdoor hot springs. Steam drifted off the water, and far off on the slopes, skiers kept flying down one after another.

I leaned my head back against the edge of the pool and let the snowflakes land on my face and melt.

When I got back to my room that evening, my phone wouldn't stop buzzing on the nightstand.

The notifications were all from the company's #general channel.

The head of marketing had posted a video with a hyped-up message: "Our year in review is finally here! Cole personally went through every single frame. Go check it out!"

I sat back against the headboard and hit play.

It ran twelve minutes, starting with our Series B celebration at the beginning of the year and going all the way up to this retreat.

I counted. I showed up once, in the all-company group photo, for less than a second.

Addison, on the other hand, was everywhere.

She was smiling over her shoulder at her desk with a folder in her arms, walking a client through a pitch with the clicker in her hand, clinking glasses with Cole at the party.

The last clip was from Silver Peak two days ago.

The camera followed her as she wobbled her way down the slope. She flashed a peace sign at the camera. She was wearing a pair of dark blue ski goggles.

I hit pause and zoomed in on that frame.

A thin orange stripe ran along the side of the goggles. I'd asked the shop to add it specially, back then.

I'd spent both winter breaks in college working at a ski shop, standing behind the counter adjusting bindings and tuning edges.

It took two full winters of saving before I could get those goggles custom made for Cole.

Our initials were engraved on the inside of the frame. H.P. & C.W.

When I first saw them on Addison on day one of the retreat, I'd asked Cole about it.

He didn't even look up. "It's not like anyone was using them. She forgot hers."

The channel was already blowing up.

"This isn't a year in review. It's Addison's personal vlog."

"Cole, come on, be honest. You've got a thing for Addison, don't you?"

"+1. She's got more screen time than the rest of us combined."

The green dot next to Cole's name said he was online, but he never replied to any of it.

I locked my phone and stared at the ceiling.

He didn't have to say anything. I got it.

All year, I'd brushed things off by telling myself he was just busy, that it was just how he was. Now every one of those things came rushing back.

In March, the company was competing for a big account with an outdoor retail chain.

I put the proposal together. I pulled three all-nighters with a high fever and went through seventeen drafts before it was final.

On pitch day, I was waiting outside the conference room to go on when Cole handed the clicker to Addison.

The slides came up, and her name was on the cover.

After the meeting, I went to his office. He leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"She's new. She needs something solid under her belt. You've been here since day one. Don't be so petty."

I wanted to tell him I'd made that thing while burning up with a fever, but he looked so worn out that I swallowed it.

Not long after that, Cole moved Addison off our operations team and made her his executive assistant. He took her everywhere.

I used to just walk into his office whenever I needed something. After that, he had me book time through Addison first.

Once I brought him the quarterly report, and he didn't even look up.

"Stop coming to me with every little thing for a while. Go through Addison first."

There were so many little things like that I'd lost count.

He didn't disappear from behind me all at once. He'd been moving forward one step at a time, until he ended up right next to Addison.

I got out of bed, unzipped the inside pocket of my suitcase, and took out a small box.

Inside was an old lift ticket from the first day we ever went up the mountain together.

I'd had someone seal it in clear acrylic and turn it into a keychain.

Tucked underneath it was a card I'd spent several nights writing.

I'd planned to give it to him on the last night of the retreat, along with the card and everything I'd been saving up to say for years.

I threw the whole box in the trash.

Then I picked up my phone, canceled my seat on the company bus home, and booked the first shuttle back to the city in the morning.

As for the rest of the retreat, he and Addison could have all the fun they wanted.