Fuck. “Uh… I’d forgotten about that dinner. Couldn’t you just...”

“Reed Madigan!” Sheila yells. “Don’t even finish that sentence. Just man up and call her. And if you forget, just know you’ll be walking to Starbucks yourself for two weeks after you return.”

“Two weeks, huh? That’s hardcore.” Honestly, I could just fire Sheila and find an assistant who’ll robotically do whatever I need. But I’m not going to, and we both know it. “I’ll call Harper,” I grumble.

“Okay, boss. That’s about all I need from you. What are you doing in Colorado, anyway? Is this some top-secret investment?”

“No. Just some personal stuff to take care of.”

“Personal stuff?” she asks, her young voice going high with disbelief. “You have a personal life?”

“Shut up.”

She laughs.

“My father decided to sell the family business.” I try to keep the irritation out of my voice, but it isn’t easy. I’m the only one in the family with an MBA. But did my father consult me? No way. He just dropped an email bomb into my inbox yesterday. In four lines of text, he let my two brothers and me know that A) he’d gotten remarried and B) he’s planning to sell the mountain property that’s been in our family for several generations.

I’m really not sure how I feel about it.

“What kind of family business?” Sheila asks.

“It’s a ski resort.”

Sheila says nothing for a moment, and I wonder if the call got dropped. That happens a lot in the mountains. But then she gasps. “Wait, really? Do you mean Madigan Mountain?”

“That’s the one. Doesn’t make you Sherlock Holmes, though, seeing as it’s named after us.”

“God, you’re a freak,” Sheila says suddenly.

“Hey—haven’t we talked about boundaries?”

“Oh, please. There’s such a thing as respecting boundaries. And then there’s you. I’ve been keeping your calendar for two years, and you never mentioned your family owns the coolest boutique ski mountain in the country. I’ve never even booked you on a flight to Colorado before this morning. I didn’t even know you were from there.”

I don’t try to argue, because she’s right—it’s weird that I never go home, and that I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about this place. But if she knew what hell it had become after my mother died, she’d understand.

“I mean, you went skiing at Whistler last year. That condo you rented was two thousand bucks a night, Reed. Why?”

“It’s complicated,” I grumble.

“What? You’re breaking up.”

“It’s complicated! You’ll lose me in a second.” The narrow mountain road passes between two tall ledges of rock.

“I c... hear... at all. BUT CALL HARPER DAMMIT!”

The phone makes those two high-pitched beeps that tell you the call has been dropped. Sheila naturally got the last word. Of course she did.

I put on my blinker and prepare to take the turn onto Old Mine Road. That’s when I spot the sign. Two Miles to Madigan Mountain. But it’s not the low-profile, carved wooden sign that used to stand here at the roadside. This one is new and bright and about three times larger than the old one.