Christmas With Her Millionaire Boss
Barbara Wallace
The magic of Christmas…Abandoned by his mother on Christmas Day, James Hammond wishes he could simply erase the date. So when his company buys a new toy store devoted to Christmas, he wants to seal the deal and get home. Until he finds himself injured and under the care of employee Noelle!Nobody loves Christmas more than young widow Noelle Fryberg! But could she be the one to change his mind and melt the millionaire's guarded heart?The Men Who Make ChristmasMeet the Hammond brothers – will they find their own happiness under the mistletoe?
The magic of Christmas...
Abandoned by his mother on Christmas Day, James Hammond wishes he could simply erase the date. So when his company buys a new toy store devoted to Christmas, he wants to seal the deal and get home. Until he finds himself injured and under the care of employee Noelle!
Nobody loves Christmas more than young widow Noelle Fryberg! But could she be the one to change his mind and melt the millionaire’s guarded heart?
The Men Who Make Christmas (#ua27c3662-88b1-5d37-a9b1-e1ae89985bbc)
Meet the Hammond brothers—will they find their own happiness under the mistletoe?
For James and Justin Hammond, Christmas should be the most joyful time of year. It’s might be Hammond’s Toy Stores’ most profitable time of the year, and their Christmas window displays are legendary. Yet it reminds them of the most heartbreaking event in their family history.
But when they meet two delightful women for whom the festive season means everything, the Hammond brothers can’t help but be captivated by their infectious Christmas spirit! This year, can they make Christmas the most magical time of all?
Don’t miss this sparkling Christmas duet!
Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss
by Barbara Wallace
November 2017
Snowed in with the Reluctant Tycoon by Nina Singh December 2017
Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss
Barbara Wallace
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
BARBARA WALLACE can’t remember when she wasn’t dreaming up love stories in her head, so writing romances for Mills & Boon Romance is a dream come true. Happily married to her own Prince Charming, she lives in New England with a house full of empty-nest animals. Occasionally her son comes home as well! To stay up to date on Barbara’s news and releases, sign up for her newsletter at www.barbarawallace.com (http://www.barbarawallace.com).
For Peter and Andrew,
who put up with a stressed-out writer trying to juggle too many balls at one time. You two are awesome, and I couldn’t ask for a better husband and son.
Contents
Cover (#u1b8fa946-370b-595a-bb78-ae7c4cae76c9)
Back Cover Text (#u7be4471d-01de-591c-87d5-82909a3ac98f)
Introduction (#uead67e03-91dc-5cad-ad63-ad363e288bed)
Title Page (#u47e8f515-314b-55ed-9094-242b9f85190b)
About the Author (#ua778b453-2005-5271-86e2-910d1fce82d4)
Dedication (#u0e25766d-c13d-585b-8607-9b7632922927)
CHAPTER ONE (#u4d4105d2-9453-57bd-8a8a-92ed559bc65f)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub9c99f18-4870-56da-9871-7f4afdf5fa5b)
CHAPTER THREE (#ub7e26d29-a8fa-511a-82d6-a0097d05b846)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua27c3662-88b1-5d37-a9b1-e1ae89985bbc)
OH, WHAT FRESH hell was this?
A pair of ten-foot nutcrackers smiled down at him with giant white grins that looked capable of snapping an entire chestnut tree in half—let alone a single nut. Welcome to Fryberg’s Trains and Toys read the red-and-gold banner clutched in their wooden hands. Where It’s Christmas All Year Round.
James Hammond shuddered at the thought.
He was the only one though, as scores of children dragged their parents by the hand past the nutcracker guards and toward the Bavarian castle ahead, their shouts of delight echoing in the crisp Michigan air. One little girl, winter coat flapping in the wind, narrowly missed running into him, so distracted was she by the sight ahead of her.
“I see Santa’s Castle,” he heard her squeal.
Only if Santa lived in northern Germany and liked bratwurst. The towering stucco building, with its holly-draped ramparts and snow-covered turrets looked like something out of a Grimm’s fairy tale. No one would ever accuse Ned Fryberg of pedaling a false reality, that’s for sure. It was obvious that his fantasy was completely unattainable in real life. Unlike the nostalgic, homespun malarkey Hammond’s Toys sold to the public.
The popularity of both went to show that people loved their Christmas fantasies, and they were willing to shovel boatloads of money in order to keep them alive.
James didn’t understand it, but he was more than glad to help them part with their cash. He was good at it too. Some men gardened and grew vegetables. James grew his family’s net worth. And Fryberg’s Toys, and its awful Christmas village—a town so named for the Fryberg family—was going to help him grow it even larger.
“Excuse me, sir, but the line for Santa’s trolley starts back there.” A man wearing a red toy soldier’s jacket and black busby pointed behind James’s shoulder. In an attempt to control traffic flow, the store provided transportation around the grounds via a garishly colored “toy” train. “Trains leave every five minutes. You won’t have too long a wait.
“Or y-you could w-w-walk,” he added.
People always tended to stammer whenever James looked them in the eye. Didn’t matter if he was trying to be intimidating or not. They simply did. Maybe because, as his mother once told him, he had the same cold, dead eyes as his father. He’d spent much of his youth vainly trying to erase the similarity. Now that he was an adult, he’d grown not to accept his intimidating glower, but embrace it. Same way he embraced all his other unapproachable qualities.
“That depends,” he replied. “Which mode is more efficient?”
“Th-that would depend upon on how fast a walker you are. The car makes a couple of stops beforehand, so someone with...with long legs...” The soldier, or whatever he was supposed to be, let the sentence trail off.
“Then walking it is. Thank you.”
Adjusting his charcoal-gray scarf tighter around his neck, James turned and continued on his way, along the path to Fryberg’s Christmas Castle. The faster he got to his meeting with Belinda Fryberg, the sooner he could lock in his sale and fly back to Boston. At least there, he only had to deal with Christmas one day of the year.
* * *
“What did you say?”
“I said, your Christmas Castle has a few years of viability in it, at best.”
Noelle hated the new boss.
She’d decided he rubbed her the wrong way when he glided into Belinda’s office like a cashmere-wearing shark. She disliked him when he started picking apart their operations. And she loathed him now that he’d insulted the Christmas Castle.
“We all know the future of retail is online,” he continued. He uncrossed his long legs and shifted his weight. Uncharitable a thought as it might be, Noelle was glad he’d been forced to squeeze his long, lanky frame into Belinda’s office furniture. “The only reason your brick-and-mortar store has survived is because it’s basically a tourist attraction.”
“What’s wrong with being a tourist attraction?” she asked. Fryberg’s had done very well thanks to that tourist attraction. Over the years, what had been a small hobby shop had become a cottage industry unto itself with the entire town embracing the Bavarian atmosphere. “You saw our balance sheet. Those tourists are contributing a very healthy portion of our revenue.”
“I also saw that the biggest growth came from your online store. In fact, while it’s true retail sales have remained constant, your electronic sales have risen over fifteen percent annually.”
And were poised to take another leap this year. Noelle had heard the projections. E-retail was the wave of the future. Brick-and-mortar stores like Fryberg’s would soon be obsolete.
“Don’t get me wrong. I think your late husband did a fantastic job of capitalizing on people’s nostalgia,” he said to Belinda.
Noelle’s mother-in-law smiled. She always smiled when speaking about her late husband. “Ned used to say that Christmas was a universal experience.”
“Hammond’s has certainly done well by it.”
Well? Hammond’s had their entire business on the holiday, as had Fryberg’s. Nothing Says Christmas Like Hammond’s Toys. The company motto, repeated at the end of every ad, sang in Noelle’s head.
“That’s because everyone loves Christmas,” she replied.
“Hmm.” From the lack of enthusiasm in his response, she might as well have been talking about weather patterns. Then again, his emotional range didn’t seem to go beyond brusque and chilly, so maybe that was enthusiastic for him.
“I don’t care if they love the holiday or not. It’s their shopping patterns I’m interested in, and from the data I’ve been seeing, more and more people are doing part, if not most of their shopping over the internet. The retailers who survive will be the ones who shift their business models accordingly. I intend to make sure Hammond’s is one of those businesses.”
“Hammond’s,” Noelle couldn’t help noting. “Not Fryberg’s.”
“I’m hoping that by the end of the day, the two stores will be on the way to becoming one and the same,” he said.
“Wiping out sixty-five years of tradition just like that, are you?”
“Like I said, to survive, sometimes you have to embrace change.”
Except they weren’t embracing anything. Fryberg’s was being swallowed up and dismantled so that Hammond’s could change.
“I think what my daughter-in-law is trying to say is that the Fryberg name carries a great deal of value round these parts,” said Belinda. “People are very loyal to my late husband and what he worked to create here.”
“Loyalty’s a rare commodity these days. Especially in the business world.”
“It certainly is. Ned, my husband, had a way of inspiring it.”
“Impressive,” Hammond replied.
“It’s because the Frybergs—Ned and Belinda—have always believed in treating their employees like family,” Noelle told him. “And they were always on-site, visible to everyone.” Although things had changed over the last few years as Belinda had been spending more and more time in Palm Beach. “I’m not sure working for a faceless CEO in Boston will engender the same feelings.”
“What do you expect me to do? Move my office here?”
He looked at her. His gaze, sharp and direct, didn’t so much look through a person as cut into them. The flecks of brown in his irises darkened, transforming what had been soft hazel. Self-consciousness curled through Noelle’s midsection. She folded her arms tighter to keep the reaction from spreading.
“No. Just keep Fryberg’s as a separate entity,” she replied.
His brows lifted. “Really? You want me to keep one store separate when all the other properties under our umbrella carry the name Hammond?”
“Why not?” Noelle’s palms started to sweat. She was definitely overstepping her authority right now. Belinda had already accepted Hammond’s offer. Today’s meeting was a friendly dialogue between an outgoing owner and the new CEO, to ensure a successful transition. She couldn’t help it. With Belinda stepping down, someone had to protect what Ned had created. James Hammond certainly wasn’t. To hear him, Fryberg’s Christmas Castle was one step ahead of landlines in terms of obsolescence. She gave him two years tops before he decided “Hammond’s” Christmas Castle didn’t fit the corporate brand and started downsizing in the name of change. Bet he wouldn’t blink an eye doing it either.
Oh, but she really, really, really disliked him. Thank goodness the corporate headquarters were in Boston. With luck, he’d go home after this visit and she’d never have to deal with him again.
“Our name recognition and reputation are important elements to our success,” she continued. “All those people who line up to see Hammond’s displays every Christmas? Would they still remember to make the pilgrimage if Hammond’s suddenly became Jones’s Toys?”
He chuckled. “Hammond’s is hardly the same as Jones.”
“Around here it might as well be.”
“She makes an interesting point,” Belinda said. Noelle felt her mother-in-law’s sideways gaze. When it came to giving a pointed look, Belinda Fryberg held her own. In fact, she could probably do it better than most since she always tossed in a dose of maternal reproach. “While you may think our physical store has a limited future, there’s no need to hasten its demise prematurely. Maybe it would make more sense for Fryberg’s to continue operating under its own name, at least for now.”
Leaning back in his chair, Hammond steepled his fingertips together and tapped them against his lips. “I’m not averse to discussing the idea,” he said finally.
I’m not averse... How big of him. Noelle bit her tongue.
Her mother-in-law, meanwhile, folded her hands and smiled. “Then why don’t we do just that over lunch? I made reservations at the Nutcracker Inn downtown.”
“I don’t usually have lunch...”
No surprise there. Noelle had read once that sharks only ate every few days.
“Perhaps you don’t,” Belinda replied, “but for a woman my age, skipping meals isn’t the best idea. Besides, I find business always goes smoother when accompanied by a bowl of gingerbread soup. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried it.”
Either Hammond’s cheek muscles twitched at the word gingerbread or else they weren’t used to smiling. “Very well,” he said. “I have some calls to make first though. Why don’t I meet you at the elevator in, say, fifteen minutes?”
“I’ll see you there.”
Returning Belinda’s nod, he unfolded his lanky self from the chair and strode from the room. If only he’d keep walking, Noelle thought as she watched his back slip through the door. Keep walking all the way back to Boston.
“Well, that was a surprise.” Belinda spoke the second the door shut behind him. “I hadn’t realized you’d joined the mergers and acquisitions team.”
“I’m sorry,” Noelle replied. “But the way he was talking...it sounded like he planned to wipe Fryberg’s off the map.”
“You know I would never allow that.”
She hung her head. “I know, and I’m sorry. On the plus side, he did say he would consider keeping the Fryberg’s name.”
“Even so, you can’t keep getting angry every time he says something that rubs you the wrong way. This is Hammond’s company now. You’re going to have to learn to bite your tongue.”
She’d better hope Noelle’s tongue was thick enough to survive the visit then, because there was going to be a lot of biting.
“I just...” Starting now. Gritting her teeth, she turned and looked out the window. Below her, a school tour was lining up in front of the reindeer petting zoo, the same as they did every year, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Later on, they would make wish lists for their parents and trek over to the Candy Cane Forest to meet Santa Claus.
Her attention zeroed in on a little girl wearing a grimy pink snow jacket, the dirt visible from yards away, and she smiled nostalgically at the girl’s obvious excitement. That excitement was what people like James Hammond didn’t understand. Fryberg’s was so much more than a toy store or tourist attraction. When you passed through that nutcracker-flanked gate, you entered a different world. A place where, for a few hours, little girls in charity bin hand-me-downs could trade their loneliness and stark reality for a little Christmas magic.
A warm hand settled on her shoulder. “I wish things could stay the same too,” Belinda said, “but time marches on no matter how hard we try to stop it. Ned’s gone, Kevin’s gone, and I just don’t have the energy to run this place by myself anymore.
“Besides, a chain like Hammond’s can invest capital in this place that I don’t have.”
Capital, sure, but what about heart? Compassion was part of the Fryberg DNA. Noelle still remembered that day in sixth grade when Kevin invited her to his house and she felt the family’s infectious warmth for the very first time.
“I don’t fault you for wanting to retire,” she said, leaning ever so slightly into the older woman’s touch. “I just wish you hadn’t sold to such a Grinch.”
“He is serious, isn’t he?” Belinda chuckled. “Must be all that dour Yankee heritage.”
“Dour? Try frozen. The guy has about as much Christmas spirit as a block of ice.”
Her mother-in-law squeezed her shoulder. “Fortunately for us, you have enough Christmas spirit for a dozen people. You’ll keep the spirit alive. Unless you decide to move on, that is.”
Noelle tried for tongue biting again and failed. They’d had this conversation before. It was another one of the reasons Belinda sold the business instead of simply retiring. She insisted Noelle not be tied down by the family business. A reason Noelle found utterly silly.
“You know I have zero intention of ever leaving Fryberg,” she said.
“Oh, I know you think that now. But you’re young. You’re smart. There’s an entire world out there beyond Fryberg’s Toys.”
Noelle shook her head. Not for her there wasn’t. The store was too big a part of her.
It was all of her, really.
Her mother-in-law squeezed her shoulder again. “Kevin and Ned wouldn’t want you to shortchange your future any more than I do.”
At the mention of her late husband’s wishes, Noelle bit back a familiar swell of guilt.
“Besides,” Belinda continued, heading toward her desk. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll impress Mr. Hammond so much, he’ll promote you up the corporate ladder.”
“Him firing me is more likely,” Noelle replied. She recalled how sharp Hammond’s gaze had become when she dared to challenge him. Oh, yeah, she could picture him promoting her, all right.
“You never know” was all Belinda said. “I better go get ready for lunch. Don’t want to keep our Mr. Hammond waiting. Are you joining us?”
And continue bonding with Mr. Hammond over a bowl of gingerbread soup? Thanks, but no thanks. “I think Mr. Hammond and I have had enough contact for the day. Better I save my tongue and let you and Todd fill me in on the visit later.”
“That reminds me. On your way out, can you stop by Todd’s office and let his secretary know that if he calls in after the funeral, I’d like to talk with him?”
“Sure thing.”
Her answer was buried by the sound of the phone ringing.
“Oh, dear,” Belinda said upon answering. “This is Dick Greenwood. I’d better take it. Hopefully, he won’t chat my ear off. Will you do me another favor and give Mr. Hammond a tour of the floor while I’m tied up?”
So much for being done with the man. “Of course.” She’d donate a kidney if Belinda asked.
“And be nice.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The kidney would have been easier.
* * *
“You’re not going to have an insubordination problem, are you?”
On the other end of the line, Jackson Hammond’s voice sounded far away. James might have blamed the overseas connection except he knew better. Jackson Hammond always sounded distant.
Struggling to keep the phone tucked under his ear, he reached for the paper towels. “Problem?” he repeated. “Hardly.”
With her short black hair and red sweater dress, Noelle Fryberg was more of an attack elf. Too small and precious to do any real damage.
“Only reason she was in the meeting was because the new general manager had to attend a funeral, and she’s the assistant GM.” And because she was family. Apparently, the concept mattered to some people.
He shrugged and tossed his wadded towel into the basket. “Her objections were more entertaining than anything.”
He’d already come to the same conclusion regarding the Fryberg name, but it was fun seeing her try to stare him into capitulation. She had very large, very soulful eyes. Her glaring at him was like being glared at by a kitten. He had to admire the effort though. It was more than a lot of—hell, most—people.
“All in all, the transition is going smooth as silk. I’m going to tour the warehouse this afternoon.” And then hightail it back to the airstrip as soon as possible. With any luck, he’d be in Boston by eight that evening. Noelle Fryberg’s verve might be entertaining, but not so much that he wanted to stick around Christmas Land a moment longer than necessary.
“Christmas is only four weeks away. You’re going to need that distribution center linked into ours as soon as possible.”
“It’ll get done,” James replied. The reassurance was automatic. James learned a long time ago that his father preferred his world run as smoothly as possible. Complications and problems were things you dealt with on your own.
“If you need anything from my end, talk with Carli. I’ve asked her to be my point person while I’m in Vienna.”
“Thank you.” But James wouldn’t need anything from his father’s end. He’d been running the corporation for several years now while his father concentrated on overseas and other pet projects—like his new protégé, Carli, for example.
Then again, he hadn’t needed his father since his parents’ divorce. About the time his father made it clear he didn’t want James underfoot. Not wanting their eldest son around was the one thing Jackson Hammond and his ex-wife had in common.
“How is the trip going?” James asked, turning to other, less bitter topics.
“Well enough. I’m meeting with Herr Burns in the morning...” There was a muffled sound in the background. “Someone’s knocking at the door. I have to go. We’ll talk tomorrow, when you’re back in the office.”
The line disconnected before James had a chance to remind him tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Not that it mattered. He’d still be in the office.
He was always in the office. Wasn’t like he had a family.
* * *
Belinda was nowhere in sight when James stepped into the hallway. Instead, he found the daughter-in-law waiting by the elevator, arms again hugging her chest. “Belinda had to take a call with Dick Greenwood,” she told him.
“I’m sorry” was his automatic reply. Greenwood was a great vendor, but he was notorious for his chattiness. James made a point of avoiding direct conversations if he could.
Apparently, the daughter-in-law knew what he meant, because the corners of her mouth twitched. About as close to a smile as he’d seen out of her. “She said she’ll join you as soon as she can. In the meantime, she thought you’d like a tour of the retail store.”
“She did, did she?” More likely, she thought it would distract him while she was stuck on the phone.
Noelle shrugged. “She thought it would give you an idea of the foot traffic we handle on a day-to-day basis.”
He’d seen the sales reports; he knew what kind of traffic they handled. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check out the store. Hammond’s was always on the lookout for new ways to engage their customers. “Are you going to be my guide?” he asked, reaching across to hit the elevator button.
“Yes, I am.” If she thought he missed the soft sigh she let out before speaking, she was mistaken.
All the more reason to take the tour.
The doors opened, and James motioned for her to step in first. Partly to be a gentleman, but mostly because holding back gave him an opportunity to steal a surreptitious look at her figure. The woman might be tiny, but she was perfectly proportioned. Make that normally proportioned, he amended. Too many of the women he met had try-hard figures. Worked out and enhanced to artificial perfection. Noelle looked fit, but she still carried a little more below than she did on top, which he appreciated.
“We bill ourselves as the country’s largest toy store,” Noelle said once the elevator doors shut. “The claim is based on square footage. We are the largest retail space in the continental US. This weekend alone we’ll attract thousands of customers.”
“Black Friday weekend. The retailers’ best friend,” he replied. Then, because he couldn’t resist poking the bee’s nest a little, he added, “That is, until Cyber Monday came along. These days we move almost as much inventory online. Pretty soon people won’t come out for Black Friday at all. They’ll do their shopping Thanksgiving afternoon while watching TV.”
“Hammond’s customers might, but you can’t visit a Christmas wonderland via a computer.”
That again. He turned to look at her. “Do you really think kids five or six years from now are going to care about visiting Santa Claus?”
“Of course they are. It’s Santa.”
“I hate to break it to you, but kids are a little more realistic these days. They grow fast. Our greeting card fantasy holiday is going to get harder and harder to sell.”
“Especially if you insist on calling it a fantasy.”
What should he call it? Fact? “Belinda wasn’t kidding when she said you were loyal, was she?”
“The Frybergs are family. Of course I would be loyal.”
Not necessarily, but James didn’t feel like arguing the point.
“Even if I weren’t—related that is—I’d respect what Ned and Belinda created.” She crossed her arms. Again. “They understood that retail is about more than moving inventory.”
Her implication was clear: she considered him a corporate autocrat who was concerned solely with the bottom line. While she might be correct, he didn’t intend to let her get away with the comment unchallenged.
Mirroring her posture, he tilted his head and looked straight at her. “Is that so? What exactly is it about then?”
“People, of course.”
“Of course.” She was not only loyal, but naive. Retail was all about moving product. All the fancy window dressing she specialized in was to convince people to buy the latest and greatest, and then to buy the next latest and greatest the following year. And so on and so forth.
At that moment, the elevator opened and before them lay Fryberg’s Toys in all its glory. Aisle upon aisle of toys, spread out like a multicolored promised land. There were giant stuffed animals arranged by environment, lions and tigers in the jungle, cows and horses by the farm. Construction toys were spread around a jobsite, around which cars zipped on a multilevel racetrack. There was even a wall of televisions blasting the latest video games. A special display for every interest, each one overflowing with products for sale.
“Oh, yeah,” he murmured, “it’s totally about the people.”
A remote-control drone zipped past their heads as they walked toward the center aisle. A giant teddy bear made of plastic building bricks marked the entrance like the Colossus of Rhodes.
“It’s like Christmas morning on steroids,” he remarked as they passed under the bear’s legs.
“This is the Christmas Castle, after all. Everything should look larger-than-life and magical. To stir the imagination.”
Not to mention the desire for plastic bricks and stuffed animals, thought James.
“Santa’s workshop and the Candy Cane Forest are located at the rear of the building,” she said pointing to an archway bedecked with painted holly and poinsettia. “That’s also where Ned’s model train layout is located. It used to be a much larger section, but now it’s limited to one room-size museum.”
Yet something else lost to the march of time, James refrained from saying. The atmosphere was chilly enough. Looking around he noticed their aisle led straight toward the archway, and that the only way to avoid Santa was to go to the end, turn and head back up a different aisle.
He nodded at the arch. “What’s on the other side?” he asked.
“Other side of what?”
“Santa’s woods or whatever it is.”
“Santa’s workshop and Candy Cane Forest,” she corrected. “There’s a door that leads back into the store, or they can continue on to see the reindeer.”
“Meaning they go home to purchase their child’s wish item online from who-knows-what site.”
“Or come back another day. Most people don’t do their Christmas shopping with the kids in tow.”
“How about in April, when they aren’t Christmas shopping? They walk outside to see the reindeer and poof! There goes your potential sale.”
That wouldn’t do at all. “After the kids visit Santa, the traffic should be rerouted back into the store so the parents can buy whatever it is Little Susie or Johnny wished for.”
“You want to close off access to the reindeer?”
She needn’t look so horrified. It wasn’t as though he’d suggested euthanizing the creatures. “I want customers to buy toys. And they aren’t going to if they are busy looking at reindeer. What’s that?”
He pointed to a giant moose-like creature wearing a Santa’s hat and wreath and standing to the right of the archway. It took up most of the wall space, forcing the crowd to congregate toward the middle. As a result, customers looking to walk past the archway to another aisle had to battle a throng of children.
“Oh, that’s Fryer Elk, the store mascot,” Noelle replied. “Ned created him when he opened the store. Back in the day, he appeared in the ads. They retired him in the eighties and he’s been here ever since.”
“He’s blocking the flow of traffic. He should be somewhere else.”
For a third time, James got the folded arm treatment. “He’s an institution,” she replied, as if that was reason enough for his existence.
He could be Ned Fryberg standing there stuffed himself, and he would still be hindering traffic. Letting out a long breath, James reached into his breast pocket for his notebook. Once the sale was finalized, he would send his operations manager out here to evaluate the layout.
“You really don’t have any respect for tradition, do you?” Noelle asked.
He peered over his pen at her. Just figuring this out, was she? That’s what happened when you spent a fortune crafting a corporate image. People started believing the image was real.
“No,” he replied. “I don’t. In fact...” He put his notebook away. “We might as well get something straight right now. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing that matters is making sure Hammond’s stays profitable for the next fifty years. Everything else can go to blazes.”
“Everything,” she repeated. Her eyes narrowed.
“Everything, and that includes elks, tradition and especially Chris—”
He never got a chance to finish.
CHAPTER TWO (#ua27c3662-88b1-5d37-a9b1-e1ae89985bbc)
FOUR STITCHES AND a concussion. That’s what the emergency room doctor told Noelle. “He’s fortunate. Those props can do far worse,” she added. “Your associates really shouldn’t be flying remote-control drones inside.”
“So they’ve been told,” Noelle replied. In no uncertain terms by James Hammond once he could speak.
The drone had slammed into the back of his head, knocking him face-first into a pile of model racecar kits. The sight of the man sprawled on the floor might have been funny if not for the blood running down the back of his skull. Until that minute, she’d been annoyed as hell at the man for his obvious lack of respect toward Fryberg tradition. Seeing the blood darkening his hair quickly checked her annoyance. As blood was wont to do.
That was until she turned him over and he started snarling about careless associates and customer safety. Then she went back to being annoyed. Only this time, it was because the man had a point. What if the drone had struck a customer—a child? Things could have been even worse. As it was, half of Miss Speroni’s first grade class was probably going to have nightmares from witnessing the accident.
Then there was the damage to James Hammond himself. Much as she disliked the man, stitches and a concussion were nothing to sneeze at.
“How long before he’s ready for discharge?” she asked.
“My nurse is bandaging the stitches right now,” the doctor replied. “Soon as I get his paperwork written up, he’ll be all yours.”
Oh, goodie. Noelle didn’t realize she’d gotten custody. She went back to the waiting room where Belinda was finishing up a phone call.
“Bob is working on a statement for the press,” her mother-in-law told her. “And we’re pulling the product off the shelves per advice from the lawyers. Thankfully, the incident didn’t get caught on camera so we won’t have to deal with that. I doubt Mr. Hammond would like being a social media sensation.”
“I’m not sure Mr. Hammond likes much of anything,” Noelle replied. She was thinking of the remark he made right before the drone struck him. “Did you know, he actually said he doesn’t like Christmas? How can the man think that and run a store like Hammond’s?” Or Fryberg’s.
“Obviously, his disdain hasn’t stopped him from doubling Hammond’s profits over the past two years,” Belinda replied. “What matters isn’t that he like Christmas, but that he keeps the people in Fryberg employed, which he will.”
“Hope they like working for Mr. Frosty. Did you know he wants to get rid of Fryer?”
“Well, some change is bound to happen,” Belinda said.
“I know,” Noelle grumbled. She bowed her head. She really did. Same way she understood that the retail industry was changing. She also knew she was acting irrational and childish about the entire situation. Ever since Belinda announced the sale, however, she’d been unable to catch her breath. It felt like there were fingers clawing inside her looking for purchase. A continual churning sensation. Like she was about to lose her grip.
James Hammond’s arrival only made the feeling worse.
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it though,” she said referring to the prospect of change.
Belinda nudged her shoulder. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t be you if you did. Cheer up. Mr. Hammond will be out of your hair soon.”
“Not soon enough,” she replied.
“What wouldn’t be soon enough?” Hammond’s voice caused her to start in her chair. Turning, she saw a nurse pushing him toward her. He was slouched down in a wheelchair, a hand propping his head. Noelle caught a glimpse of a white bandage on the back of his scalp.
“The bandage can come off tomorrow,” the nurse told them.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Hammond?” Belinda asked.
“Like someone split my head open. Who knew such a little device could pack such a wallop?”
“Lots of things pack a wallop when they’re going thirty miles an hour. We pulled the toy from the shelves. Though I doubt it would have been popular anyway, once parents heard what happened.”
“Don’t blame them. Thing could slice an ear off.” Groaning, he leaned forward and buried his face in both hands as though one was suddenly not enough to hold it up. “I’m going to have Hammond’s pull them too as soon as I get back to Boston,” he spoke through his fingers.
“That won’t be anytime soon, I’m afraid. You heard what Dr. Nelson said,” the nurse warned.
“What did she say?” Noelle asked. She didn’t like the sound of the nurse’s comment.
Hammond waved a hand before cradling his head again. “Nothing.”
“Mr. Hammond has a slight concussion. He’s been advised to rest for the next couple of days. That includes no air travel.”
“You mean you’re staying here?” No, no, no. Noelle’s stomach started to twist. He was supposed to go away, not stick around for the weekend.
“The doctor merely recommended I rest,” James replied. “No one said it was mandatory.”
“Perhaps not, but it’s generally a good idea to take doctors’ advice,” Belinda said.
“We’re talking about a handful of stitches. Nothing I haven’t had before. I’ll be fine. Why don’t we go have our lunch as planned and finish our conversation? I could use some food in my stomach. What kind of soup did you say they made?”
“Gingerbread,” Noelle replied.
“The only place you should be going is to bed,” the nurse said.
Much as Noelle hated to admit it, the nurse was right. He was looking paler by the minute. She remembered how unsteady he’d been right after the accident; he could barely sit up.
Funny, but he still looked formidable despite the pallor. A virile invalid. Noelle didn’t think it possible. Must be the combination of square jaw and broad shoulders, she decided. And the dark suit. Black made everyone look intimidating.
Again, he waved off the nurse’s advice. “Nonsense. I rested while waiting for the doctor. Why don’t we go have our lunch as planned and finish our conversation? I could use some food in my stomach. What kind of soup did you say they made?”
“I just told you.”
A crease deepened between his eyes. “You did?”
“Uh-huh. Two seconds ago.”
“That only proves I’m hungry. I’m having trouble listening.” He pushed himself to a standing position, squaring his shoulders proudly when he reached his feet. His upper body swayed back and forth unsteadily. “See?” he said. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Noelle looked over her shoulder at Belinda who shook her head in return. “I’m not going to negotiate anything while you’re unsteady on your feet,” her mother-in-law said. “I won’t be accused of taking advantage when you’re not thinking straight.”
James laughed. “You’re a smart businesswoman, Belinda, but I can assure you, no one ever takes advantage of me.”
“That I can believe,” Noelle murmured.
He looked at her and smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Mrs. Fryberg. Now how about we go get that lunch we missed...”
It took two steps for him to lose his balance. His eyes started to roll back in his head, and his knees started to buckle.
Noelle reached him first. “Okay, that’s enough,” she said, reaching around his waist. Thanks to the size difference, it took a minute to maneuver him, but eventually she managed to lower him into the wheelchair. Unfortunately, the downward momentum pulled her along, as well. She landed with one hand pressed against his torso and knee wedged between his thighs. Man, but he was solid. A tall, lean block of granite.
She looked up to find herself nose to nose with him. Up close, his eyes were far more dappled than she realized, the green more of an accent color than true eye shade.
He had freckles too. A smattering across the bridge of his nose.
Cold-blooded businessmen weren’t supposed to have freckles.
“Think you might listen to the nurse now?” she asked.
“I was light-headed for a moment, that’s all.”
“Light-headed, huh?” She pushed herself to her feet. To her embarrassment, the move required splaying her hand wider, so that the palm of her hand pressed over his heart. Fortunately, he was too dizzy or distracted to comment.
“Any more light-headed and you would have hit the floor,” she told him. “Are you trying to get more stitches?”
“I’m not...”
“Face it, Mr. Hammond, you’re in no condition to do anything but rest,” Belinda said. “We’ll talk when you’re feeling better. Monday.”
“Monday?” He’d started to rest his head in his hands again, but when Belinda spoke, he jerked his head upward. The pain crossing his face made Noelle wince. “Why wait until then? I won’t need that many days to recover.”
“Maybe not, but that is the next time I’ll be able to see you. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. The only business I’ll be discussing is whether the stuffing is too dry.”
“What about Friday?”
Noelle answered for her. “Black Friday, remember? Around these parts, it’s the kickoff for the annual Christmas festival, the biggest weekend of our year.”
“I’ll be much too busy to give you the proper time,” Belinda added.
Noelle watched the muscle twitching in Hammond’s jaw. Clearly, he preferred being the one who dictated the schedule, and not the other way around.
“Let me get this straight.” Whether his voice was low by design or discomfort, Noelle couldn’t guess. His tension came though nevertheless. “I’m not allowed to fly home for the next twenty-four hours...”
“At least,” the nurse said.
The muscle twitched again. “At least twenty-four hours,” he corrected. “Nor will you meet with me for the next five days?”
“That’s correct,” Belinda replied. “We can meet first thing Monday morning, and conclude our preliminary negotiations.”
“I see.” He nodded. Slowly. Anyone with two eyes could tell he didn’t appreciate this change in plans at all. Noelle would be lying if she didn’t say it gave her a tiny trill of satisfaction. Payback for his wanting to toss Fryer.
“Fine,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “We’ll talk Monday. Only because my head hurts too much to argue.” Noelle had a feeling he wasn’t kidding. “What was the name of that hotel?”
“The Nutcracker Inn,” she replied.
“Right, that one. I’m going to need a room, and something to eat. What did you say that soup was?”
“Gingerbread.” It was the third time he’d asked. She looked at the nurse who nodded.
“Temporary short-term memory loss can happen with concussions. It should recede soon enough. However, I think you might have a more pressing problem.”
“I do?”
“He does?”
The two of them spoke at the same time. “I’m not sure the Nutcracker has any rooms,” the nurse replied. “You know how booked it gets during the holidays.”
“Wait a second.” James tried to look up at the nurse, only to wince and close his eyes. “Please don’t tell me there’s no room at the inn.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the nurse replied. “Did you know that once we even had a baby born—”
“I doubt Mr. Hammond will have to do anything quite as dramatic,” Noelle interjected. No need for the conversation to head down that particular road.
The nurse offered a tight-lipped smile. Apparently, she didn’t appreciate being cut off. “Either way, you’re going to need someone to look in on you. Doctor’s orders.”
“The concierge will love that request,” Hammond muttered.
“We could arrange for a private duty nurse.”
“Good grief,” Belinda said. “That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”
“Pleasant isn’t exactly on the table right now.” Hammond’s eyes had grown heavy lidded and his words were slurred. It was obvious the entire conversation was exhausting him, and Noelle couldn’t help but feel bad.
Although she doubted he’d appreciate the compassion. A man like Hammond, with his disregard for sentiment and tradition, would despise showing any hint of vulnerability.
“Of course pleasant is on the table,” Belinda said. “This is Fryberg.” The meaning behind her emphasis was obvious.
Hammond let out a low groan. Still feeling compassionate, Noelle decided the noise was coincidental.
Her mother-in-law continued as if the noise never happened. “We’re not going to let you spend your weekend in some hotel room, eating room service and being attended to by a stranger. You’ll spend the weekend with me. That way you can recuperate, and enjoy a proper Thanksgiving, as well.”
The strangest look crossed Hammond’s face. Part surprise, part darkness as though her mother-in-law’s suggestion unnerved him. Noelle didn’t picture him as a man who got unnerved. Ever.
“I don’t want to put you out,” he said.
“You won’t. I have plenty of room. I’ll even make you some...oh, shoot.” A look crossed her features, not nearly as dark as Hammond’s, but definitely distressed.
“What is it?” Noelle asked.
“The Orion House Dinner is this evening. I completely forgot.”
In all the craziness, so had Noelle. Fryberg’s was being honored for its fund-raising efforts on behalf of homeless veterans. “Would you mind?” her mother-in-law asked. “I don’t want Orion House to think I don’t appreciate the honor. The project meant so much to Ned.”
“I know,” replied Noelle. After Kevin’s death, her father-in-law had channeled his grief into helping as many veteran programs as possible. Orion House had topped the list. “He was very passionate about wanting to help.”
“That he was,” Belinda said, getting the faraway look she always got when they discussed Ned. The family had been through a lot these past years, and yet they continued to channel their energy into the community. Their dedication in the face of grief made her proud to bear the Fryberg name.
“Would you mind stepping in instead?”
“Not at all,” she told her. “I’d love to.” It’d be an honor to accept an award for them.
“Thank goodness.” The older woman let out a long sigh. “I was afraid that because of our words earlier... Never mind.” Whatever her mother-in-law had been about to say she waved away. “Let me pull my car around. I’ll help you get Mr. Hammond settled, and then go home to change.”
Help her...? Wait... What exactly had she agreed to do?
Noelle opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Nothing came out though. That’s because she knew what she’d agreed to. As surely as the sickening feeling growing in her stomach.
Somehow, James Hammond had become her responsibility. She looked over to her mother-in-law, but Belinda was busy fishing through her purse. And here she thought she would be free of the man. Talk about your sick karmic jokes. If only she’d been the one hit in the head.
“Do you need an extra copy of the discharge instructions?” the nurse asked her.
“No,” Noelle replied with a sigh. “I know what to expect.”
There was only one consolation, if you could call it that. Hammond looked about as thrilled over this change of events as she was.
Goodie. They could be miserable together.
* * *
A few minutes later, James found himself being wheeled outside behind a tiny bundle of annoyance, who marched toward the waiting sedan with her arms yet again wrapped tightly across her chest. A voice behind his headache wondered if they were permanently attached to her body that way.
“Why don’t you take the front seat?” Belinda opened the passenger door. “I’ve pulled it all the way back so you’ll have plenty of leg room.”
Front seat, back seat. Didn’t make much difference. Neither were the cockpit of his private plane. His head felt split in two, the world was tipping on its axis and he wanted nothing more than to be in his bed back in Boston. Damn drone.
He pushed himself to his feet only to have the world rock back and forth like a seesaw. A second later, an arm wrapped around his biceps, steadying him, and he smelled the sweet scent of orange blossoms. The elf. He recognized the perfume from the confines of the elevator. Funny, but he expected her to smell Christmassy, not like Florida sunshine. Maybe they were out of sugar cookie perfume this week.
“Something wrong?”
Turning his head—barely—he saw her frowning at him and realized he’d snorted out loud at his joke. “Do you really need to ask?”
He was being an ass, he knew that, but with stitches in his scalp, surely he was entitled to a little churlishness?
The frown deepened. “Watch your head,” she replied.
James did as he was told, and as his reward, the orange blossoms—as well as her grip—disappeared. In their absence, his headache intensified. He found himself slumped against a leather armrest with his fingers pressed against his temple to hold his head up.
“Fortunately, we don’t have to drive too far,” he heard Belinda say. “Noelle only lives a short distance from town.”
“Great.” What he really wanted to say was that two feet was too far what with the lights outside dipping and rocking as they passed by. Thankfully the sun had set. If those were buildings bobbing, he’d be lurching the contents of his stomach all over his Bostonians. He closed his eyes, and did his best to imagine orange blossoms.
“The nurse seemed to think the worst of the dizziness would pass by tomorrow,” Noelle said from behind him.
“Thank God,” he whispered. If true, then maybe he could snag a ride to the airport and fly home, doctor’s orders be damned. He bet the elf would drive him. After all, she didn’t want him at her house any more than he wanted to be there. He’d caught the look on the woman’s face when Belinda foisted him on her.
Foisted. What a perfect word for the situation. Stuck where he didn’t want to be, dependent on people who didn’t want him around.
Story of his life.
Great. He’d moved from churlish to pity party. Why not round out the trifecta and start whining too?
How he hated this. Hated having no choice. Hated being weak and needy. He hadn’t needed anyone since he was twelve years old. Needing and foisting were incompatible concepts.
“It’s too bad you can’t look out the window,” Belinda said. “The town looks beautiful all lit up.”
James pried open one eye to see building after building decorated with Christmas lights. Ugh. One in particular had a giant evergreen dripping with red and green.
“That’s the Nutcracker Inn. The Bavarian market is next door. It’ll be packed on Friday for the festival.”
“I doubt Mr. Hammond is very interested in a tour, Belinda.”
“I’m merely pointing out a few of the landmarks since he’s going to be here all weekend.”
Not if he could help it, thought James.
“The man can’t remember what kind of soup they serve—I doubt he’ll remember what the place looks like.”
“There’s no need to be harsh, Noelle Fryberg.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Actually, James rather liked the harshness. Beat being treated like a patient. “Pumpkin,” he replied.
“Excuse me?” Belinda asked.
“The soup. It’s pumpkin.”
“You mean gingerbread,” Noelle replied.
“Oh. Right.” He knew it was some kind of seasonal flavor. His cheeks grew warm.
Belinda patted him on the knee. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Hammond. I’m sure you’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”
“Let’s hope so,” he heard the elf mutter.
James couldn’t have agreed with her more.
CHAPTER THREE (#ua27c3662-88b1-5d37-a9b1-e1ae89985bbc)
THE NEXT MORNING James woke to what had to be the best-smelling candle in the universe—sweet with traces of allspice and cinnamon—which was odd since he didn’t normally buy candles. Maybe the smell had something to do with the stinging sensation on the back of his head and the vague memories of dark hair and kitten eyes dancing on the edge of his brain.
And orange blossoms. For some reason, the first thought in his mind was that as delicious as the candle smelled, it wasn’t orange blossoms.
Slowly, he pried open an eye. What the...?
This wasn’t his Back Bay condo. He sprang up, only to have a sharp pain push him back down on the bed.
Sofa, he amended. He was lying facedown on a leather sofa, his cheek swallowed by a large memory foam pillow. Gingerly, he felt the back of his skull, his fingers meeting a patch of gauze and tape.
The drone. This must be Noelle Fryberg’s living room. Last thing he remembered was leaning into her warm body as she led him through the front door. Explained why he had orange blossoms on the brain. The memory of the smell eased the tension between his shoulder blades.
Once the vertigo abated, he surveyed his surroundings. Given her slavish devotion to Fryberg’s vision, he pictured his hostess living in a mirror image of the Christmas Castle, with baskets of sugarplums and boughs of holly. He’d been close. The house definitely had the same stucco and wood architecture as the rest of the town, although she’d thankfully forgone any year-round Christmas motif. Instead, the inside was pleasantly furnished with simple, sturdy furniture like the large pine cabinet lining the wall across the way. Brightly colored plates hung on the wall behind it. Homey. Rustic. With not a chandelier or trace of Italian marble to be found.
“You’re awake.”
A pair of shapely legs suddenly appeared in his line of vision, followed seconds later by a pair of big cornflower-colored eyes as the elf squatted down by his head. “I was coming in to check on you. I’m supposed to make sure you don’t fall into a coma while sleeping,” she said.
“I haven’t.”
“Obviously.”
As obvious as her joy over having to play nursemaid.
She looked less elfish than yesterday. More girl next door. The red dress had been shucked in favor of a white-and-red University of Wisconsin sweatshirt and jeans, and her short hair was pulled away from her face with a bright red headband. James didn’t think it was possible to pull back short hair, but she had. It made her eyes look like one of those paintings from the seventies. The ones where everyone had giant sad eyes. Only in this case, they weren’t sad; they were antipathetic.
He tried sitting up again. Slowly this time, making sure to keep his head and neck as still as possible. He felt like an awkward idiot. How was it that people in movies bounced back from head wounds in minutes? Here he was sliding his legs to the floor like he was stepping onto ice.
“How did I end up here?” he asked.
Her mouth turned downward. “Do you mean the house or the sofa?”
“The sofa.”
“Good. For a minute I was afraid you didn’t remember anything.” She stood up, taking her blue eyes from his vision unless he looked up, which didn’t feel like the best idea. “You collapsed on it soon as we got through the door last night,” she told him. “I tried to convince you to go upstairs to the bedroom, but you refused to budge.”
That sounded vaguely familiar. “Stairs were too much work.”
“That’s what you said last night. Anyway, since you refused to move from the sofa, I gave you a pillow, threw an afghan over you and called it a night.”
Out of the corner of his eye, James saw a flash of bright blue yarn piled on the floor near his feet. Tightness gripped his chest at the notion of someone tucking a blanket around his legs while he slept. Cradling his head while they placed a pillow underneath.
“Wait a second,” he said as a realization struck him. “You checked on me every few hours?”
“I had to. Doctor’s orders.”
“What about sleep? Did you...”
“Don’t worry—I didn’t put myself out any more than necessary.”
But more than she preferred. He was but an unwanted responsibility after all. The tightness eased, and the familiar numbness returned. “I’m glad. I’d hate to think you had to sacrifice too much.”
“Bare minimum, I assure you. Belinda would have my head if you died on my watch. In case you hadn’t guessed, she takes her responsibility to others very seriously. Especially those injured in her store.”
His store now. James let the slip pass uncommented. “Good policy. I’m sure your lawyers appreciate the extra effort.”
“It’s not policy,” she quickly shot back. Her eyes simmered with contention. “It’s compassion. The Frybergs have always believed in taking care of others. Belinda especially. I’ll have you know that I’ve seen her literally give a stranger the coat off her back.”
“I apologize,” James replied. “I didn’t mean to insinuate...”
She held up her hand. “Whatever. Just know that lawsuits are the last thing on Belinda’s mind.
“You have no idea how special the Fryberg family is,” she continued. Driving home the point. “Ned and Belinda were...are...the best people you’ll ever meet. The whole town loves them.”
“Duly noted,” James replied. Must be nice, having a family member care so much they sprang to your defense at the slightest ill word. “I’ll watch my language from now on.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They both fell silent. James sat back on the sofa and rubbed his neck, an uncomfortable itch having suddenly danced across his collar. Normally silence didn’t bother him; he didn’t know why this lapse in conversation felt so awkward.
Probably because the entire situation was awkward. If they were in Boston, he would be the host. He would be offering to whip up a cappuccino and his signature scrambled eggs, the way he did for all his overnight guests. Instead, he was sitting on her sofa, feeling very much like the obligation that he was.
And here he’d thought he was done feeling that way ever again.
Noelle broke the silence first. Tugging on her sweatshirt the way an officer might tug on his jacket, she cleared her throat. “I’m heading back into the kitchen. You might as well go back to sleep. It’s still early. Not even seven-thirty.”
“You’re awake.”
“I have cooking to do. You’re supposed to rest.”
“I’m rested out.” Headache or not, his body was still on East Coast time, and according to it, he’d already slept several hours past his usual wake time. “I don’t think I could sleep more if I wanted to.”
“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “TV remote’s on the end table if you want it. I’ll be in the kitchen.” The unspoken Stay out of my way came loud and clear.
She turned and padded out the door. Although James had never been one to ogle women, he found himself watching her jean-clad rear end. Some women were born to wear jeans, and the elf was one of them. With every step, her hips swayed from side to side like a well-toned bell. It was too bad the woman disliked his presence; her attractiveness was one of the few positive things about this debacle of a trip.
He needed to go back to Boston. It was where he belonged. Where he was...well, if not wanted, at least comfortable.
Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. The room spun a little, but not nearly as badly as it had yesterday, or even fifteen minutes earlier, for that matter. If he managed to walk to the kitchen without problem, he was leaving. Grant him and Noelle a reprieve.
Plans settled, he made his way to the kitchen. Happily, the room only spun a little. He found his hostess in the center of the room pulling a bright yellow apron over her head. The delicious aroma from before hung heavy in the air. It wasn’t a candle at all, but some kind of pie. Pumpkin, he realized, taking a deep breath.
His stomach rumbled. “I don’t suppose I could get a cup of coffee,” he said when she turned around.
She pointed to the rear cupboard where a full pot sat on the coffee maker burner. “Cups are in the cupboard above. There’s cereal and toast if you want any breakfast. Do you need me to pour?” she added belatedly.
“No, thank you. I can manage.” He made his way over to the cupboard. Like everything else in the house, the mugs were simple, yet sturdy. He was beginning to think she was the only delicate-looking thing in the house. “You have a nice place,” he remarked as he poured.
“You sound surprised.”
“Do I?” he replied. “I don’t mean to.”
“In that case, thank you. Kevin and his father came up with the design.”
That explained the resemblance to the Christmas Castle.
“I’m curious,” he said, leaning against the counter. She had bent over to look in the oven, giving him another look at her bottom. “Is there some kind of rule that the houses all have to look...”
“Look like what?” she asked, standing up.
“Alike.” Like they’d all been plucked off a picture postcard.
“Well the idea is to resemble a European village. That’s part of what makes us such a popular tourist attraction.”
She was tossing around his words from yesterday. He’d insulted her again.
Which he knew before asking the question. Hell, it was why he’d asked it. Their exchange earlier reminded him how much he’d enjoyed her backbone yesterday. Next to her cute figure, pushing her buttons was the only other thing that made this trip enjoyable. “I’m sure it does,” he replied.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
James shrugged. “Nothing. I was simply noting the town had a distinctive theme is all, and wondered if it was by design. Now I know.”
“I’m sure you already knew from your research,” she said, folding her arms. She had the closed-off pose down to a science. “You just felt like mocking the town.”
“Actually...” What could he say? He doubted she’d enjoy knowing her anger entertained him. “Maybe I did.”
She opened her mouth, and he waited for her to toss an insult in his direction. Instead she closed her lips again and spun around. Immediately, James regretted pushing too far. What did he expect? Surely, he knew she wouldn’t find him as entertaining as he found her. Quite the opposite. She disliked him the same as everyone else. Pushing her buttons guaranteed the status quo.
There was one thing he could say that she might like.
“Your pie smells delicious, by the way. I’m sorry I won’t get to taste it.”
That got her attention. She turned back around. “Why not?”
Leaning against the counter, he took a long sip of his coffee. Damn, but she made a hearty cup. “Because as soon as I have my coffee and grab a shower, you’re driving me to the airstrip so I can fly back to Boston.”
* * *
Noelle almost dropped the pie she was taking out of the oven. Had she heard right? Not that she wouldn’t be glad to see the back of him, but... “I thought the doctor said no flying.”
“Doctors say a lot of things.”
“Yeah, but in this case...” She flashed back to his falling into her at the hospital. “You could barely stand without getting dizzy.”
“That was yesterday. Clearly, that’s not the case today.”
No, it wasn’t. He appeared to be standing quite nicely against her counter, all wrinkled and fresh with sleep as he was.
The guy might be annoying, but he wore bedhead well.
Still, she couldn’t believe he was serious about flying an airplane less than twenty-four hours after getting whacked in the head. What if he got dizzy again and crashed the plane? “It doesn’t sound like the wisest of plans,” she said.
From over his coffee mug, he looked at her with an arched brow. “You’d rather I stick around here with you all weekend?”
“No, but...”
“Then why do you care whether I fly home or not?”
Good question. Why did she care? She looked down at the golden-brown pie still in her hands. Setting it on the cooling rack, she took off her oven mitts, then nudged the oven door shut with her hip.
“I don’t care,” she said, turning back around. “I’m surprised is all. In my experience, doctors don’t advise against things without reason.
“Why are you so eager to leave Fryberg anyway?” she asked. She could already guess the answer. It’d been clear from his arrival he didn’t think much of their town.
Unless, that is, he had a different reason for returning to Boston. Something more personal. “If you have Thanksgiving plans with someone, wouldn’t they prefer you play it safe?”
His coffee cup muffled the words, but she could swear he said “Hardly.” It wasn’t a word she’d expected him to use. Hardly was the same as saying unlikely, which couldn’t be the case. A man as handsome as Hammond would have dozens of women interested in him. Just because he rubbed her the wrong way...
She must have misheard.
Still, it wasn’t someone special calling him home. And she doubted it was because of Black Friday either. He could get sales reports via his phone; there was no need to physically be in Boston.
That left her original reason. “I’m sorry if our little town isn’t comfortable enough for you to stick around.”
“Did I say it wasn’t comfortable?”
“You didn’t have to,” Noelle replied. “Your disdain has been obvious.”
“As has yours,” he shot back.
“I—”
“Let’s face it, Mrs. Fryberg. You haven’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat. Not that I mind,” he said, taking a drink, “but let’s not pretend the antipathy has been one-sided.”
Maybe it wasn’t, but he’d fired the first shot.
Noelle’s coffee cup sat on the edge of the butcher-block island where she’d set it down earlier. Seeing the last quarter cup was ice-cold, she made her way to the coffee maker to top off the cup.
“What did you expect,” she said, reaching past him, “coming in here and announcing you were phasing out the Christmas Castle?”
“No, I said the castle was near the end of its lifespan. You’re the one who got all overprotective and jumped to conclusions.”
“Because you called it a fading tourist attraction.”
“I said no such thing.”
“Okay, maybe not out loud, but you were definitely thinking it.”
“Was I, now?” he replied with a snort. “I didn’t realize you were a mind reader.”
“Oh, please, I could hear it in your voice. I don’t have to be psychic to know you dislike the whole concept, even before you started making efficiency suggestions.”
She set the pot back on the burner, so she could look him square in the eye. The two of them were wedged in the small spot, their shoulders abutting. “Or are you going to tell me that’s not true?”
“No,” he replied, in an even voice, “it’s true. You shouldn’t take it personally.”
“Are you serious? Of course I’m going to take it personally. It’s Fryberg’s.” The store represented everything good that had ever happened in her life since she was seven years old. “You didn’t even want to keep the name!”
“I already conceded on that point, remember?”
“I remember.” And considering how quickly he conceded, he’d probably already decided he didn’t care. “That doesn’t mitigate the other changes you want to make.” The reindeer. Fryer. Those suggestions were the tip of the iceberg. Before anyone knew, her version of Fryberg’s would be gone forever.
“Forgive me for wanting to improve the store’s bottom line.”
“Our bottom line is perfectly fine.” As she glared into her coffee cup, she heard Hammond chuckle.
“So what you’re saying is that you all would have been better off if I’d stayed in Boston.”
“Exactly,” she gritted.
“And you wonder why I don’t want to stay in Fryberg.”
Noelle’s jaw muscles went slack. She looked back up in time to see Hammond tipping back the last of his drink. “I don’t make a habit of staying where I’m not wanted,” he said, setting the cup on the counter. “I’m certainly not about to start now. Would you mind if I grabbed that shower now? Then you can drop me off at the airstrip, and we’ll both be free from an uncomfortable situation.”
While he walked out of the kitchen, Noelle went back to contemplating the contents of her cup. She was waiting for a sense of relief to wash over her. After all, he was right; his leaving did free them both from an uncomfortable situation.
Why then wasn’t she relieved?
Maybe because your behavior helped drive the man out of town? her conscience replied as she rubbed away a sudden chill from her right arm.
Perhaps she had been...prickly. Something about the man got under her skin. Everything he said felt like a direct assault on her life. Between the company being sold and Belinda moving to Florida, she felt cast adrift. Like a part of her had been cut away. The only things she had left were the castle, the town and its traditions. Without them, she’d go back to being...
Nothing. No, she’d be worse than nothing. She’d be the nameless little girl whose mother left her in the stable. She’d rather be nothing.
Still, regardless of how angry Hammond made her, she still had a responsibility as a host. Belinda would have never been as argumentative and...well, as bratty...as she’d been.
She found Hammond in the living room folding last night’s cover. As he bowed his head to match one corner to another, he wobbled slightly, clearly off balance. A stab of guilt passed through her. No way was he better.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/barbara-wallace/christmas-with-her-millionaire-boss/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.