Chapter 1
Crane
“We’re already in the black, sir. Nationwide, the Marley stores are all running at a profit, and we haven’t truly entered the buying season.” Higginbotham taps his sheaf of papers. “This extra push for the holidays—while excellent at maximizing profit—is going to be a real imposition on all the staff. They expect usual operating hours. After all, your father never made them work on Thanksgiving or the week of Christmas.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple.
The rest of the boardroom is utterly silent, my executives smart enough to keep their mouths shut. But Higginbotham has never been smart. After all, he’s sitting here right now bringing up the ghost of my father. Worse than that, he’s second-guessing my plans to wring every single dollar from the foolish holiday shoppers who fritter away their money on all the merchandise I can stuff into my stores.
All eyes are on me as I stare at Higginbotham, at his okay suit and expensive glasses, at his neatly handwritten notes and thinning hairline. My father hired him. He once worked on the sales floor at the New York Marley’s two streets over. Head of toys, I believe it was. So typical of my father to promote an uneducated rube to the executive suite.
I finally move, but only to drum my fingertips on the conference table.
Graves jumps, then clears her throat to hide her fear. She’s one of my hires. A good lap dog, she does as I instruct, no questions asked. Higginbotham should’ve taken notes from her, not come up with his own.
“Tell me, does anyone else agree with Mr. Higginbotham?” I keep my voice low. I don’t yell. I don’t have to. Everyone’s already wincing from nothing more than my tone.
I look at each of them in turn. A dozen minions, all eager to please.
Then I turn back to Higginbotham. “I’m afraid your suggestion is one that I simply can’t agree with. The shareholders have put their trust in me to make sure this company is profitable.”
“But your father—”
“My father,” I say sharply. “Is dead. I run this company now, and I say that Marley’s will open early on Thanksgiving. We will lure shoppers in with deals, and keep them here to buy all those silly little items they don’t need. And then on Christmas Eve? We’ll do the same. Last minute shoppers will have no place to go except here, where our friendly staff will load them up with gifts that their loved ones neither want nor appreciate.” I stand.
Higginbotham holds up a finger. “It’s just—”
“Now, as we have no other business to conduct, I have appointments. Graves, bring me ad copy by the end of the day for Thanksgiving and Black Friday. Also, hire the usuals for the Santa display downtown. We want those children coming to Marley’s for their Christmas pictures with Santa. Nowhere else. And don’t let them out the door until their parents have grabbed up whatever item catches their eye.”
Turning, I stride to the door and open it. “Book the Santa now. I don’t want to end up with the drunken one from three years ago. Litigation is still ongoing.”
“Yes, sir.” She scribbles down everything I say.
“A word, sir?” Higginbotham hurries after me as I stride down the hall to my corner office. “I just think that our employees are the best in the business, and we should reward them with Thanksgiving with their families. Why not open on Black Friday the same as always, but maybe an hour earlier? That way they have time with their loved ones and can show up to work the next day full and happy.”
“Happy?” I stop at my office door.
Beverly gives me a sideways glance, then focuses on Higginbotham.
“What on earth does being happy have to do with it?” I peer down my nose at him.
His mouth opens in dumbfounded confusion. “Happiness is why we get together for the holidays, why we celebrate, why we put presents under the tree. Happiness, sir, is why we do what we do. Your father knew that.”
I push through to my office and turn. “As you may have noticed, Higginbotham, I’m not my father.”
Slamming the door in his face should be satisfying. And it is, but there’s something missing. Something that bothers me deeply, getting under my skin as I look out onto the sunny city from my corner office. I walk to my desk and I’m about to sit down when I realize what the problem is.
“Beverly,” I call, a smile turning my lips. “Bring me the executive bonus list. I have a deletion to make.”
“We’re already in the black, sir. Nationwide, the Marley stores are all running at a profit, and we haven’t truly entered the buying season.” Higginbotham taps his sheaf of papers. “This extra push for the holidays—while excellent at maximizing profit—is going to be a real imposition on all the staff. They expect usual operating hours. After all, your father never made them work on Thanksgiving or the week of Christmas.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple.
The rest of the boardroom is utterly silent, my executives smart enough to keep their mouths shut. But Higginbotham has never been smart. After all, he’s sitting here right now bringing up the ghost of my father. Worse than that, he’s second-guessing my plans to wring every single dollar from the foolish holiday shoppers who fritter away their money on all the merchandise I can stuff into my stores.
All eyes are on me as I stare at Higginbotham, at his okay suit and expensive glasses, at his neatly handwritten notes and thinning hairline. My father hired him. He once worked on the sales floor at the New York Marley’s two streets over. Head of toys, I believe it was. So typical of my father to promote an uneducated rube to the executive suite.
I finally move, but only to drum my fingertips on the conference table.
Graves jumps, then clears her throat to hide her fear. She’s one of my hires. A good lap dog, she does as I instruct, no questions asked. Higginbotham should’ve taken notes from her, not come up with his own.
“Tell me, does anyone else agree with Mr. Higginbotham?” I keep my voice low. I don’t yell. I don’t have to. Everyone’s already wincing from nothing more than my tone.
I look at each of them in turn. A dozen minions, all eager to please.
Then I turn back to Higginbotham. “I’m afraid your suggestion is one that I simply can’t agree with. The shareholders have put their trust in me to make sure this company is profitable.”
“But your father—”
“My father,” I say sharply. “Is dead. I run this company now, and I say that Marley’s will open early on Thanksgiving. We will lure shoppers in with deals, and keep them here to buy all those silly little items they don’t need. And then on Christmas Eve? We’ll do the same. Last minute shoppers will have no place to go except here, where our friendly staff will load them up with gifts that their loved ones neither want nor appreciate.” I stand.
Higginbotham holds up a finger. “It’s just—”
“Now, as we have no other business to conduct, I have appointments. Graves, bring me ad copy by the end of the day for Thanksgiving and Black Friday. Also, hire the usuals for the Santa display downtown. We want those children coming to Marley’s for their Christmas pictures with Santa. Nowhere else. And don’t let them out the door until their parents have grabbed up whatever item catches their eye.”
Turning, I stride to the door and open it. “Book the Santa now. I don’t want to end up with the drunken one from three years ago. Litigation is still ongoing.”
“Yes, sir.” She scribbles down everything I say.
“A word, sir?” Higginbotham hurries after me as I stride down the hall to my corner office. “I just think that our employees are the best in the business, and we should reward them with Thanksgiving with their families. Why not open on Black Friday the same as always, but maybe an hour earlier? That way they have time with their loved ones and can show up to work the next day full and happy.”
“Happy?” I stop at my office door.
Beverly gives me a sideways glance, then focuses on Higginbotham.
“What on earth does being happy have to do with it?” I peer down my nose at him.
His mouth opens in dumbfounded confusion. “Happiness is why we get together for the holidays, why we celebrate, why we put presents under the tree. Happiness, sir, is why we do what we do. Your father knew that.”
I push through to my office and turn. “As you may have noticed, Higginbotham, I’m not my father.”
Slamming the door in his face should be satisfying. And it is, but there’s something missing. Something that bothers me deeply, getting under my skin as I look out onto the sunny city from my corner office. I walk to my desk and I’m about to sit down when I realize what the problem is.
“Beverly,” I call, a smile turning my lips. “Bring me the executive bonus list. I have a deletion to make.”
Chapter 2
Lindsay
“You can’t just take any job you see.” Grant frowns.
“I can, and I will.” I stretch out, my hands magically existing in both the bedroom and kitchen of our tiny New York apartment at the same time.
“I can make rent this month.” He shimmies out of the bathroom.
“I can’t expect you to pay all the time. Besides, you can’t afford it.”
He plops onto his futon bed and sighs. “I’m going to nail this audition for that Midsummer Night’s Dream reboot show that’s off-off-off Broadway. They need a singing, dancing fairy? I’m their guy.” He nods, then yawns.
“Exactly. You need to focus on that instead of worrying about me failing at life.” I flip through job postings on my phone. “And you work too much. All these shifts at what, is it four restaurants now?”
He groans. “I’ve already worn out the bottoms on that last pair of sneaks I bought a couple months ago.”
“That’s how you stay so lean. All those tables. Dantonio’s was tiny, so I didn’t have far to go to serve the customers.”
“Did he really grab your ass?” Grant runs a hand through his platinum-blond hair.
“Yeah.” I sigh. Maybe I shouldn’t have quit. Then again, after I slapped Mr. Dantonio and told the nearest guests what he’d done, I probably wasn’t going to be named employee of the month anyway.
“I want to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. I could tell he was a sleaze the second I walked into that place. Pizza was good, though.”
“It was,” I agree and pat my belly. “And the free pizza every time I worked wasn’t so bad, either. Though I may need to go up another size the next time I can afford clothes.”
“Cushion for the pushin’ as they say.” He lets his false New York accent go and lapses back into the country twang of our Georgia hometown.
I keep scrolling. An acting job isn’t happening. Not a real one, anyway. I’ve been an extra plenty of times, but a speaking role is my dream. It’s why I’m in this huge, rude, delightful, ugly, beautiful city. Grant and I made a promise to each other we’d get out of the backwoods. He’d be famous on the stage, and I’d be on the screen.
The band starts up at the dive next door, some sort of drum-heavy metal that I’ve managed to get used to over the past few months.
“Ah, culture,” Grant says and presses his pillow over his head.
I keep scrolling, refusing to do another stint in the Times Square tourist magnets or anything that looks remotely sketchy. My finger slides up my screen so fast that I almost miss the Marley’s ad. I stop and click on it.
Holiday Help Wanted: Santa’s elves and Santa. Acting experience preferred. Good with children a plus. Knowledge of digital photo equipment and cash wrap required. $20 an hour plus tips. Must be jolly. Apply online.
“Steady holiday work, decent pay, and it’s an acting gig. Yes.”
“Found something?” Grant mumbles, already half asleep.
“I think so. I’m going to be an elf.”
“Sounds good, Buddy.”
“‘Elf’ puns.” I roll my eyes.
“Something-something singing loud for all to hear. . .” He fades off into a snore.
“It’s the fastest way to spread Christmas cheer,” I whisper to myself and click the apply button. A few taps later, and I lie back and pull my blankets—all three of them—over me, then reach for the space heater, tugging it closer to me now that Grant’s asleep. He won’t miss it. Half the time, he passes out with nothing more than his coat draped over him. Then I have to tuck him in and pile him with his granny’s quilts. He works too hard. Always trying to keep us going and following our big dreams. But now it’s my turn to contribute.
“An elf. For Marley’s.” I close my eyes and recall the big department store. We didn’t have one anywhere near our town in rural Georgia, but I visited the one in Atlanta a couple of times when I was a kid. The place was utterly magical. Big Christmas trees, bright lights, and they gave every child who visited with Santa a free photo and gift. Being an elf for the flagship New York store will be amazing.
I just know it.
**************************************** **************************************** ****************************************
The staff room at the back of Marley’s smells like coffee and Clorox. Not a wholly unpleasant scent, but not the faintly perfumed atmosphere the rest of the store presents.
I sit at a large round table, the top gray and scratched in a few places. But it’s clean. A woman in a neat skirt suit sits across from me and reviews my application.
“So, you’ve worked in quite a few capacities.” Ms. Martin looks up and blinks slowly. She’s probably twenty years older than me, but she carries herself with a nervous energy that reminds me of someone far younger. She’s like a loaded spring with resting bitch face and a penchant for Chanel No. 5.
“Yes. Restaurants, bars, shops.” I smile. “I’m very New York on that score.”
“Your accent isn’t.” She says it with a slight smile, but I can’t tell if it’s a barb or just an observation.
I roll with it. “I’m a Georgia transplant. But I’ve lived here for almost a year.”
“Figured you’d be on the big screen by now?” She reels off some of my gigs as an extra. “Seems like you’ve had every part except one where you actually get to … act.”
Now I knowshe’s just being rude. If she thinks she’s the first person in this town who’s condescended to me based on my accent, I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell her.
Even so, I keep my smile fixed on my face. Because I need this job. Because Grant needs to be able to take fewer shifts so he can practice and get that role in the Shakespeare show.
“I want to act, yes. Big screen, small screen, any screen really. But I don’t mind starting small. And what’s smaller than an elf?”
She nods, the chill not falling from her entirely, but at least I seem to be making progress. “I think you’ll be a good fit. Someone the basic clientele can identify with and the higher end customers can be amused by.”
Way to damn me with faint praise, lady. I think that was a line in one of the plays I helped Grant rehearse for, but I can’t remember.
“We will, of course, provide an appropriate costume.” She looks with open disapproval at my only-slightly-wrinkled blue top. Thank heavens she can’t see my red combat boots beneath the table.
“When can you start?” She makes some notes on the top of my application. “Photos with Santa begin on Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving?” I swallow hard.
She cuts her eyes to me. “Is that a problem?”
I waver for a moment, thoughts of my mom’s angry face dancing through my head. But dad will understand how important this is for me. I need the money, and I need to give Grant a chance to live his dream. Dad will just have to explain all that while I’m safely a thousand miles away.
“I can start Thanksgiving. Sure.”
“Good.” She turns the page on my application with an irritated flick of her wrist. “Now that word has come from Mr. Marley that we allhave to work the holiday, I expect you to fall in line with those expectations, even if you’re just holiday help.”
“Wouldn’t want to disappoint Mr. Marley, now would we?” I do my best commiserating chuckle.
She turns her birdlike eyes back to me. “No. You wouldn’t.”
I bet he's old and mean and positively pickled from swimming in oodles of cash his whole life. If I see him, I'm going to hide in the ladies room.
Standing, she motions toward the door. “Take a left and walk down to HR. Sandy will get you set up in the system.”
“Thanks.” I’m internally squeeing in spite of Ms. Martin’s disdainful look.
“And Ms. Spring?”
“Yes.” I hesitate in the hall.
“Watch what you say about Mr. Marley. He likes to inspect this store frequently, and there has never been a single visit when he hasn’t fired someone. Take care that someone isn’t you.” She turns back to the table and shuffles some papers, then calls “next.” Another elf hopeful trudges past me as I hurry toward HR, feeling like Charlie with the golden ticket to the chocolate factory.
Turning the corner, I run right into someone, my progress halted as if I’d run into a wall.
“Yikes.” I steady myself on the man, grabbing his forearms as he grips me in return. “Wow. You work out.” I look up into the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“If you’re finished falling all over yourself, I’d like to continue on my way.” Is that a sneer? Is that what he’s doing? Sneeringat me?
“Whoa, look buddy, I don’t know who the hell you think you are. Just because you have a nice suit and gorgeous eyes and lordy you aretall and have a great, great body, and that hair—is that like black or blue black? It’s so, so shiny.” I shake myself to try and stop the verbal diarrhea. As Mama would say, the horses are already out of the barn on that score. “Doesn’t matter. As I was, um, saying—”
“As you were saying?” He lifts a brow, the sneer still in place.
“I was saying…” What was I saying?
He gives me an apprising glance, one that sends a tingle to parts south. “If you’re done, I’d like to be on my way.”
“Then be on your way. Makes no difference to me,” I huff. Why am I huffing? Are there like, toxic fumes in the air here? Is that why I’m suddenly acting 15 and confused?
He steps closer, and I have to crane my head back to look into those beautiful green eyes. “You’ll have to let go of me first.”
“Oh.” I laugh the laugh of the utterly embarrassed. “Oh, right.” I disengage from his forearms, but not before I notice that he’d still been gripping me, too. “You’re free. Totally free. Go on your way. Sell some cologne or designer goods to the rich folks. You definitely look the part. Like that guy from ‘American Psycho,’ who was that?”
“Christian Bale,” he offers.
“Yes. Like him. But dark hair and those crazy green eyes.” I stare up at him, completely unable to turn off the foolishness that runs from my mouth like water from a well.
“Thank you for these highly insightful observations, Ms. …” He lets it linger, a question in the air.
“Spring,” I offer.
“Ms. Spring, where are you going?”
Wherever you’re going. “HR.”
“Oh, you work here now?”
“Yep. Just got hired.”
“Congratulations.” He says the word, but somehow it sounds like a threat more than a high-five. Sexy is what it is. Maybe living in New York has twisted what I find attractive, because his demeanor isn’t a turn off. Just the opposite. Then he steps around me, and I get a whiff of his cologne. I think it’s called “rich, hot male with a thick dick and tongue skills.” Actually, I’m certainit’s called that.
I turn as he strides away toward the main area of the store. Why is he walking away from me when I really, really want to stare up at him some more? So, of course, desperately, I call in my most helpful tone, “Oh, um, watch out for that Mr. Marley. I hear he’s a real hardass.”
He pauses and turns his head just a bit, giving me the sexiest side-eye I’ve ever seen, then resumes his steps toward the showroom.
“That man.” I take a deep breath and try to calm my ladybits down by informing them that no, he didn’t ask for my number, and no, we can’t stalk him, find out where he lives, and show up there wearing nothing but a trench coat and a smile, mostly because it’s probably some sort of a felony.
His cologne still lingers and whispers ‘rich and sexy’ in notes of mahogany and money as I hurry toward HR. When I enter, a woman is crying to my right, her face in her hands as an older man with a white mustache tries to comfort her with awkward—yet gentle—pats on the back.
“It’s not your fault, Becca. It truly isn’t. You know how he is. He comes and looks for someone to find fault with. Today, it just happened to be you.”
“Oh, no.” I sit next to her and drape my arm over her shoulders. “Was it that Mr. Marley guy? Is he here?”
She nods and sniffles, too distraught to even ask who I am or what I’m doing here. I’ve been sacked enough times to know the sting, though I admit I don’t take it nearly as hard anymore. Not like poor Becca here.
“There are so many amazing jobs out there. I promise. This is just a bump in the road to success.”
“Fired.” She sobs. “Fired.”
“It’s okay. Really.” I pull her into my arms, letting her rest her head on my big boobs. I don’t know why, but they have a calming effect on women. Men, not so much.
But eventually she stops sniffling and the white-haired man gives me a thankful look.
“Now, cheer up, Becca. You’re going to land on your feet. I just know it. Plenty of spots out there. And maybe they’ll realize you’re irreplaceable and bring you back.”
“You think?”
“Sure. A gal like you? They’ll be cursing the day you walked out the door. No way to find another worker as good as you.”
“Yeah.” She sits up a little straighter. “You’re right. They’ll miss me when I’m gone. Irreplaceable, like you said.” She wipes her mascara-stained cheeks and peers at me. “Who are you?”
“Oh, um … New hire,” I whisper.
Her face crumples, and back on the boobs she goes.
“You can’t just take any job you see.” Grant frowns.
“I can, and I will.” I stretch out, my hands magically existing in both the bedroom and kitchen of our tiny New York apartment at the same time.
“I can make rent this month.” He shimmies out of the bathroom.
“I can’t expect you to pay all the time. Besides, you can’t afford it.”
He plops onto his futon bed and sighs. “I’m going to nail this audition for that Midsummer Night’s Dream reboot show that’s off-off-off Broadway. They need a singing, dancing fairy? I’m their guy.” He nods, then yawns.
“Exactly. You need to focus on that instead of worrying about me failing at life.” I flip through job postings on my phone. “And you work too much. All these shifts at what, is it four restaurants now?”
He groans. “I’ve already worn out the bottoms on that last pair of sneaks I bought a couple months ago.”
“That’s how you stay so lean. All those tables. Dantonio’s was tiny, so I didn’t have far to go to serve the customers.”
“Did he really grab your ass?” Grant runs a hand through his platinum-blond hair.
“Yeah.” I sigh. Maybe I shouldn’t have quit. Then again, after I slapped Mr. Dantonio and told the nearest guests what he’d done, I probably wasn’t going to be named employee of the month anyway.
“I want to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. I could tell he was a sleaze the second I walked into that place. Pizza was good, though.”
“It was,” I agree and pat my belly. “And the free pizza every time I worked wasn’t so bad, either. Though I may need to go up another size the next time I can afford clothes.”
“Cushion for the pushin’ as they say.” He lets his false New York accent go and lapses back into the country twang of our Georgia hometown.
I keep scrolling. An acting job isn’t happening. Not a real one, anyway. I’ve been an extra plenty of times, but a speaking role is my dream. It’s why I’m in this huge, rude, delightful, ugly, beautiful city. Grant and I made a promise to each other we’d get out of the backwoods. He’d be famous on the stage, and I’d be on the screen.
The band starts up at the dive next door, some sort of drum-heavy metal that I’ve managed to get used to over the past few months.
“Ah, culture,” Grant says and presses his pillow over his head.
I keep scrolling, refusing to do another stint in the Times Square tourist magnets or anything that looks remotely sketchy. My finger slides up my screen so fast that I almost miss the Marley’s ad. I stop and click on it.
Holiday Help Wanted: Santa’s elves and Santa. Acting experience preferred. Good with children a plus. Knowledge of digital photo equipment and cash wrap required. $20 an hour plus tips. Must be jolly. Apply online.
“Steady holiday work, decent pay, and it’s an acting gig. Yes.”
“Found something?” Grant mumbles, already half asleep.
“I think so. I’m going to be an elf.”
“Sounds good, Buddy.”
“‘Elf’ puns.” I roll my eyes.
“Something-something singing loud for all to hear. . .” He fades off into a snore.
“It’s the fastest way to spread Christmas cheer,” I whisper to myself and click the apply button. A few taps later, and I lie back and pull my blankets—all three of them—over me, then reach for the space heater, tugging it closer to me now that Grant’s asleep. He won’t miss it. Half the time, he passes out with nothing more than his coat draped over him. Then I have to tuck him in and pile him with his granny’s quilts. He works too hard. Always trying to keep us going and following our big dreams. But now it’s my turn to contribute.
“An elf. For Marley’s.” I close my eyes and recall the big department store. We didn’t have one anywhere near our town in rural Georgia, but I visited the one in Atlanta a couple of times when I was a kid. The place was utterly magical. Big Christmas trees, bright lights, and they gave every child who visited with Santa a free photo and gift. Being an elf for the flagship New York store will be amazing.
I just know it.
**************************************** **************************************** ****************************************
The staff room at the back of Marley’s smells like coffee and Clorox. Not a wholly unpleasant scent, but not the faintly perfumed atmosphere the rest of the store presents.
I sit at a large round table, the top gray and scratched in a few places. But it’s clean. A woman in a neat skirt suit sits across from me and reviews my application.
“So, you’ve worked in quite a few capacities.” Ms. Martin looks up and blinks slowly. She’s probably twenty years older than me, but she carries herself with a nervous energy that reminds me of someone far younger. She’s like a loaded spring with resting bitch face and a penchant for Chanel No. 5.
“Yes. Restaurants, bars, shops.” I smile. “I’m very New York on that score.”
“Your accent isn’t.” She says it with a slight smile, but I can’t tell if it’s a barb or just an observation.
I roll with it. “I’m a Georgia transplant. But I’ve lived here for almost a year.”
“Figured you’d be on the big screen by now?” She reels off some of my gigs as an extra. “Seems like you’ve had every part except one where you actually get to … act.”
Now I knowshe’s just being rude. If she thinks she’s the first person in this town who’s condescended to me based on my accent, I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell her.
Even so, I keep my smile fixed on my face. Because I need this job. Because Grant needs to be able to take fewer shifts so he can practice and get that role in the Shakespeare show.
“I want to act, yes. Big screen, small screen, any screen really. But I don’t mind starting small. And what’s smaller than an elf?”
She nods, the chill not falling from her entirely, but at least I seem to be making progress. “I think you’ll be a good fit. Someone the basic clientele can identify with and the higher end customers can be amused by.”
Way to damn me with faint praise, lady. I think that was a line in one of the plays I helped Grant rehearse for, but I can’t remember.
“We will, of course, provide an appropriate costume.” She looks with open disapproval at my only-slightly-wrinkled blue top. Thank heavens she can’t see my red combat boots beneath the table.
“When can you start?” She makes some notes on the top of my application. “Photos with Santa begin on Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving?” I swallow hard.
She cuts her eyes to me. “Is that a problem?”
I waver for a moment, thoughts of my mom’s angry face dancing through my head. But dad will understand how important this is for me. I need the money, and I need to give Grant a chance to live his dream. Dad will just have to explain all that while I’m safely a thousand miles away.
“I can start Thanksgiving. Sure.”
“Good.” She turns the page on my application with an irritated flick of her wrist. “Now that word has come from Mr. Marley that we allhave to work the holiday, I expect you to fall in line with those expectations, even if you’re just holiday help.”
“Wouldn’t want to disappoint Mr. Marley, now would we?” I do my best commiserating chuckle.
She turns her birdlike eyes back to me. “No. You wouldn’t.”
I bet he's old and mean and positively pickled from swimming in oodles of cash his whole life. If I see him, I'm going to hide in the ladies room.
Standing, she motions toward the door. “Take a left and walk down to HR. Sandy will get you set up in the system.”
“Thanks.” I’m internally squeeing in spite of Ms. Martin’s disdainful look.
“And Ms. Spring?”
“Yes.” I hesitate in the hall.
“Watch what you say about Mr. Marley. He likes to inspect this store frequently, and there has never been a single visit when he hasn’t fired someone. Take care that someone isn’t you.” She turns back to the table and shuffles some papers, then calls “next.” Another elf hopeful trudges past me as I hurry toward HR, feeling like Charlie with the golden ticket to the chocolate factory.
Turning the corner, I run right into someone, my progress halted as if I’d run into a wall.
“Yikes.” I steady myself on the man, grabbing his forearms as he grips me in return. “Wow. You work out.” I look up into the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“If you’re finished falling all over yourself, I’d like to continue on my way.” Is that a sneer? Is that what he’s doing? Sneeringat me?
“Whoa, look buddy, I don’t know who the hell you think you are. Just because you have a nice suit and gorgeous eyes and lordy you aretall and have a great, great body, and that hair—is that like black or blue black? It’s so, so shiny.” I shake myself to try and stop the verbal diarrhea. As Mama would say, the horses are already out of the barn on that score. “Doesn’t matter. As I was, um, saying—”
“As you were saying?” He lifts a brow, the sneer still in place.
“I was saying…” What was I saying?
He gives me an apprising glance, one that sends a tingle to parts south. “If you’re done, I’d like to be on my way.”
“Then be on your way. Makes no difference to me,” I huff. Why am I huffing? Are there like, toxic fumes in the air here? Is that why I’m suddenly acting 15 and confused?
He steps closer, and I have to crane my head back to look into those beautiful green eyes. “You’ll have to let go of me first.”
“Oh.” I laugh the laugh of the utterly embarrassed. “Oh, right.” I disengage from his forearms, but not before I notice that he’d still been gripping me, too. “You’re free. Totally free. Go on your way. Sell some cologne or designer goods to the rich folks. You definitely look the part. Like that guy from ‘American Psycho,’ who was that?”
“Christian Bale,” he offers.
“Yes. Like him. But dark hair and those crazy green eyes.” I stare up at him, completely unable to turn off the foolishness that runs from my mouth like water from a well.
“Thank you for these highly insightful observations, Ms. …” He lets it linger, a question in the air.
“Spring,” I offer.
“Ms. Spring, where are you going?”
Wherever you’re going. “HR.”
“Oh, you work here now?”
“Yep. Just got hired.”
“Congratulations.” He says the word, but somehow it sounds like a threat more than a high-five. Sexy is what it is. Maybe living in New York has twisted what I find attractive, because his demeanor isn’t a turn off. Just the opposite. Then he steps around me, and I get a whiff of his cologne. I think it’s called “rich, hot male with a thick dick and tongue skills.” Actually, I’m certainit’s called that.
I turn as he strides away toward the main area of the store. Why is he walking away from me when I really, really want to stare up at him some more? So, of course, desperately, I call in my most helpful tone, “Oh, um, watch out for that Mr. Marley. I hear he’s a real hardass.”
He pauses and turns his head just a bit, giving me the sexiest side-eye I’ve ever seen, then resumes his steps toward the showroom.
“That man.” I take a deep breath and try to calm my ladybits down by informing them that no, he didn’t ask for my number, and no, we can’t stalk him, find out where he lives, and show up there wearing nothing but a trench coat and a smile, mostly because it’s probably some sort of a felony.
His cologne still lingers and whispers ‘rich and sexy’ in notes of mahogany and money as I hurry toward HR. When I enter, a woman is crying to my right, her face in her hands as an older man with a white mustache tries to comfort her with awkward—yet gentle—pats on the back.
“It’s not your fault, Becca. It truly isn’t. You know how he is. He comes and looks for someone to find fault with. Today, it just happened to be you.”
“Oh, no.” I sit next to her and drape my arm over her shoulders. “Was it that Mr. Marley guy? Is he here?”
She nods and sniffles, too distraught to even ask who I am or what I’m doing here. I’ve been sacked enough times to know the sting, though I admit I don’t take it nearly as hard anymore. Not like poor Becca here.
“There are so many amazing jobs out there. I promise. This is just a bump in the road to success.”
“Fired.” She sobs. “Fired.”
“It’s okay. Really.” I pull her into my arms, letting her rest her head on my big boobs. I don’t know why, but they have a calming effect on women. Men, not so much.
But eventually she stops sniffling and the white-haired man gives me a thankful look.
“Now, cheer up, Becca. You’re going to land on your feet. I just know it. Plenty of spots out there. And maybe they’ll realize you’re irreplaceable and bring you back.”
“You think?”
“Sure. A gal like you? They’ll be cursing the day you walked out the door. No way to find another worker as good as you.”
“Yeah.” She sits up a little straighter. “You’re right. They’ll miss me when I’m gone. Irreplaceable, like you said.” She wipes her mascara-stained cheeks and peers at me. “Who are you?”
“Oh, um … New hire,” I whisper.
Her face crumples, and back on the boobs she goes.
Chapter 3
Crane
Firing the perfume saleswoman perked up my morning, but meeting my newest hire was an added bonus. The way she rambled, the silly-yet-sexy clothes, and the curves that had my mouth watering—she’ll be a fun one to torment. I wonder how long she’ll last?
I stride through the men’s department, everyone already on high alert as they stand with their backs straight or fawn over customers. It’s not unheard of for me to fire two or three in a single day, depending on my mood. But, lucky for them, I ran into that sexy brunette. She’s put me in a rather gracious mood. I think I’ll stick to the one firing and perhaps only dress down a handful of employees.
They fear me, but I can sense their anger percolating beneath the surface. Apparently, working on Thanksgiving has caused quite a mass of grumbling from my workforce. That’s why I stopped by today, to remind them that I am the one in charge and they are nothing but names on a tally sheet.
“Mr. Marley.” One of the salesmen nods respectfully as I walk past. I remember his face. He’s been here for probably two decades, but I still don’t know his name. I don’t need to.
I do the circuit around the store, then find myself returning to the administrative section. The woman isn’t in the hall this time, and when I turn the corner toward HR, I don’t see her there, either. The girl I fired is still blubbering, so I turn on my heel and decide to call it a day. There are plenty of people at corporate in need of my guidance, and I’ve terrorized the staff enough . . . for now.
My thoughts stray back to the woman. The girl? She didn’t look old enough to drink. Far too young for me. I may be a young CEO, but I still have ten years on her. Ten years of strength and knowledge, something a woman like her might appreciate. She certainly seemed to appreciate me. By the way she nibbled her lip as she looked up at me, the warmth in her cheeks and the touch of her hands on me—she felt it, too. After all, I’m not an unattractive man. I’ve been told my nose is too aristocratic and my eyes are too intense, but clearly my mother didn’t know what she was talking about. Plenty of women have thrown themselves at me over the years. But this one is different. Why? I don’t know … yet.
What department will she be working in? I could ask in HR, but I don’t. I keep walking through home goods and out to the waiting car, then tell my driver to take me to the office. Everything gets uploaded to the Marley’s system when we get a new hire. I’ll be able to find out all her details, right down to her address and phone number.
Maybe I’ll turn my usual new hire pressure up a notch for her, see how long she can take the heat. After all, I’m not here to coddle anyone. Though coddling isn’t the word I’d use for what I want to do to that woman. No, indeed not.
**************************************** **************************************** ****************************************
“Lindsay Fairchild.” I let her name roll off my tongue as I sip my bourbon. Generally, drinking during office hours is strictly prohibited, but I break the rules this one time. The corner office comes with perks.
Clicking through her file and application, I see she hasn’t lived in the city long and is originally from some Georgia backwater. Makes sense. Her voice had a pleasant lilt to it, southern but not overwhelmingly so. Only a hint of peach, enough to make me want more.
I look up her address on Google Maps. She lives in a sad building, likely in a one-bedroom mousetrap. Is she there now? I stare at the building.
“Mr. Marley?” Beverly stands just inside my office door.
“Yes?”
“I called but you didn’t pick up,” she chides lightly.
“You did?” I glance at my phone.
“Distracted?” She crosses her arms. “That’s not like you.”
“I’m not distracted.” I set my glass down and click away from Google Maps.
“Good to know. Your brother is here.”
“Why?” I down my bourbon in one gulp.
“Probably wants money. You know, the usual.”
“No.” I straighten my suit coat. “The answer is no.”
“You should give it to him.” She rests her hand on the door handle. “It’s the only way to get rid of him.” She pauses. “Unless, of course, you’d like to keep him around instead of—”
“That’ll be all, Beverly. Send him in.” I glare at her. My brother doesn’t want to work, doesn’t want to put in the time and effort to keep the Marley’s stores profitable. He’d rather fritter away his trust fund on women and parties, which is fine by me until he comes looking for a handout when his monthly allotment is up.
“Crane, how’s it going, big brother?” He smiles as he walks in. Mother always said he was the handsome one, his open countenance and blond hair marking him the golden child.
“You’ve used up your funds for the month already?” I shake my head.
“No, actually, I haven’t.” He plops down into the chair across from me. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been managing my money quite well over the past year.”
“So, you don’t want anything?”
He gives me the grin that charmed my parents and plenty of women over the years. “Well, I didn’t say that.”
“I’m doing some very important business, Henry, so get to it.” I click on one of the tabs and pull up Lindsay’s Instagram. She has lots of photos of her on stage, other people on stage, and far too many with a young man. I’ll have to look into that. She’s too young to be getting in with the wrong crowd. I can help her with that.
“Crane?” Henry’s leaning forward, his light blue eyes on me.
“What?”
He narrows his eyes at my computer screen, then jumps to his feet and runs around my desk.
I hit the escape key but not fast enough, because he crows behind me, “A girl! Oh my god. I’ve never seen you miss beat, but today there’s something off, and look what it is. A girl! And you’re over here stalking her like a fucking psycho.” He laughs and claps me on the back. “I love it.”
I turn and stand, scowling at him. “What I do is none of your affair.”
“Don’t get mad, bro.” He holds up his hands. “I think it’s a good thing. Seriously.”
“It’s nothing. Just checking up on a new hire.”
“Uh huh.” He raises a brow. “You look at the Instagram accounts of all new hires?”
“Just ask for what you want, then get out.” I point toward my door.
He walks back to his chair, still smiling. “So sensitive.”
I move around my desk, on the verge of violence.
He laughs. “Okay, okay. Look, I only want two things. First, I’ve gotten some calls from employees, and they’re upset about the whole ‘working on Thanksgiving’ thing.”
“Give me their names, and they’ll be gone in the morning. Next.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He scrubs his jaw. “Can you put the hardass demeanor aside for just a minute?”
“It’s not a demeanor. It’s who I am.”
“Okay, sure, but these people have families, and they want to see them on Thanksgiving. Can you reconsider that, or at the very least, Christmas Eve?”
“No. What is the second item?”
He sighs, the longsuffering sound my mother used to make when she couldn’t get me to compromise. “Well, the second thing was, can I do the official Christmas holiday opening with you?”
“What? Why?” I cock my head. He’s never wanted to take part in the Marley’s holiday tradition of opening the store by lighting the Christmas tree in front of a crowd of eager shoppers. This year, it’ll happen on Thanksgiving instead of Black Friday, and I’m doing the honors.
“I just figured maybe it’s time I took more of an interest in the stores. Dad always wanted me to be apart of it. But I was too busy—”
“Carousing and starring on Page Six?” I fill in for him.
“Something like that, yeah.” He steps toward me. “Dad wanted us to run these stores together, as brothers. And now that I’m a little older, I see why. Family’s important. Now that Mom and Dad are gone, we only have each other. And I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but—”
“We’ve neverseen eye-to-eye.”
“Right.” He nods. “I mean, yeah. But maybe that can change starting with the Christmas season opening. What do you say?” His eyes are earnest, his words well-meant, but he doesn’t have what it takes to run this business. He’s too soft, too kind. But I can’t simply tell him that. After all, I’ve been telling him that for years, but here he is, thinking he can wear the big-boy pants. So, instead, I’ll show him.
“You want to open with me on Thanksgiving?”
“Yes.”
“And work here in the office on running the stores?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s time, Crane. I need to dosomething instead of just passing the time.” He’s eager, his posture tense. This is something he truly wants.
The sadist in me wants to say no and watch him crumble. But I’m playing the long game. Once he gets a bellyful of real work, he’ll change his mind. So, I nod. “You can open with me on Thanksgiving, but I expect you in the office starting tomorrow morning at eight. Understand?”
He smiles, his white teeth and dimples still maddeningly perfect. “Thanks, Crane. You won’t regret this.” He pulls me in for an awkward hug, then he steps away, cockiness back in his twinkling eyes. “Now, tell me about the girl.”
“Fuck off.” I wave him to the door, and he jogs off with a bounce in his steps at winning his spot at the Christmas season opening.
Henry was right about one thing: I won’t regret it. But he certainly will.
Firing the perfume saleswoman perked up my morning, but meeting my newest hire was an added bonus. The way she rambled, the silly-yet-sexy clothes, and the curves that had my mouth watering—she’ll be a fun one to torment. I wonder how long she’ll last?
I stride through the men’s department, everyone already on high alert as they stand with their backs straight or fawn over customers. It’s not unheard of for me to fire two or three in a single day, depending on my mood. But, lucky for them, I ran into that sexy brunette. She’s put me in a rather gracious mood. I think I’ll stick to the one firing and perhaps only dress down a handful of employees.
They fear me, but I can sense their anger percolating beneath the surface. Apparently, working on Thanksgiving has caused quite a mass of grumbling from my workforce. That’s why I stopped by today, to remind them that I am the one in charge and they are nothing but names on a tally sheet.
“Mr. Marley.” One of the salesmen nods respectfully as I walk past. I remember his face. He’s been here for probably two decades, but I still don’t know his name. I don’t need to.
I do the circuit around the store, then find myself returning to the administrative section. The woman isn’t in the hall this time, and when I turn the corner toward HR, I don’t see her there, either. The girl I fired is still blubbering, so I turn on my heel and decide to call it a day. There are plenty of people at corporate in need of my guidance, and I’ve terrorized the staff enough . . . for now.
My thoughts stray back to the woman. The girl? She didn’t look old enough to drink. Far too young for me. I may be a young CEO, but I still have ten years on her. Ten years of strength and knowledge, something a woman like her might appreciate. She certainly seemed to appreciate me. By the way she nibbled her lip as she looked up at me, the warmth in her cheeks and the touch of her hands on me—she felt it, too. After all, I’m not an unattractive man. I’ve been told my nose is too aristocratic and my eyes are too intense, but clearly my mother didn’t know what she was talking about. Plenty of women have thrown themselves at me over the years. But this one is different. Why? I don’t know … yet.
What department will she be working in? I could ask in HR, but I don’t. I keep walking through home goods and out to the waiting car, then tell my driver to take me to the office. Everything gets uploaded to the Marley’s system when we get a new hire. I’ll be able to find out all her details, right down to her address and phone number.
Maybe I’ll turn my usual new hire pressure up a notch for her, see how long she can take the heat. After all, I’m not here to coddle anyone. Though coddling isn’t the word I’d use for what I want to do to that woman. No, indeed not.
**************************************** **************************************** ****************************************
“Lindsay Fairchild.” I let her name roll off my tongue as I sip my bourbon. Generally, drinking during office hours is strictly prohibited, but I break the rules this one time. The corner office comes with perks.
Clicking through her file and application, I see she hasn’t lived in the city long and is originally from some Georgia backwater. Makes sense. Her voice had a pleasant lilt to it, southern but not overwhelmingly so. Only a hint of peach, enough to make me want more.
I look up her address on Google Maps. She lives in a sad building, likely in a one-bedroom mousetrap. Is she there now? I stare at the building.
“Mr. Marley?” Beverly stands just inside my office door.
“Yes?”
“I called but you didn’t pick up,” she chides lightly.
“You did?” I glance at my phone.
“Distracted?” She crosses her arms. “That’s not like you.”
“I’m not distracted.” I set my glass down and click away from Google Maps.
“Good to know. Your brother is here.”
“Why?” I down my bourbon in one gulp.
“Probably wants money. You know, the usual.”
“No.” I straighten my suit coat. “The answer is no.”
“You should give it to him.” She rests her hand on the door handle. “It’s the only way to get rid of him.” She pauses. “Unless, of course, you’d like to keep him around instead of—”
“That’ll be all, Beverly. Send him in.” I glare at her. My brother doesn’t want to work, doesn’t want to put in the time and effort to keep the Marley’s stores profitable. He’d rather fritter away his trust fund on women and parties, which is fine by me until he comes looking for a handout when his monthly allotment is up.
“Crane, how’s it going, big brother?” He smiles as he walks in. Mother always said he was the handsome one, his open countenance and blond hair marking him the golden child.
“You’ve used up your funds for the month already?” I shake my head.
“No, actually, I haven’t.” He plops down into the chair across from me. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been managing my money quite well over the past year.”
“So, you don’t want anything?”
He gives me the grin that charmed my parents and plenty of women over the years. “Well, I didn’t say that.”
“I’m doing some very important business, Henry, so get to it.” I click on one of the tabs and pull up Lindsay’s Instagram. She has lots of photos of her on stage, other people on stage, and far too many with a young man. I’ll have to look into that. She’s too young to be getting in with the wrong crowd. I can help her with that.
“Crane?” Henry’s leaning forward, his light blue eyes on me.
“What?”
He narrows his eyes at my computer screen, then jumps to his feet and runs around my desk.
I hit the escape key but not fast enough, because he crows behind me, “A girl! Oh my god. I’ve never seen you miss beat, but today there’s something off, and look what it is. A girl! And you’re over here stalking her like a fucking psycho.” He laughs and claps me on the back. “I love it.”
I turn and stand, scowling at him. “What I do is none of your affair.”
“Don’t get mad, bro.” He holds up his hands. “I think it’s a good thing. Seriously.”
“It’s nothing. Just checking up on a new hire.”
“Uh huh.” He raises a brow. “You look at the Instagram accounts of all new hires?”
“Just ask for what you want, then get out.” I point toward my door.
He walks back to his chair, still smiling. “So sensitive.”
I move around my desk, on the verge of violence.
He laughs. “Okay, okay. Look, I only want two things. First, I’ve gotten some calls from employees, and they’re upset about the whole ‘working on Thanksgiving’ thing.”
“Give me their names, and they’ll be gone in the morning. Next.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He scrubs his jaw. “Can you put the hardass demeanor aside for just a minute?”
“It’s not a demeanor. It’s who I am.”
“Okay, sure, but these people have families, and they want to see them on Thanksgiving. Can you reconsider that, or at the very least, Christmas Eve?”
“No. What is the second item?”
He sighs, the longsuffering sound my mother used to make when she couldn’t get me to compromise. “Well, the second thing was, can I do the official Christmas holiday opening with you?”
“What? Why?” I cock my head. He’s never wanted to take part in the Marley’s holiday tradition of opening the store by lighting the Christmas tree in front of a crowd of eager shoppers. This year, it’ll happen on Thanksgiving instead of Black Friday, and I’m doing the honors.
“I just figured maybe it’s time I took more of an interest in the stores. Dad always wanted me to be apart of it. But I was too busy—”
“Carousing and starring on Page Six?” I fill in for him.
“Something like that, yeah.” He steps toward me. “Dad wanted us to run these stores together, as brothers. And now that I’m a little older, I see why. Family’s important. Now that Mom and Dad are gone, we only have each other. And I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but—”
“We’ve neverseen eye-to-eye.”
“Right.” He nods. “I mean, yeah. But maybe that can change starting with the Christmas season opening. What do you say?” His eyes are earnest, his words well-meant, but he doesn’t have what it takes to run this business. He’s too soft, too kind. But I can’t simply tell him that. After all, I’ve been telling him that for years, but here he is, thinking he can wear the big-boy pants. So, instead, I’ll show him.
“You want to open with me on Thanksgiving?”
“Yes.”
“And work here in the office on running the stores?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s time, Crane. I need to dosomething instead of just passing the time.” He’s eager, his posture tense. This is something he truly wants.
The sadist in me wants to say no and watch him crumble. But I’m playing the long game. Once he gets a bellyful of real work, he’ll change his mind. So, I nod. “You can open with me on Thanksgiving, but I expect you in the office starting tomorrow morning at eight. Understand?”
He smiles, his white teeth and dimples still maddeningly perfect. “Thanks, Crane. You won’t regret this.” He pulls me in for an awkward hug, then he steps away, cockiness back in his twinkling eyes. “Now, tell me about the girl.”
“Fuck off.” I wave him to the door, and he jogs off with a bounce in his steps at winning his spot at the Christmas season opening.
Henry was right about one thing: I won’t regret it. But he certainly will.
Chapter 4
Lindsay
“Break a leg.” Grant waves as we part ways in front of Marley’s. He’s off to the subway and a server job while I have to maneuver through a growing crowd that lines the sidewalk and spills into the department store.
“Wow.” I didn’t expect this many people on Thanksgiving, but they’re all here. They must have gotten up early, popped the turkey in the oven, and set out to get their shop on. Kids are everywhere, their parents trying to keep them calm as they ooh and aah over the displays and the big, plush seat that’s waiting for Santa.
A huge Christmas tree sits in the center of the store, and it’s decorated to the hilt but not lit. I guess when the store opens right at 8, there’ll be a ceremony before the shopping carnage begins.
Once in the back hallway, I see Ms. Martin. “Hey, good morn—”
“You’re late!” she snaps.
“It’s not even 8 yet.” I hurry to her side and she pulls me along the hall past HR.
“You have to get your costume on. I don’t have time to help. Mr. Marley will need me out front to assist with the tree lighting.”
“He’s here again?” I swallow hard.
“Do your job, and you’ll be fine.” She pushes me into a stock room at the end of the corridor. “Get your elf costume on and come out front. The other elves are already waiting.”
“Where’s Santa?” I ask, but she’s already hurrying back through the door.
“Okay, sure.” I peer at the stacks of boxes, discarded tinsel, Valentine’s décor, Halloween items, and holiday sale signs. “This is a mess.” I follow the path through the junk toward the back, then veer right when I see a small changing area with curtains stretched across tiny stalls. A huge pile of white stuffing leaks from a large Rudolph plush, as if someone gutted the poor guy and left him behind. There’s a noise, like maybe a fan or something, that comes and goes rhythmically. Whatever it is, it’s busted, but that’s not surprising given the state of this store room.
In front of the curtained stalls, a green elf dress is laid across a half-broken chair with my name pinned to it. I grab the matching green hat with the white furry edging and the bell on the fancifully curving tip. This will be cute, and the kids will love it. A big, nice Santa costume hangs on the side of the farthest stall, so I guess that actor hasn’t arrived yet. At least I’m not the only one who’s late.
“Okay, creepy store room, keep your eyes to yourself.” Elf costume in hand, I step into the stall and pull the thin curtain. The rhythmic noise is louder in here. Weird.
But everything seems to be junky and fine and only a little bit creepy, so I strip down to my tights and bra, then shimmy on the elf costume. It slides up my calves and makes it halfway up my thighs before tightening.
“No.” I pull. The fabric barely moves, and there is zero stretch. “Oh, no.” Panic makes my heart flutter faster, and that familiar dressing-room feeling hits me. Humiliation.
“Please, don’t do this to me, elf costume.” I give it another tug, but it won’t go any farther. “No!” I shuck it off, my cheeks burning. Maybe I didn’t have the zipper all the way down? That’s a desperate thought shared by fuller-figured women everywhere. I examine the back of the outfit. The zipper is, of course, all the way down. “Ugh!”
I flip the dress up and shake it down onto my arms, poke my head through, then grab the waist of it and try to pull it past my breasts. “Who makes costumes with no frickin’ give!” The waistline has my boobs in a strangle-hold, and I know that even if I couldget it past them, it won’t fit. My waist is more of a suggestion than a hard-and-fast rule. I can’t even take a full breath like this.
Tears prickle behind my eyes, and I struggle out of the costume as I try to fight away my embarrassment. Peeking out of the curtain, I look for another costume, but there isn’t one. And if I can’t fit into this one? I have no doubt I’ll be fired, letting Grant down in the process.
“No, no, no!” I yell. “Give me a Christmas miracle!”
The rhythmic noise stops, and I could swear I hear a fart. A bubbly one that turns my stomach.
I clutch the ill-fitting costume to my chest and look around. “Hello?”
“Dicker, Dancer, Cunty, Pricks-in,” someone mutters.
“It’s Dasher, Dancer, Comet, and Vixen,” I call.
“Who’s there? The cops again? Fuck off. I got a right to be … to be …” Someone coughs, his voice rusty, and then the rhythmic sound starts again. Snoring. All this time, some guy has been back here snoring. What the heck? Costume still clutched to my chest, I creep out of the dressing stall and look around. Edging toward the back of the room, I see a man on his side, his snores louder as I approach.
Scraggly white beard, gray hair, dirty jeans, and a potbelly hanging out of a sloppy t-shirt—this must be the guy they hired as Santa. But the empty bottles of Jack lying next to him tell me he’s not ready to speak to—much less hold onto—any children.
“Hey, mister.” I toe his leg. “Hey.”
His snore turns into more of a chainsaw buzz, but he doesn’t wake.
“Hey, there are hundreds of kids out there waiting on you.” I toe him some more. “Hey. You are going to ruin their day! Their parents took time out of Thanksgiving to bring them here just to see you.” I kick him harder.
He rolls over and goes right back to snoring.
Oh no. I back away and turn toward the hall door. I have to get Ms. Martin. She’ll know what to do. I’m almost there when I remember I’m naked and clutching a too-small elf costume to my chest.
And that’s when I hear a smooth, booming voice that sends tickles of excitement up and down my spine. “Welcome everyone to this year’s holiday grand opening!”
A roar rises from the crowd, but then his voice comes back. They let the hot perfume salesman do the big presentation? Well, it’s a good choice, because he’s already got me in the palm of his hand, and I can’t even see him.
“I know we’re all more than a little excited to kick off this year’s season. That’s why Marley’s is open today. You can get some shopping done, go home and have your turkey, then come on back for a second helping of great gifts from all your friends here at Marley’s. And kids,” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m certain I heard some sleigh bells only moments ago. You know what that means?”
“Santa!” hundreds of children yell at once.
That excited cry from children who believe in magic breaks the sexy-perfume-guy spell that had me transfixed. I turn and hurry back to the snoring Santa. He hasn’t moved, and I’m pretty sure the puddle of wetness spreading along his pants and on the concrete beneath him is new. Gross. That’s it. He can’t go out there. Not in this state.
I stuff my elf costume behind the changing stalls and turn to the Santa outfit.
“You wanted to be an actor.” I pull the costume down and say the words again, this time in a deeper voice. “You wanted to be an actor.” I say it again, my voice deeper still, as I pull on the Santa beard and the white wig with the hat attached. The black boots are too big, but I honestly think they’d be too big for a man, too. They’re like clown boots, but serious ones.
Peering at myself in the narrow mirror that’s leaned against the dressing area, I’m thankful for the first time in my life that I have a fuller figure. The suit is filled out, but maybe a little top heavy.
“This could work,” I whisper to myself. “I can do this.” Reaching down, I grab some of Rudolph’s fluffy white innards—“Sorry, buddy”—and stuff it into the belly of the suit to give myself a little more heft. This time when I look in the mirror, I don’t see me anymore. I see the big guy, the one all the kids are waiting for.
“Ho, ho, ho.” Too high.
“Ho, ho, ho.” I deepen it more, and it’s almost right.
One more time. “Ho, ho, ho!” I cry as the storeroom doors burst open.
Ms. Martin rushes over to me, expertly picking her way through the mess. She gives me a sharp look, and I know she’s about to bust me.
What will I say? “The other one was drunk and my elf costume was built for a pixie so I decided to cross dress as Santa?” Seems legit, right?
But she doesn’t bust me at all. She points toward the hall door. “Mr. Marley is waiting! Come on, come on. Hurry up, he’s about to introduce you.”
“Okay.”
Her eyes narrow.
I adjust my voice deeper. “I mean, okay. Santa’s on time. Don’t worry.” I button my lips. The less talking, the better.
“Hurry.” She snaps her fingers at me like I’m an unruly dog, and I hustle after her and out into the bright store.
“As promised!” The handsomest man who ever manned speaks into a mic and shoots me something verging on a sexy glare. “Here is the star of the show. Santa Claus!”
The crowd goes wild. Like, literally wild. Kids rush up to me, some of them reaching out to touch my beard. I put a hand up and wave my white glove as I walk with a Santa swagger, belly first, and smile a big smile.
“I love you, Santa!” A cute little girl in braids calls.
“I love you, too!” I respond in Santa-voice.
Dozens of others profess their love, and I return it until I clamber up the stairs and stand beside the sexy cologne salesman and another man, this one extra pretty with kind blue eyes. Sexy hands the mic to the blond guy, and turns to me, teeth clenched. “You’re late.”
“Santa’s got a lot on his plate, mister,” I intone.
“On behalf of both of us Marley brothers.” The blond pats Sexy on the shoulder. “My big brother and I want to give you …”
His voice faces to the background of my mind, and I swallow, my mouth suddenly very, very dry. If they’re the Marley brothers, and the blond cutie is the younger one. That means … I do my best peripheral vision stare at the tall, dark-haired sex-bomb … that means the cologne salesman isn’t a salesman. He’s the one who fired poor Becca. He’s the mean Mr. Marley. Not some wrinkled old prune with a vicious streak, no. The man with the deep green eyes and panty-slaying smirk. The one I drooled all over in the hallway a few days ago. He’s the frickin’ boss!
I’m. So. Fired.
“From Crane and me and the entire Marley’s family, we wish you the very merriest of all holiday seasons. And we are open!” The blond rings a silver bell, the Christmas trees lights in a mass of white lights, and the crowd applauds while simultaneously dispersing, shoppers hurrying here and there for whatever caught their eye during the presentation. A line of kids has already formed and winds around the podium where my elves hand out candy canes and smiles.
Sexy—errr, Crane Marley—shoots me a withering glower. “No funny business this year. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your performance a few years ago. I’m still paying legal bills. You’re lucky the good Santa was already reserved.” With that, he stalks off and disappears behind the display.
“I guess I’m the bad Santa now,” I murmur to myself and grip my shiny silver belt buckle.
Ms. Martin stands below me and snaps those skinny fingers again, so I back up and, with a deep breath, lower myself into Santa’s seat. It should feel blasphemous. Wrong. Traitorous, even. I’m no Santa. I’m just a failed actor who couldn’t fit into her elf costume.
But when the first lady in line hands me a sweet little baby girl no older than a year who grins up at me, I can’t help but coo in Santa-voice, tell her she’s beautiful, and smile for the camera.
“Break a leg.” Grant waves as we part ways in front of Marley’s. He’s off to the subway and a server job while I have to maneuver through a growing crowd that lines the sidewalk and spills into the department store.
“Wow.” I didn’t expect this many people on Thanksgiving, but they’re all here. They must have gotten up early, popped the turkey in the oven, and set out to get their shop on. Kids are everywhere, their parents trying to keep them calm as they ooh and aah over the displays and the big, plush seat that’s waiting for Santa.
A huge Christmas tree sits in the center of the store, and it’s decorated to the hilt but not lit. I guess when the store opens right at 8, there’ll be a ceremony before the shopping carnage begins.
Once in the back hallway, I see Ms. Martin. “Hey, good morn—”
“You’re late!” she snaps.
“It’s not even 8 yet.” I hurry to her side and she pulls me along the hall past HR.
“You have to get your costume on. I don’t have time to help. Mr. Marley will need me out front to assist with the tree lighting.”
“He’s here again?” I swallow hard.
“Do your job, and you’ll be fine.” She pushes me into a stock room at the end of the corridor. “Get your elf costume on and come out front. The other elves are already waiting.”
“Where’s Santa?” I ask, but she’s already hurrying back through the door.
“Okay, sure.” I peer at the stacks of boxes, discarded tinsel, Valentine’s décor, Halloween items, and holiday sale signs. “This is a mess.” I follow the path through the junk toward the back, then veer right when I see a small changing area with curtains stretched across tiny stalls. A huge pile of white stuffing leaks from a large Rudolph plush, as if someone gutted the poor guy and left him behind. There’s a noise, like maybe a fan or something, that comes and goes rhythmically. Whatever it is, it’s busted, but that’s not surprising given the state of this store room.
In front of the curtained stalls, a green elf dress is laid across a half-broken chair with my name pinned to it. I grab the matching green hat with the white furry edging and the bell on the fancifully curving tip. This will be cute, and the kids will love it. A big, nice Santa costume hangs on the side of the farthest stall, so I guess that actor hasn’t arrived yet. At least I’m not the only one who’s late.
“Okay, creepy store room, keep your eyes to yourself.” Elf costume in hand, I step into the stall and pull the thin curtain. The rhythmic noise is louder in here. Weird.
But everything seems to be junky and fine and only a little bit creepy, so I strip down to my tights and bra, then shimmy on the elf costume. It slides up my calves and makes it halfway up my thighs before tightening.
“No.” I pull. The fabric barely moves, and there is zero stretch. “Oh, no.” Panic makes my heart flutter faster, and that familiar dressing-room feeling hits me. Humiliation.
“Please, don’t do this to me, elf costume.” I give it another tug, but it won’t go any farther. “No!” I shuck it off, my cheeks burning. Maybe I didn’t have the zipper all the way down? That’s a desperate thought shared by fuller-figured women everywhere. I examine the back of the outfit. The zipper is, of course, all the way down. “Ugh!”
I flip the dress up and shake it down onto my arms, poke my head through, then grab the waist of it and try to pull it past my breasts. “Who makes costumes with no frickin’ give!” The waistline has my boobs in a strangle-hold, and I know that even if I couldget it past them, it won’t fit. My waist is more of a suggestion than a hard-and-fast rule. I can’t even take a full breath like this.
Tears prickle behind my eyes, and I struggle out of the costume as I try to fight away my embarrassment. Peeking out of the curtain, I look for another costume, but there isn’t one. And if I can’t fit into this one? I have no doubt I’ll be fired, letting Grant down in the process.
“No, no, no!” I yell. “Give me a Christmas miracle!”
The rhythmic noise stops, and I could swear I hear a fart. A bubbly one that turns my stomach.
I clutch the ill-fitting costume to my chest and look around. “Hello?”
“Dicker, Dancer, Cunty, Pricks-in,” someone mutters.
“It’s Dasher, Dancer, Comet, and Vixen,” I call.
“Who’s there? The cops again? Fuck off. I got a right to be … to be …” Someone coughs, his voice rusty, and then the rhythmic sound starts again. Snoring. All this time, some guy has been back here snoring. What the heck? Costume still clutched to my chest, I creep out of the dressing stall and look around. Edging toward the back of the room, I see a man on his side, his snores louder as I approach.
Scraggly white beard, gray hair, dirty jeans, and a potbelly hanging out of a sloppy t-shirt—this must be the guy they hired as Santa. But the empty bottles of Jack lying next to him tell me he’s not ready to speak to—much less hold onto—any children.
“Hey, mister.” I toe his leg. “Hey.”
His snore turns into more of a chainsaw buzz, but he doesn’t wake.
“Hey, there are hundreds of kids out there waiting on you.” I toe him some more. “Hey. You are going to ruin their day! Their parents took time out of Thanksgiving to bring them here just to see you.” I kick him harder.
He rolls over and goes right back to snoring.
Oh no. I back away and turn toward the hall door. I have to get Ms. Martin. She’ll know what to do. I’m almost there when I remember I’m naked and clutching a too-small elf costume to my chest.
And that’s when I hear a smooth, booming voice that sends tickles of excitement up and down my spine. “Welcome everyone to this year’s holiday grand opening!”
A roar rises from the crowd, but then his voice comes back. They let the hot perfume salesman do the big presentation? Well, it’s a good choice, because he’s already got me in the palm of his hand, and I can’t even see him.
“I know we’re all more than a little excited to kick off this year’s season. That’s why Marley’s is open today. You can get some shopping done, go home and have your turkey, then come on back for a second helping of great gifts from all your friends here at Marley’s. And kids,” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m certain I heard some sleigh bells only moments ago. You know what that means?”
“Santa!” hundreds of children yell at once.
That excited cry from children who believe in magic breaks the sexy-perfume-guy spell that had me transfixed. I turn and hurry back to the snoring Santa. He hasn’t moved, and I’m pretty sure the puddle of wetness spreading along his pants and on the concrete beneath him is new. Gross. That’s it. He can’t go out there. Not in this state.
I stuff my elf costume behind the changing stalls and turn to the Santa outfit.
“You wanted to be an actor.” I pull the costume down and say the words again, this time in a deeper voice. “You wanted to be an actor.” I say it again, my voice deeper still, as I pull on the Santa beard and the white wig with the hat attached. The black boots are too big, but I honestly think they’d be too big for a man, too. They’re like clown boots, but serious ones.
Peering at myself in the narrow mirror that’s leaned against the dressing area, I’m thankful for the first time in my life that I have a fuller figure. The suit is filled out, but maybe a little top heavy.
“This could work,” I whisper to myself. “I can do this.” Reaching down, I grab some of Rudolph’s fluffy white innards—“Sorry, buddy”—and stuff it into the belly of the suit to give myself a little more heft. This time when I look in the mirror, I don’t see me anymore. I see the big guy, the one all the kids are waiting for.
“Ho, ho, ho.” Too high.
“Ho, ho, ho.” I deepen it more, and it’s almost right.
One more time. “Ho, ho, ho!” I cry as the storeroom doors burst open.
Ms. Martin rushes over to me, expertly picking her way through the mess. She gives me a sharp look, and I know she’s about to bust me.
What will I say? “The other one was drunk and my elf costume was built for a pixie so I decided to cross dress as Santa?” Seems legit, right?
But she doesn’t bust me at all. She points toward the hall door. “Mr. Marley is waiting! Come on, come on. Hurry up, he’s about to introduce you.”
“Okay.”
Her eyes narrow.
I adjust my voice deeper. “I mean, okay. Santa’s on time. Don’t worry.” I button my lips. The less talking, the better.
“Hurry.” She snaps her fingers at me like I’m an unruly dog, and I hustle after her and out into the bright store.
“As promised!” The handsomest man who ever manned speaks into a mic and shoots me something verging on a sexy glare. “Here is the star of the show. Santa Claus!”
The crowd goes wild. Like, literally wild. Kids rush up to me, some of them reaching out to touch my beard. I put a hand up and wave my white glove as I walk with a Santa swagger, belly first, and smile a big smile.
“I love you, Santa!” A cute little girl in braids calls.
“I love you, too!” I respond in Santa-voice.
Dozens of others profess their love, and I return it until I clamber up the stairs and stand beside the sexy cologne salesman and another man, this one extra pretty with kind blue eyes. Sexy hands the mic to the blond guy, and turns to me, teeth clenched. “You’re late.”
“Santa’s got a lot on his plate, mister,” I intone.
“On behalf of both of us Marley brothers.” The blond pats Sexy on the shoulder. “My big brother and I want to give you …”
His voice faces to the background of my mind, and I swallow, my mouth suddenly very, very dry. If they’re the Marley brothers, and the blond cutie is the younger one. That means … I do my best peripheral vision stare at the tall, dark-haired sex-bomb … that means the cologne salesman isn’t a salesman. He’s the one who fired poor Becca. He’s the mean Mr. Marley. Not some wrinkled old prune with a vicious streak, no. The man with the deep green eyes and panty-slaying smirk. The one I drooled all over in the hallway a few days ago. He’s the frickin’ boss!
I’m. So. Fired.
“From Crane and me and the entire Marley’s family, we wish you the very merriest of all holiday seasons. And we are open!” The blond rings a silver bell, the Christmas trees lights in a mass of white lights, and the crowd applauds while simultaneously dispersing, shoppers hurrying here and there for whatever caught their eye during the presentation. A line of kids has already formed and winds around the podium where my elves hand out candy canes and smiles.
Sexy—errr, Crane Marley—shoots me a withering glower. “No funny business this year. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your performance a few years ago. I’m still paying legal bills. You’re lucky the good Santa was already reserved.” With that, he stalks off and disappears behind the display.
“I guess I’m the bad Santa now,” I murmur to myself and grip my shiny silver belt buckle.
Ms. Martin stands below me and snaps those skinny fingers again, so I back up and, with a deep breath, lower myself into Santa’s seat. It should feel blasphemous. Wrong. Traitorous, even. I’m no Santa. I’m just a failed actor who couldn’t fit into her elf costume.
But when the first lady in line hands me a sweet little baby girl no older than a year who grins up at me, I can’t help but coo in Santa-voice, tell her she’s beautiful, and smile for the camera.
Chapter 5
Crane
“Where’s Lindsay?” I corner Ms. Martin in the back hallway.
“Who?” She tries to keep her chin up, but her eyes dart nervously toward the showroom full of people.
Fear isn’t helping her focus. I back up a step, and she takes a breath.
“Lindsay Fairchild. The woman you hired to be an elf.”
“She’s not out there?” She tangles her fingers together. “She came in, so she must be.”
“She’s here?” I turn and try to see the elves through the crowd.
“Yes. I saw her, Mr. Marley.” She nods emphatically.
My peach is here, safe and sound under my control. Something inside me relaxes, and I take another step back.
Ms. Martin gestures toward the sales-floor. “I should—”
“Go, yes. Ensure everyone has a chance to make a purchase. If anyone steps out of line and attempts to leave, make sure you have someone offer them a swifter checkout elsewhere as well as an upsell.”
“Of course, sir.” She turns and marches out, shoulders back and capitalism mode on.
I stare into the mélange of middle-aged parents, squealing kids, and lone shoppers doing Santa’s work unbeknownst to their children at home, but I don’t see Lindsay. It sets off an itch inside me, and I move onto the sales floor to get a better lay of the land.
“Mr. Marley?” An older woman walks up, her Burberry scarf perfectly arranged and her hair neatly done.
“Yes?”
She smiles. “I’m Gertrude Uline. I used to work for your father here at Marley’s. I was so sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Thank you.” I go to step past her, but she blocks my path.
“I only came out today to let you know that opening on Thanksgiving like this ought to be criminal, and your daddy is rolling in his grave at what you’re doing to your employees.”
I didn’t see that coming, but I don’t miss a beat. “I’m sorry, Ms. Uline, but I must inform you that your opinion of my business decisions don’t mean much to me. Thank you for your condolences. Please excuse me.”
“It’s Mrs. Uline. And that’s your problem, young man. When your father ran this place, he cared what the employees had to say. Listened when they had ideas. You are nothing like him.” She gives me a fierce stare.
I lean down, not quite in her granny-lotion-scented face, but close. “And that, Mrs. Uline, is exactly why Marley’s danced on the verge of bankruptcy for decades. It’s why my father was rarely home, why he sent my brother and mother and I on vacations without him, why he poured his love and time into this place instead of his family. But no longer. Now, all of these employees have job security because of me. Because of my methods. So, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll keep doing it my way.” I leave out the part about the employees I fire for the fun of it. Honestly, most of them are short-timers anyway.
“You’ll reap what you sow, Mr. Marley. Believe that.” She gives me a look that verges on pitying, then turns and shuffles through the crowd, disappearing amidst the masses who are adding to the company coffers by the second.
“I’m sewing success, so I’m more than happy to reap it,” I say it more to myself than her.
“Hearing voices?” Henry appears at my elbow. “Might want to get that checked out.”
“Go sell something.” I walk away from him and try to find Lindsay. A green elf hat jingles a few feet ahead of me, but the moment I see a mop of red hair beneath it, I know it isn’t her. Where is she?
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa calls and pats his lap for another child.
The drunk is doing a surprisingly good job this year. He must be off the sauce. The kids are beaming, the photos are going to turn out well, and even the parents seem quite happy with all of it.
When Ms. Graves told me the good Santa had already been reserved, I didn’t overreact. I simply made the only business decision I could—I hired the bad Santa on the off chance he might be able to stagger through the Christmas gig without catching another lawsuit. It looks like that gamble paid off.
I suppose it’s too bad I already fired Ms. Graves.
“Where’s Lindsay?” I corner Ms. Martin in the back hallway.
“Who?” She tries to keep her chin up, but her eyes dart nervously toward the showroom full of people.
Fear isn’t helping her focus. I back up a step, and she takes a breath.
“Lindsay Fairchild. The woman you hired to be an elf.”
“She’s not out there?” She tangles her fingers together. “She came in, so she must be.”
“She’s here?” I turn and try to see the elves through the crowd.
“Yes. I saw her, Mr. Marley.” She nods emphatically.
My peach is here, safe and sound under my control. Something inside me relaxes, and I take another step back.
Ms. Martin gestures toward the sales-floor. “I should—”
“Go, yes. Ensure everyone has a chance to make a purchase. If anyone steps out of line and attempts to leave, make sure you have someone offer them a swifter checkout elsewhere as well as an upsell.”
“Of course, sir.” She turns and marches out, shoulders back and capitalism mode on.
I stare into the mélange of middle-aged parents, squealing kids, and lone shoppers doing Santa’s work unbeknownst to their children at home, but I don’t see Lindsay. It sets off an itch inside me, and I move onto the sales floor to get a better lay of the land.
“Mr. Marley?” An older woman walks up, her Burberry scarf perfectly arranged and her hair neatly done.
“Yes?”
She smiles. “I’m Gertrude Uline. I used to work for your father here at Marley’s. I was so sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Thank you.” I go to step past her, but she blocks my path.
“I only came out today to let you know that opening on Thanksgiving like this ought to be criminal, and your daddy is rolling in his grave at what you’re doing to your employees.”
I didn’t see that coming, but I don’t miss a beat. “I’m sorry, Ms. Uline, but I must inform you that your opinion of my business decisions don’t mean much to me. Thank you for your condolences. Please excuse me.”
“It’s Mrs. Uline. And that’s your problem, young man. When your father ran this place, he cared what the employees had to say. Listened when they had ideas. You are nothing like him.” She gives me a fierce stare.
I lean down, not quite in her granny-lotion-scented face, but close. “And that, Mrs. Uline, is exactly why Marley’s danced on the verge of bankruptcy for decades. It’s why my father was rarely home, why he sent my brother and mother and I on vacations without him, why he poured his love and time into this place instead of his family. But no longer. Now, all of these employees have job security because of me. Because of my methods. So, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll keep doing it my way.” I leave out the part about the employees I fire for the fun of it. Honestly, most of them are short-timers anyway.
“You’ll reap what you sow, Mr. Marley. Believe that.” She gives me a look that verges on pitying, then turns and shuffles through the crowd, disappearing amidst the masses who are adding to the company coffers by the second.
“I’m sewing success, so I’m more than happy to reap it,” I say it more to myself than her.
“Hearing voices?” Henry appears at my elbow. “Might want to get that checked out.”
“Go sell something.” I walk away from him and try to find Lindsay. A green elf hat jingles a few feet ahead of me, but the moment I see a mop of red hair beneath it, I know it isn’t her. Where is she?
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa calls and pats his lap for another child.
The drunk is doing a surprisingly good job this year. He must be off the sauce. The kids are beaming, the photos are going to turn out well, and even the parents seem quite happy with all of it.
When Ms. Graves told me the good Santa had already been reserved, I didn’t overreact. I simply made the only business decision I could—I hired the bad Santa on the off chance he might be able to stagger through the Christmas gig without catching another lawsuit. It looks like that gamble paid off.
I suppose it’s too bad I already fired Ms. Graves.
Chapter 6
Lindsay
I slip back into my street clothes, then carefully hang the Santa costume back onto the side of the changing area. When I walk to the rear of the storeroom, the Santa actor is gone, though his pee spot is still there. Gross.
The other elves have already changed and left. I took my time to no one would see the switcheroo. It seems to have worked, because I entered the changing stall as Jolly St. Nick, but stepped out as just little old me. I snag the elf costume from where I’d hidden it, fold it, and stuff it into my tote. We may not have room or money for a sewing machine, but Grant can sew a seam straighter than a honeymoon dic—err, I mean, an arrow—even when doing it by hand. He’ll have this elf costume let out for me in no time.
I heft my tote onto my shoulder and head to the door. Tired, yet satisfied, I think this was probably the single best day of my working life. All those happy kids telling me the dearest desires of their hearts—it was magical. I hope there’s a real Santa out there somewhere and that he can hear their wishes. That would be lovely.
The administrative area is quiet as I trudge down the hall and into the store proper. The tree is still sparkling as employees straighten and restock under the managers’ watchful eyes.
“You must be an elf.” A man walks up to me from between the racks of clothing.
“Yep.” I nod and realize it’s the other Marley brother, the one with the blond hair and blue eyes.
“Tired?” He leans on a mannequin, which then starts to fall over.
I reach for the arm, grabbing it, but it comes right off and the mannequin topples.
“Damn, sorry honey. Didn’t think you’d fold on me like that.” He picks the mannequin up as I laugh and re-attach the arm.
We both stand back and look at it.
“I think her arm is backwards.” He taps his chin.
“No way. I did it right.”
“Then why’s her thumb wonky?”
“I think maybe she’s just a wonky sort of girl.” I shrug.
He turns to me, eyes bright. “I’m Henry.”
“Hi, Henry. I’m Lindsay.”
“Very nice to meet you.” He offers his hand.
“Same.” I shake. “Thanks for letting me elf for you.”
“Sure thing.” He holds my hand for a split second longer than necessary.
“Well, I’m off.” I step back. “I need to be up bright and early for my morning elfing.”
“I can give you a ride home if you—”
“She’s taken care of.” Crane sweeps in, his angular face verging on ragey.
“She is?” Henry’s brows draw together.
“She’s my hire. I’ll take her home.”
Henry’s brows pop up at that. “The new hire. Ahaaaaaaaa.”
“Yeah, the new hire.” Crane’s severe look is like a laser, one prepared to bore through his brother’s skull.
“What?” I can’t be sure we’re speaking the same language, because they aren’t making sense.
“I’ll take you home.” Crane grabs my elbow gently and motions toward the door.
Henry takes a step back. “It’s cool. I’m pretty sure this mannequin and I were having a moment.”
I laugh. Crane scowls. Henry grins.
And then I’m being marched away from Henry and out into the chilly night.
I’m too tired to lodge much of a protest. “I’m lost.”
“You’re outside of my store.” Crane opens the rear door of a limo for me. “And now you’re in my car.”
“No, I mean, I’m lost about why you and your gorgeous green eyes are taking me home from work. Do you do this for all new hires?”
He follows me into the cushy car and closes the door. “Of course not.” He turns to the man in the driver’s seat. “Charles, Brooklyn.” Then he closes the window, so that the driver has to mind his own business.
The limo pulls from the curb.
“Wait, how did you know I live in Charles? I mean Brooklyn?”
He goes utterly still for a split second. “Just a guess. I assume the vast majority of my employees can’t afford a place in Manhattan.”
“Oh.” I’m not really sure how to respond to that, so I just stare at him instead. Actually, I’m perfectly happy staring at him and nothing else, given the fact that, as it turns out, he’s the mean Mr. Marley I’ve heard so much about.
“How was your—”
“Shh.” I shake my head.
He turns to fully face me, consternation written in the wrinkles on his brow. “Did you just shush me?”
I put my index finger to my lips, and his eyes follow the movement. On a whim, I lick it. He swallows hard. I smile. Does he think I’m going to be his one-night elf? Who am I kidding, I’m desperate to be his one-night elf!
Clearing his throat, he asks, “Why didn’t I see you on the floor today? You were obviously at work.”
“Were you looking for me, Mr. Marley?”
“Crane,” he corrects.
“Crane.” I warm at his invitation.
“Yes, I was, but I didn’t see you.”
“Really?” I look up as if trying to think of a reason why he would’ve missed me. “I was the one in the costume.”
He stretches his arm across the back of my seat, and I get a whiff of his cologne.
I scoot a little closer.
He notices. “What are you doing?”
“You smell good, and you’re warm.”
“You’re cold?” He pulls his arm back and strips his coat off, then drapes it over me. That scent envelopes me.
I wasn’t really that cold, but I’m not complaining. “Brrrr. Body heat?” I ask innocently.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and reaches down to crank the heat up. I’ll be sweating at this rate, but he gives good snuggles despite his prickly talk.
“Better?”
“Better.” I relax against him. “Now this is what I call a welcome wagon. I get limo service home on my first day? Wild.” I realize this is utterly strange, but so is playing Santa—effectively, I might add—for hundreds of children. This is pretty much Oscar-worthy over here. Joaquin Phoenix and Joker can suck a lemon.
He turns to me, his direct gaze like a touch. “Come home with me.”
I gasp, my eyes widening. “I can’t go home with you.” What foolishness is coming out of my mouth? Of course I can go home with Meanie Bigbucks.
“You can, and you will. If not today, soon enough.”
“You’re bossy.”
He smiles again, and I get the distinct impression of a wolf—a hungry one. “I’ve been called much, much worse.”
“Is this one of those things where if I say ‘I’m not that kind of girl. Take me home this instant!’ you’ll fire me?”
“Depends.” He pulls my thick self into his lap despite my squeak of protest.
“Depends on what exactly?” I lick my lips.
“Will a threat get you into my bed? Or do you prefer honey? Sweet words for you, Ms. Fairchild?” He eats me up with those deep green eyes, then eyebrows bounce just a hair. “You prefer the threat,” he says it with something akin to praise. His hand roves my backside while the other rests on my thigh. “You like being told what to do. It so happens, I rather enjoy telling others what to do, though I must admit, I’m going to enjoy it with you so much more.”
He’s saying things that press all my turn-on buttons. This mean man in his nice suit with his silver tongue is my catnip. He’s a brat tamer, and I am most definitely a brat.
I run my hand down the lapel of his fine suit. “Isn’t this some sort of a workplace violation? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ll have an excellent lawsuit if I go home with you.”
“You can sue me from here till kingdom come after I give you what you need.”
“And what do you think I need?”
He takes my palm and presses it between us, his hard length showing me just how much he means every word.
Heat lights through me, that sort of static electricity that comes from nowhere and everywhere and ends between my thighs. I want him. Okay, I’m desperate for him. But this is too fast, even for me.
“I can’t.”
“Can.” His gaze is a blunt instrument, one he wields with frightening ability. Because when those green eyes lock on me, I can’t seem to look away.
“I have an early start in the morning.” I lean closer to him, my lips almost touching his. “And someone had me working nonstop today, so I’ll have to rest if I want to make it on time.”
His driver hits the bridge out of Manhattan, and I lean back and breathe a little sigh of relief. I’m going to my apartment, not his.
Crane seems to notice, because he grips my chin gently and pulls my face back to his. “You think I don’t own real estate in Brooklyn?”
Before I can answer, he kisses me, and whatever clever retort I’d been working on disappears.
I slip back into my street clothes, then carefully hang the Santa costume back onto the side of the changing area. When I walk to the rear of the storeroom, the Santa actor is gone, though his pee spot is still there. Gross.
The other elves have already changed and left. I took my time to no one would see the switcheroo. It seems to have worked, because I entered the changing stall as Jolly St. Nick, but stepped out as just little old me. I snag the elf costume from where I’d hidden it, fold it, and stuff it into my tote. We may not have room or money for a sewing machine, but Grant can sew a seam straighter than a honeymoon dic—err, I mean, an arrow—even when doing it by hand. He’ll have this elf costume let out for me in no time.
I heft my tote onto my shoulder and head to the door. Tired, yet satisfied, I think this was probably the single best day of my working life. All those happy kids telling me the dearest desires of their hearts—it was magical. I hope there’s a real Santa out there somewhere and that he can hear their wishes. That would be lovely.
The administrative area is quiet as I trudge down the hall and into the store proper. The tree is still sparkling as employees straighten and restock under the managers’ watchful eyes.
“You must be an elf.” A man walks up to me from between the racks of clothing.
“Yep.” I nod and realize it’s the other Marley brother, the one with the blond hair and blue eyes.
“Tired?” He leans on a mannequin, which then starts to fall over.
I reach for the arm, grabbing it, but it comes right off and the mannequin topples.
“Damn, sorry honey. Didn’t think you’d fold on me like that.” He picks the mannequin up as I laugh and re-attach the arm.
We both stand back and look at it.
“I think her arm is backwards.” He taps his chin.
“No way. I did it right.”
“Then why’s her thumb wonky?”
“I think maybe she’s just a wonky sort of girl.” I shrug.
He turns to me, eyes bright. “I’m Henry.”
“Hi, Henry. I’m Lindsay.”
“Very nice to meet you.” He offers his hand.
“Same.” I shake. “Thanks for letting me elf for you.”
“Sure thing.” He holds my hand for a split second longer than necessary.
“Well, I’m off.” I step back. “I need to be up bright and early for my morning elfing.”
“I can give you a ride home if you—”
“She’s taken care of.” Crane sweeps in, his angular face verging on ragey.
“She is?” Henry’s brows draw together.
“She’s my hire. I’ll take her home.”
Henry’s brows pop up at that. “The new hire. Ahaaaaaaaa.”
“Yeah, the new hire.” Crane’s severe look is like a laser, one prepared to bore through his brother’s skull.
“What?” I can’t be sure we’re speaking the same language, because they aren’t making sense.
“I’ll take you home.” Crane grabs my elbow gently and motions toward the door.
Henry takes a step back. “It’s cool. I’m pretty sure this mannequin and I were having a moment.”
I laugh. Crane scowls. Henry grins.
And then I’m being marched away from Henry and out into the chilly night.
I’m too tired to lodge much of a protest. “I’m lost.”
“You’re outside of my store.” Crane opens the rear door of a limo for me. “And now you’re in my car.”
“No, I mean, I’m lost about why you and your gorgeous green eyes are taking me home from work. Do you do this for all new hires?”
He follows me into the cushy car and closes the door. “Of course not.” He turns to the man in the driver’s seat. “Charles, Brooklyn.” Then he closes the window, so that the driver has to mind his own business.
The limo pulls from the curb.
“Wait, how did you know I live in Charles? I mean Brooklyn?”
He goes utterly still for a split second. “Just a guess. I assume the vast majority of my employees can’t afford a place in Manhattan.”
“Oh.” I’m not really sure how to respond to that, so I just stare at him instead. Actually, I’m perfectly happy staring at him and nothing else, given the fact that, as it turns out, he’s the mean Mr. Marley I’ve heard so much about.
“How was your—”
“Shh.” I shake my head.
He turns to fully face me, consternation written in the wrinkles on his brow. “Did you just shush me?”
I put my index finger to my lips, and his eyes follow the movement. On a whim, I lick it. He swallows hard. I smile. Does he think I’m going to be his one-night elf? Who am I kidding, I’m desperate to be his one-night elf!
Clearing his throat, he asks, “Why didn’t I see you on the floor today? You were obviously at work.”
“Were you looking for me, Mr. Marley?”
“Crane,” he corrects.
“Crane.” I warm at his invitation.
“Yes, I was, but I didn’t see you.”
“Really?” I look up as if trying to think of a reason why he would’ve missed me. “I was the one in the costume.”
He stretches his arm across the back of my seat, and I get a whiff of his cologne.
I scoot a little closer.
He notices. “What are you doing?”
“You smell good, and you’re warm.”
“You’re cold?” He pulls his arm back and strips his coat off, then drapes it over me. That scent envelopes me.
I wasn’t really that cold, but I’m not complaining. “Brrrr. Body heat?” I ask innocently.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and reaches down to crank the heat up. I’ll be sweating at this rate, but he gives good snuggles despite his prickly talk.
“Better?”
“Better.” I relax against him. “Now this is what I call a welcome wagon. I get limo service home on my first day? Wild.” I realize this is utterly strange, but so is playing Santa—effectively, I might add—for hundreds of children. This is pretty much Oscar-worthy over here. Joaquin Phoenix and Joker can suck a lemon.
He turns to me, his direct gaze like a touch. “Come home with me.”
I gasp, my eyes widening. “I can’t go home with you.” What foolishness is coming out of my mouth? Of course I can go home with Meanie Bigbucks.
“You can, and you will. If not today, soon enough.”
“You’re bossy.”
He smiles again, and I get the distinct impression of a wolf—a hungry one. “I’ve been called much, much worse.”
“Is this one of those things where if I say ‘I’m not that kind of girl. Take me home this instant!’ you’ll fire me?”
“Depends.” He pulls my thick self into his lap despite my squeak of protest.
“Depends on what exactly?” I lick my lips.
“Will a threat get you into my bed? Or do you prefer honey? Sweet words for you, Ms. Fairchild?” He eats me up with those deep green eyes, then eyebrows bounce just a hair. “You prefer the threat,” he says it with something akin to praise. His hand roves my backside while the other rests on my thigh. “You like being told what to do. It so happens, I rather enjoy telling others what to do, though I must admit, I’m going to enjoy it with you so much more.”
He’s saying things that press all my turn-on buttons. This mean man in his nice suit with his silver tongue is my catnip. He’s a brat tamer, and I am most definitely a brat.
I run my hand down the lapel of his fine suit. “Isn’t this some sort of a workplace violation? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ll have an excellent lawsuit if I go home with you.”
“You can sue me from here till kingdom come after I give you what you need.”
“And what do you think I need?”
He takes my palm and presses it between us, his hard length showing me just how much he means every word.
Heat lights through me, that sort of static electricity that comes from nowhere and everywhere and ends between my thighs. I want him. Okay, I’m desperate for him. But this is too fast, even for me.
“I can’t.”
“Can.” His gaze is a blunt instrument, one he wields with frightening ability. Because when those green eyes lock on me, I can’t seem to look away.
“I have an early start in the morning.” I lean closer to him, my lips almost touching his. “And someone had me working nonstop today, so I’ll have to rest if I want to make it on time.”
His driver hits the bridge out of Manhattan, and I lean back and breathe a little sigh of relief. I’m going to my apartment, not his.
Crane seems to notice, because he grips my chin gently and pulls my face back to his. “You think I don’t own real estate in Brooklyn?”
Before I can answer, he kisses me, and whatever clever retort I’d been working on disappears.
Chapter 7
Crane
The sun creeps into my office as the clock ticks over to 8am. My stores nationwide are humming, dragging in dollars to make our brand even stronger. Marley’s is in the black, and it will stay that way as long as I have anything to say about it.
My little Georgia peach is likely already flitting around in her elf costume. She refused to come home with me despite my entreaties. Playing hard to get. Or perhaps I came on too strong? I don’t know. It’s not as if I’ve been faced with this situation. She intrigues me. One moment, she speaks plainly, the next I’m trying to follow along. She’s a surprise. I itch to go down to the store, but I have a conference call with all managers in an hour. Just a brief check-in to make sure sales are on track, but I don’t want to miss it, and I certainly want to be able to call out any managers whose numbers aren’t to my liking. I click over to my real-time spreadsheet and watch the numbers tick up.
Beverly’s voice comes through on my phone. “Mr. Marley, Henry’s here to—oh, nevermind.”
“Good morning, big bro.” Henry bursts in, his usual morning cheeriness wasted on me. “How’s numbers looking? I gave that Lew Vines down in Orlando a big pep talk last night after he emailed and said he was worried he was going to let you down.”
“You worked after hours on a holiday?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I took one for the team. Where were you, by the way?”
“I wouldn’t have given anyone a pep talk, so it doesn’t matter.” I scroll down to the Orlando store numbers. “Besides, if Mr. Vines can’t get his sales up today, he’ll be asking Santa for a new job for Christmas.”
“Oh, come on. Have a heart. It’s just business.”
I rub my temples. “And this is why the business was entrusted to me, not you. Everything is business, Henry. Everything.”
“What about that cute little elf?” He leans on the edge of my desk and gives me a smug grin. “Is she business, too?”
“She’s an employee.” One that I wanted to take home with me and almost did. That kiss. Holy hell. Her mouth was so warm and sweet, a Georgia peach through and through. The way she felt in my hands, the way her soft body pressed against mine. I’ve already crossed the line with her, and instead of firing her like I should, I want more. My lawyers would have a conniption if they knew the things I’d told her, the way I’d propositioned her, my employee. But regret isn’t exactly my strong suit, so instead of worrying about repercussions, my mind goes back to trying to find a way to get her into my bed.
“You still in there, Crane?” Henry leans closer to me.
“Oh, piss off, Henry.” I kick away from my desk and stand. “Just keep pep talking the managers until I get around to firing them. You’re good at it.”
“Don’t fire them.” He stands, too, and crosses his arms in front of him. “They’re doing their best, and Higgie told me—”
“Higgie?” I cock my head to the side.
“Higginbotham. You know. That guy, the smart one with the glasses and all the numbers. The one who still hasn’t received his Christmas bonus.” His eyes narrow.
“Must be a snag in accounting.” I shrug.
“Well, he says we’re in the black, which is a record for Marley’s. We usually need black Friday to … Hey—” He jolts slightly. “Is that why it’s called Black Friday? Because stores get in the black on that day?”
“Henry, the door is there.” I point.
“All I’m saying is, you’ve got the business running well, why not let the employees reap the benefits of it instead of pushing them harder?”
“Because I’m not here to make them feel better or happy or fulfilled. I’m here to make money. If you’d spent your time here learning the business, you’d know that. But you were too busy with your own bullshit.” I turn away from him. “Leave.”
“I’m here now.” He retreats, but pauses at my door. “And I know what you’re doing. You want me to give up. And you’re right—I usually do. I quit, and run, and do anything except take responsibility. But those days are over. I’m here to stay, so you should get used to it.”
The door doesn’t exactly slam, but I still get the impression of Henry storming out.
I sigh. He doesn’t see the big picture. Possibly because I haven’t painted it for him. We’re in the black. Great. But if we knock earnings out of the stratosphere, then selling the company will be a sure thing. I’ll pad my pockets and say goodbye to the whiny workforce and my boardroom full of fools. Henry will be well-stocked with women and booze when he tires of playing at being an adult, and I’ll be rid of this company.
Settling in, I start my conference calls. Though as the managers report in, I find my gaze drifting out the window toward the store where my sweet little elf works. I wonder how her day is going.
More importantly, I wonder if she’ll be mine tonight.
The sun creeps into my office as the clock ticks over to 8am. My stores nationwide are humming, dragging in dollars to make our brand even stronger. Marley’s is in the black, and it will stay that way as long as I have anything to say about it.
My little Georgia peach is likely already flitting around in her elf costume. She refused to come home with me despite my entreaties. Playing hard to get. Or perhaps I came on too strong? I don’t know. It’s not as if I’ve been faced with this situation. She intrigues me. One moment, she speaks plainly, the next I’m trying to follow along. She’s a surprise. I itch to go down to the store, but I have a conference call with all managers in an hour. Just a brief check-in to make sure sales are on track, but I don’t want to miss it, and I certainly want to be able to call out any managers whose numbers aren’t to my liking. I click over to my real-time spreadsheet and watch the numbers tick up.
Beverly’s voice comes through on my phone. “Mr. Marley, Henry’s here to—oh, nevermind.”
“Good morning, big bro.” Henry bursts in, his usual morning cheeriness wasted on me. “How’s numbers looking? I gave that Lew Vines down in Orlando a big pep talk last night after he emailed and said he was worried he was going to let you down.”
“You worked after hours on a holiday?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I took one for the team. Where were you, by the way?”
“I wouldn’t have given anyone a pep talk, so it doesn’t matter.” I scroll down to the Orlando store numbers. “Besides, if Mr. Vines can’t get his sales up today, he’ll be asking Santa for a new job for Christmas.”
“Oh, come on. Have a heart. It’s just business.”
I rub my temples. “And this is why the business was entrusted to me, not you. Everything is business, Henry. Everything.”
“What about that cute little elf?” He leans on the edge of my desk and gives me a smug grin. “Is she business, too?”
“She’s an employee.” One that I wanted to take home with me and almost did. That kiss. Holy hell. Her mouth was so warm and sweet, a Georgia peach through and through. The way she felt in my hands, the way her soft body pressed against mine. I’ve already crossed the line with her, and instead of firing her like I should, I want more. My lawyers would have a conniption if they knew the things I’d told her, the way I’d propositioned her, my employee. But regret isn’t exactly my strong suit, so instead of worrying about repercussions, my mind goes back to trying to find a way to get her into my bed.
“You still in there, Crane?” Henry leans closer to me.
“Oh, piss off, Henry.” I kick away from my desk and stand. “Just keep pep talking the managers until I get around to firing them. You’re good at it.”
“Don’t fire them.” He stands, too, and crosses his arms in front of him. “They’re doing their best, and Higgie told me—”
“Higgie?” I cock my head to the side.
“Higginbotham. You know. That guy, the smart one with the glasses and all the numbers. The one who still hasn’t received his Christmas bonus.” His eyes narrow.
“Must be a snag in accounting.” I shrug.
“Well, he says we’re in the black, which is a record for Marley’s. We usually need black Friday to … Hey—” He jolts slightly. “Is that why it’s called Black Friday? Because stores get in the black on that day?”
“Henry, the door is there.” I point.
“All I’m saying is, you’ve got the business running well, why not let the employees reap the benefits of it instead of pushing them harder?”
“Because I’m not here to make them feel better or happy or fulfilled. I’m here to make money. If you’d spent your time here learning the business, you’d know that. But you were too busy with your own bullshit.” I turn away from him. “Leave.”
“I’m here now.” He retreats, but pauses at my door. “And I know what you’re doing. You want me to give up. And you’re right—I usually do. I quit, and run, and do anything except take responsibility. But those days are over. I’m here to stay, so you should get used to it.”
The door doesn’t exactly slam, but I still get the impression of Henry storming out.
I sigh. He doesn’t see the big picture. Possibly because I haven’t painted it for him. We’re in the black. Great. But if we knock earnings out of the stratosphere, then selling the company will be a sure thing. I’ll pad my pockets and say goodbye to the whiny workforce and my boardroom full of fools. Henry will be well-stocked with women and booze when he tires of playing at being an adult, and I’ll be rid of this company.
Settling in, I start my conference calls. Though as the managers report in, I find my gaze drifting out the window toward the store where my sweet little elf works. I wonder how her day is going.
More importantly, I wonder if she’ll be mine tonight.
Chapter 8
Lindsay
“What would you like for Christmas?” I sit a cute toddler on my knee, his smile just as genuine as his drool.
His mom bends over, her overflowing cleavage nearly grazing my beard. “Harley wants a toy phone, a roaring t-rex, and some new bath toys.” She drops her voice, “But Mommy’s been so bad this year, Santa. She needs a spanking.”
I clear my throat and focus on the child. “Harley, eh? Is your last name Quinn, little guy?” He drools happily while I pretend his mom didn’t say anything weird.
“Just being close to you like this makes me so moist.” She reaches out and slides something between the buttons of my suit. “Call me, Santa. We can set something up after hours, and I pay well.” She stands, her chest mercifully away from my face as I try to focus on the child instead of his moist mom.
“That was inapropes, eh?” I bounce him a little and whisper, “Super creepy. Sorry you got that one for a mom, kid. But she’s probably just going through a phase. She’ll be fine.” Looking up, I smile big as the elf in red—Chrissy—shakes a tambourine to get Harley’s attention.
He looks at the camera, and so do I.
His mom stands just to the side of Chrissy and reaches up, pulls her top down, and gives me a full view of two round, hard headlights pointed directly at me as the camera clicks.
“Holy—” I cover Harley’s eyes.
“I think we got it!” Chrissy cries in her overly-cheerful voice as Harley’s mom stows her jugs.
The elves saw nothing. Santa got the full blast.
“All right, little one. Take care of yourself, and I hope you get everything you want for Christmas.” I hand the drooler off to the flasher.
“See you soon, big man.” The mom winks at me and, thankfully, exits the platform.
I mop my brow with my glove. “Holy jingle bells.”
“Lunch,” Chrissy calls and turns the sign around to “Santa’s at the North Pole, but will return at 1pm.” If the North Pole is the dark, musty stock room, then yes.
When I showed up this morning, I brought my well-fitting elf costume—thanks Grant—but the Santa actor was nowhere to be found. Not even his pee stain remained. Instead of slipping into my elf costume, I became the big guy again, stealing some more of Rudolph’s stuffing and playing the role with ease.
Chrissy, Brianna, and I trudge back to the administration area for lunch, though they peel off and meet friends in the breakroom. I keep going, though I’d much prefer to sit around and shoot the breeze with the elves. But I’d have to take the beard off to do that. Instead, I’m going to change into street clothes, head out for lunch, then come back and suit up again if the real Santa hasn’t shown up.
“No vomit in your beard. I see this holiday season is treating you better.” That voice, the smooth one that almost talked my panties off last night in the limo, rolls over me as I walk into the storeroom.
I keep my eyes down as I hurry past him toward the changing area. But what am I going to do? If I change, he’ll see me go in as Santa and come out as me. Crap!
“I’ve heard nothing but compliments on your performance.” He follows me slowly. “Shocking, I know. By the way, where is Lindsay? She’s one of your elves. I didn’t see her on the floor.”
“Don’t know,” I add a little gruffness to my Santa tone.
“Did she work today?”
She sure did, and got a face-full of unsolicited boobs for her efforts. “Yeah. Went to lunch.”
“She left?” He moves closer, so close that I can smell his cologne.
I want to jump him, to maul him where he stands with kisses and more. But that would be foolish and maybe too kinky for me. That’s more of a Harley’s mom sort of thing. No, I’m dressing as Santa only in a professional capacity, so I have to keep my beard to myself.
“Yeah, left for lunch.”
“By herself?”
I shrug. “Her friend, uh, Grant.” I’m just pulling lies out of my jolly ass. “Went to lunch.”
“Grant?” His voice sharpens. “He got a last name?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I ease into the changing stall and am about to draw the curtain, but he grips it.
“Do you know his name or not?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Mind your attitude or you’ll find yourself out of a job.” His words are delivered in a cutting, ugly tone that I’ve never heard from him.
“The kids love me.”
“The kids don’t matter. Their parents’ money does. That’s it. Money is what makes the world spin, not old drunks in Santa outfits.” He lets the curtain close and stalks away.
I finally lift my face, and I don’t know why tears threaten. After all, I’m not an old drunk. But the way he said it, the cruelty of it. Even if the Santa is a drunk, that was still vicious—and the ‘kids don’t matter’ part? What? They matter most of all. Surely, he doesn’t really believe that. Right?
Then again, maybe I’ve misjudged him. Ms. Martin warned me not to underestimate Mr. Marley. If that’s the realhim, then she was right. He’s not someone I want to tangle with—professionally or personally.
*************** ***************
“He was waiting for me again after work. Limo and everything. But I ducked out the back way and came straight home.”
“Good.” Dishes clatter in the background as Grant works his third shift of the day. “He’s bad news. I can tell that from a mile away. Just do your job—Santa, elf, or otherwise—get your paycheck, then get back on track with the real acting gigs.”
“Are you coming home tonight?” I ask hopefully.
“Got a date.”
“I figured.” I roll over on my tiny bed. Grant is a handsome gay man in a city full of handsome gay men. If his weekends aren’t taken up by rehearsals or work, he’s always got someone who wants a piece of his time—or a piece of something else.
“But I’ll be home early tomorrow at walk-of-shame-o’clock. We can talk about it then.” Another loud clatter sounds behind him, and someone yells his name. “Gotta go, love. Text me if you need me. Love you.”
“Love you. Bye.” I end the call and sigh.
His love life is always chugging along perfectly. Mine has stalled in the city. I’ve dated a few guys, had a couple of one-nighters that didn’t impress me, and other than that, I haven’t had time for love. But that was before I met Crane Marley. He’s just so sexy and sort of mysterious. “And an utter jerk,” I remind myself.
After all, he fired that poor Becca just because she was chewing gum on the sales floor. Was it a violation? Sure. A firing offense? Surely not. And she’s just the last in a long line of spiteful firings. Why does he do that? More importantly, why am I jonesing for the man who’s likely just a bad guy in a good suit? I’m still stinging from the way he spoke to Santa. Who goes around popping off to Father Christmas like that? A monster, that’s who. That handsome, yummy-smelling, interesting man is a nasty character. I don’t want to be the fool who falls into the trap of “I can change him,” because I know that’s not true. That mentality landed Grant in the ER a year ago with a broken arm and a shattered heart. We fled that life, and I’m not going to chance it. I have to let my infatuation go. That thought hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does.
“Ugh.” I bury my face in my pillow. “Hopeless, Lindsay. You are hopeless. You cannot fix a bad man. Can’t unbake that cake. It. Is. Done.”
I just have to avoid him. Hopefully, the real Santa shows up tomorrow morning, and I can fall into my elf role, shift to the background, and keep my head down until this holiday job is done. Easy.
Now that I’ve gotten that sorted, I snuggle into my bed. I’m beat. I’ve almost dozed off when someone knocks at my door.
I stare at it, certain that I misheard. After all, you have to be buzzed in, and our neighbors aren’t the least bit neighborly. My eyes drift closed, and the knock comes again, louder this time.
“What the?” I sit up and push the space heater away, then wrap my top blanket around my shoulders. Shuffling to the door, I try to look out the peep hole. It’s, of course, covered with several layers of paint, probably full of lead.
“Who’s there?” I call.
“Crane.” His low voice positively vibrates through me, and I can’t stop the thrill that shoots down to my toes.
“What are you doing here?”
“I waited for you outside the store. You never came. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” A pang of regret hits me. He sounds … hurt. And worried.
“Can I come in?”
I turn and look at our tiny apartment with its sad furnishings. “Um, probably not.”
“Why? Is there—” His voice drops. “Is there someone in there with you?”
“What? No.” I open the door and peer out at him. Of course he looks utterly dashing with his nice suit and fancy Burberry scarf—but not the one everyone has, this one’s blue and somehow, even fancier.
“Hi.” He smiles.
My foolish heart does a pitter patter. Remember how he talked to Santa, I remind myself.
I take my cue from Ms. Martin and stiffen my upper lip. “You should probably go.”
“What’s wrong?” He seems solid, rooted to the floor, as if there’s no way he’s leaving.
“Nothing.”
“Something.” His eyes drill into me.
“What’s with the blanket?” He blows his breath into the air, and it fogs white. “It’s freezing in there.” With a gentle push, he walks me back into my apartment and closes the door. What’s worse is that I let him. I’m a pushover and a horny mess all rolled into one.
“Why isn’t your heat on?” He points to the space heater. “That’s a fire hazard.”
“The gas is more expensive.” I shrug. “That thing keeps it warm enough.”
“That thing is dangerous.” He reaches over and yanks the plug from the wall.
“Hey!” I try to snatch the cord from him, but he tosses it and catches me in his arms.
“You can’t stay here.”
“I can.” I look up at him, defiance in my tone, desire in my ladybits. “This is my place, well me and Grant’s place, and we—”
He releases me, putting a few inches of distance between us. “Grant?”
“Yeah.” I point to the futon. “My roommate.”
“Your roommate’s a man?” He grinds his teeth.
“Yeah.” I pull my blanket tighter around me. Without the heater, the temperature is already dropping.
“He’s your boyfriend?” If jealousy had a sound, it would be his voice, and I am, apparently, a basic bitch, because I love it.
“Yes.” I nod.
“I see.” He seems to deflate, his hand going to his hair as he turns toward the door and almost knocks over our only lamp. He catches it, puts it back, then grips the door handle. “I should be going.”
“Crane?”
He pauses. “Yes?”
“I meant to say Grant was my boyfriend in second grade, but then he dumped me for Tyler, the new boy who transferred from—”
He turns so quickly that I jump, but then I’m in his arms, his mouth consuming mine as I hang onto him. I’ve never been kissed like this, never been touched like this. It’s intoxicating and all Crane. I press myself to him, and he growls into my mouth, his hands pushing beneath the blanket and feeling along my tatty t-shirt, then down to my panties. When he grips my ass and lifts me, I wrap my arms around his neck.
He knocks into my bedside table as he lays me on the bed. It groans as he climbs on top of me, his mouth still on mine as he nestles between my thighs. His kisses are fire, his tongue adept at stealing my breath and stoking my need. One of his hands wanders to my breast, and he cups me, his thumb roving my nipple that’s only covered by the thin t-shirt.
I grip his coat, one of my hands in his hair as I meet the caresses of his tongue, each stroke killing me and bringing me back to life.
He kisses to my throat as I gulp in a breath. “You taste like a peach. Just as sweet.” He licks my neck, then runs his teeth to my shoulder and bites lightly.
I arch against him, needing more, needing all of him. With a smooth yank, he pulls my shirt up, then fastens his mouth to my nipple.
Sparks erupt from that spot, leaving a trail of heat until they burst between my thighs. My hips rock against him, my panties already wet as I shamelessly grind against his erection.
“Crane,” I gasp when he bites my nipple, then moves to the other one.
“These tits.” He presses them together and licks each nipple. “Are what dreams are made of. Fucking perfect.” He sucks both of them into his mouth, and I moan long and low, my fingers in his hair, his taste on my lips.
Sliding down my body, he kisses my rounded stomach.
I freeze, trying to suck in.
“Stop.” He kisses all over the spots I’ve cried about more times than I can remember, the waist that isn’t a waist, the roundness that I’ve wished was flat. “You are beautiful. All of you.” He drops more kisses, then meets my gaze. “I’m going to prove it to you. Will you let me?”
I’d let him do anal as long as he promises not to stop. But all I do is nod.
He smiles, then slides farther down, his knees hitting the creaky floor as he pulls my panties down my thighs and spreads my legs.
I grip the bed, suddenly hot despite the cool air. “I’m um, I mean I don’t shave. I just keep it neat. But if you aren’t into that sort of—”
He licks me, the broad side of his tongue making an ice cream cone out of my most intimate spot.
I yelp when he grips my hips and yanks me down the bed, my knees over his broad shoulders as he tongues my entrance, then slips it inside me as I curl my toes.
“I could eat this for hours.” He kisses me, pressing between folds and rubbing his tongue over every bit of me. “My perfect fuzzy peach.”
I finally let go. No more sucking in. No more apologies. I have to focus on him. He demands it with every stroke of his tongue, and I want to give it to him all my attention. So I do. I watch as he eats me out, his eyes on mine as his tongue circles my clit, teasing it. This isn’t some bumbling teenage asshole from my hometown. Crane knows what I want and knows how to give it to me.
All I can do is try to breathe as he works me, each lick a jolt to my system. He doesn’t stop, tasting me for moments on end, pressing inside me, then going back to my clit. My legs start to shake and he focuses on that little nub. But then he slows down and continues his leisurely torture, proving everything he said about eating my pussy for hours.
After days, weeks, months, he finally comes up for air. “Do you want to come, sweet peach?”
“Yes.” I’m covered in a sheen of sweat, my entire body on a hair trigger. I grind my hips against air, seeking the friction his tongue gives so easily.
“Right now?” He darts his tongue out, and my hips jerk.
“Yes, please!”
“Then promise me you’ll never duck me again.” He kisses my mound, his tongue dancing just above my clit.
“I didn’t—” I give up trying to lie. I’d promise my firstborn to this man if he’d just let me come. “Okay, I did duck you.”
“Why?” He licks again.
I want to scream, and I lift my hips higher, trying to get him to finish me.
He only grins and kisses me softly.
“I promise I won’t do it again!” I let out in one big whoosh.
“Good.” He dives back down, his tongue lashing me perfectly.
My hips seize, and I come on a low moan that I’m certain can be heard all through the building. This orgasm thumps, turning over and over like an old Chevy. I can’t think, can’t feel anything except those cresting waves of release as I slowly turn into nothing more than a hot puddle in my cold apartment.
When I’m well and truly dead, I try to close my thighs, but Crane doesn’t let me. He keeps licking gently, then kisses me, then crawls up my body and shares my taste with me. I take it, pulling him close and digging my nails into his shoulders.
He pulls back, then stands, his erection tenting his slacks. I reach for it, but he steps away, almost destroying the lamp once again.
“Not tonight. Tonight was for you.” He glances down. “I’ll handle this.”
“I want to handle it.” I sit up, and his gaze goes to my breasts as my t-shirt falls back into place.
“Soon.” He leans down and kisses me once more, then turns and opens the door. “I’ll send someone over to deliver a safer heater in an hour or so. Buzz them up, all right? But for now, get some rest. I’ll see you at the store tomorrow.” He steps out the door, leaving me breathless and boneless.
“Keep up the good work, Ms. Fairchild.” The door closes on his smirk, and I fall back into my bed, almost disbelieving what just happened.
“Dear Diary, I just came harder than I ever have in my life thanks to a mean man with a killer tongue.” I laugh maniacally as I try to digest it all. When the crazy giggles die down, I pull my blankets tight around me.
I’m almost asleep when my eyes pop open, and I speak to the empty apartment again. “How in the hell did he know where I live?”
“What would you like for Christmas?” I sit a cute toddler on my knee, his smile just as genuine as his drool.
His mom bends over, her overflowing cleavage nearly grazing my beard. “Harley wants a toy phone, a roaring t-rex, and some new bath toys.” She drops her voice, “But Mommy’s been so bad this year, Santa. She needs a spanking.”
I clear my throat and focus on the child. “Harley, eh? Is your last name Quinn, little guy?” He drools happily while I pretend his mom didn’t say anything weird.
“Just being close to you like this makes me so moist.” She reaches out and slides something between the buttons of my suit. “Call me, Santa. We can set something up after hours, and I pay well.” She stands, her chest mercifully away from my face as I try to focus on the child instead of his moist mom.
“That was inapropes, eh?” I bounce him a little and whisper, “Super creepy. Sorry you got that one for a mom, kid. But she’s probably just going through a phase. She’ll be fine.” Looking up, I smile big as the elf in red—Chrissy—shakes a tambourine to get Harley’s attention.
He looks at the camera, and so do I.
His mom stands just to the side of Chrissy and reaches up, pulls her top down, and gives me a full view of two round, hard headlights pointed directly at me as the camera clicks.
“Holy—” I cover Harley’s eyes.
“I think we got it!” Chrissy cries in her overly-cheerful voice as Harley’s mom stows her jugs.
The elves saw nothing. Santa got the full blast.
“All right, little one. Take care of yourself, and I hope you get everything you want for Christmas.” I hand the drooler off to the flasher.
“See you soon, big man.” The mom winks at me and, thankfully, exits the platform.
I mop my brow with my glove. “Holy jingle bells.”
“Lunch,” Chrissy calls and turns the sign around to “Santa’s at the North Pole, but will return at 1pm.” If the North Pole is the dark, musty stock room, then yes.
When I showed up this morning, I brought my well-fitting elf costume—thanks Grant—but the Santa actor was nowhere to be found. Not even his pee stain remained. Instead of slipping into my elf costume, I became the big guy again, stealing some more of Rudolph’s stuffing and playing the role with ease.
Chrissy, Brianna, and I trudge back to the administration area for lunch, though they peel off and meet friends in the breakroom. I keep going, though I’d much prefer to sit around and shoot the breeze with the elves. But I’d have to take the beard off to do that. Instead, I’m going to change into street clothes, head out for lunch, then come back and suit up again if the real Santa hasn’t shown up.
“No vomit in your beard. I see this holiday season is treating you better.” That voice, the smooth one that almost talked my panties off last night in the limo, rolls over me as I walk into the storeroom.
I keep my eyes down as I hurry past him toward the changing area. But what am I going to do? If I change, he’ll see me go in as Santa and come out as me. Crap!
“I’ve heard nothing but compliments on your performance.” He follows me slowly. “Shocking, I know. By the way, where is Lindsay? She’s one of your elves. I didn’t see her on the floor.”
“Don’t know,” I add a little gruffness to my Santa tone.
“Did she work today?”
She sure did, and got a face-full of unsolicited boobs for her efforts. “Yeah. Went to lunch.”
“She left?” He moves closer, so close that I can smell his cologne.
I want to jump him, to maul him where he stands with kisses and more. But that would be foolish and maybe too kinky for me. That’s more of a Harley’s mom sort of thing. No, I’m dressing as Santa only in a professional capacity, so I have to keep my beard to myself.
“Yeah, left for lunch.”
“By herself?”
I shrug. “Her friend, uh, Grant.” I’m just pulling lies out of my jolly ass. “Went to lunch.”
“Grant?” His voice sharpens. “He got a last name?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I ease into the changing stall and am about to draw the curtain, but he grips it.
“Do you know his name or not?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Mind your attitude or you’ll find yourself out of a job.” His words are delivered in a cutting, ugly tone that I’ve never heard from him.
“The kids love me.”
“The kids don’t matter. Their parents’ money does. That’s it. Money is what makes the world spin, not old drunks in Santa outfits.” He lets the curtain close and stalks away.
I finally lift my face, and I don’t know why tears threaten. After all, I’m not an old drunk. But the way he said it, the cruelty of it. Even if the Santa is a drunk, that was still vicious—and the ‘kids don’t matter’ part? What? They matter most of all. Surely, he doesn’t really believe that. Right?
Then again, maybe I’ve misjudged him. Ms. Martin warned me not to underestimate Mr. Marley. If that’s the realhim, then she was right. He’s not someone I want to tangle with—professionally or personally.
*************** ***************
“He was waiting for me again after work. Limo and everything. But I ducked out the back way and came straight home.”
“Good.” Dishes clatter in the background as Grant works his third shift of the day. “He’s bad news. I can tell that from a mile away. Just do your job—Santa, elf, or otherwise—get your paycheck, then get back on track with the real acting gigs.”
“Are you coming home tonight?” I ask hopefully.
“Got a date.”
“I figured.” I roll over on my tiny bed. Grant is a handsome gay man in a city full of handsome gay men. If his weekends aren’t taken up by rehearsals or work, he’s always got someone who wants a piece of his time—or a piece of something else.
“But I’ll be home early tomorrow at walk-of-shame-o’clock. We can talk about it then.” Another loud clatter sounds behind him, and someone yells his name. “Gotta go, love. Text me if you need me. Love you.”
“Love you. Bye.” I end the call and sigh.
His love life is always chugging along perfectly. Mine has stalled in the city. I’ve dated a few guys, had a couple of one-nighters that didn’t impress me, and other than that, I haven’t had time for love. But that was before I met Crane Marley. He’s just so sexy and sort of mysterious. “And an utter jerk,” I remind myself.
After all, he fired that poor Becca just because she was chewing gum on the sales floor. Was it a violation? Sure. A firing offense? Surely not. And she’s just the last in a long line of spiteful firings. Why does he do that? More importantly, why am I jonesing for the man who’s likely just a bad guy in a good suit? I’m still stinging from the way he spoke to Santa. Who goes around popping off to Father Christmas like that? A monster, that’s who. That handsome, yummy-smelling, interesting man is a nasty character. I don’t want to be the fool who falls into the trap of “I can change him,” because I know that’s not true. That mentality landed Grant in the ER a year ago with a broken arm and a shattered heart. We fled that life, and I’m not going to chance it. I have to let my infatuation go. That thought hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does.
“Ugh.” I bury my face in my pillow. “Hopeless, Lindsay. You are hopeless. You cannot fix a bad man. Can’t unbake that cake. It. Is. Done.”
I just have to avoid him. Hopefully, the real Santa shows up tomorrow morning, and I can fall into my elf role, shift to the background, and keep my head down until this holiday job is done. Easy.
Now that I’ve gotten that sorted, I snuggle into my bed. I’m beat. I’ve almost dozed off when someone knocks at my door.
I stare at it, certain that I misheard. After all, you have to be buzzed in, and our neighbors aren’t the least bit neighborly. My eyes drift closed, and the knock comes again, louder this time.
“What the?” I sit up and push the space heater away, then wrap my top blanket around my shoulders. Shuffling to the door, I try to look out the peep hole. It’s, of course, covered with several layers of paint, probably full of lead.
“Who’s there?” I call.
“Crane.” His low voice positively vibrates through me, and I can’t stop the thrill that shoots down to my toes.
“What are you doing here?”
“I waited for you outside the store. You never came. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” A pang of regret hits me. He sounds … hurt. And worried.
“Can I come in?”
I turn and look at our tiny apartment with its sad furnishings. “Um, probably not.”
“Why? Is there—” His voice drops. “Is there someone in there with you?”
“What? No.” I open the door and peer out at him. Of course he looks utterly dashing with his nice suit and fancy Burberry scarf—but not the one everyone has, this one’s blue and somehow, even fancier.
“Hi.” He smiles.
My foolish heart does a pitter patter. Remember how he talked to Santa, I remind myself.
I take my cue from Ms. Martin and stiffen my upper lip. “You should probably go.”
“What’s wrong?” He seems solid, rooted to the floor, as if there’s no way he’s leaving.
“Nothing.”
“Something.” His eyes drill into me.
“What’s with the blanket?” He blows his breath into the air, and it fogs white. “It’s freezing in there.” With a gentle push, he walks me back into my apartment and closes the door. What’s worse is that I let him. I’m a pushover and a horny mess all rolled into one.
“Why isn’t your heat on?” He points to the space heater. “That’s a fire hazard.”
“The gas is more expensive.” I shrug. “That thing keeps it warm enough.”
“That thing is dangerous.” He reaches over and yanks the plug from the wall.
“Hey!” I try to snatch the cord from him, but he tosses it and catches me in his arms.
“You can’t stay here.”
“I can.” I look up at him, defiance in my tone, desire in my ladybits. “This is my place, well me and Grant’s place, and we—”
He releases me, putting a few inches of distance between us. “Grant?”
“Yeah.” I point to the futon. “My roommate.”
“Your roommate’s a man?” He grinds his teeth.
“Yeah.” I pull my blanket tighter around me. Without the heater, the temperature is already dropping.
“He’s your boyfriend?” If jealousy had a sound, it would be his voice, and I am, apparently, a basic bitch, because I love it.
“Yes.” I nod.
“I see.” He seems to deflate, his hand going to his hair as he turns toward the door and almost knocks over our only lamp. He catches it, puts it back, then grips the door handle. “I should be going.”
“Crane?”
He pauses. “Yes?”
“I meant to say Grant was my boyfriend in second grade, but then he dumped me for Tyler, the new boy who transferred from—”
He turns so quickly that I jump, but then I’m in his arms, his mouth consuming mine as I hang onto him. I’ve never been kissed like this, never been touched like this. It’s intoxicating and all Crane. I press myself to him, and he growls into my mouth, his hands pushing beneath the blanket and feeling along my tatty t-shirt, then down to my panties. When he grips my ass and lifts me, I wrap my arms around his neck.
He knocks into my bedside table as he lays me on the bed. It groans as he climbs on top of me, his mouth still on mine as he nestles between my thighs. His kisses are fire, his tongue adept at stealing my breath and stoking my need. One of his hands wanders to my breast, and he cups me, his thumb roving my nipple that’s only covered by the thin t-shirt.
I grip his coat, one of my hands in his hair as I meet the caresses of his tongue, each stroke killing me and bringing me back to life.
He kisses to my throat as I gulp in a breath. “You taste like a peach. Just as sweet.” He licks my neck, then runs his teeth to my shoulder and bites lightly.
I arch against him, needing more, needing all of him. With a smooth yank, he pulls my shirt up, then fastens his mouth to my nipple.
Sparks erupt from that spot, leaving a trail of heat until they burst between my thighs. My hips rock against him, my panties already wet as I shamelessly grind against his erection.
“Crane,” I gasp when he bites my nipple, then moves to the other one.
“These tits.” He presses them together and licks each nipple. “Are what dreams are made of. Fucking perfect.” He sucks both of them into his mouth, and I moan long and low, my fingers in his hair, his taste on my lips.
Sliding down my body, he kisses my rounded stomach.
I freeze, trying to suck in.
“Stop.” He kisses all over the spots I’ve cried about more times than I can remember, the waist that isn’t a waist, the roundness that I’ve wished was flat. “You are beautiful. All of you.” He drops more kisses, then meets my gaze. “I’m going to prove it to you. Will you let me?”
I’d let him do anal as long as he promises not to stop. But all I do is nod.
He smiles, then slides farther down, his knees hitting the creaky floor as he pulls my panties down my thighs and spreads my legs.
I grip the bed, suddenly hot despite the cool air. “I’m um, I mean I don’t shave. I just keep it neat. But if you aren’t into that sort of—”
He licks me, the broad side of his tongue making an ice cream cone out of my most intimate spot.
I yelp when he grips my hips and yanks me down the bed, my knees over his broad shoulders as he tongues my entrance, then slips it inside me as I curl my toes.
“I could eat this for hours.” He kisses me, pressing between folds and rubbing his tongue over every bit of me. “My perfect fuzzy peach.”
I finally let go. No more sucking in. No more apologies. I have to focus on him. He demands it with every stroke of his tongue, and I want to give it to him all my attention. So I do. I watch as he eats me out, his eyes on mine as his tongue circles my clit, teasing it. This isn’t some bumbling teenage asshole from my hometown. Crane knows what I want and knows how to give it to me.
All I can do is try to breathe as he works me, each lick a jolt to my system. He doesn’t stop, tasting me for moments on end, pressing inside me, then going back to my clit. My legs start to shake and he focuses on that little nub. But then he slows down and continues his leisurely torture, proving everything he said about eating my pussy for hours.
After days, weeks, months, he finally comes up for air. “Do you want to come, sweet peach?”
“Yes.” I’m covered in a sheen of sweat, my entire body on a hair trigger. I grind my hips against air, seeking the friction his tongue gives so easily.
“Right now?” He darts his tongue out, and my hips jerk.
“Yes, please!”
“Then promise me you’ll never duck me again.” He kisses my mound, his tongue dancing just above my clit.
“I didn’t—” I give up trying to lie. I’d promise my firstborn to this man if he’d just let me come. “Okay, I did duck you.”
“Why?” He licks again.
I want to scream, and I lift my hips higher, trying to get him to finish me.
He only grins and kisses me softly.
“I promise I won’t do it again!” I let out in one big whoosh.
“Good.” He dives back down, his tongue lashing me perfectly.
My hips seize, and I come on a low moan that I’m certain can be heard all through the building. This orgasm thumps, turning over and over like an old Chevy. I can’t think, can’t feel anything except those cresting waves of release as I slowly turn into nothing more than a hot puddle in my cold apartment.
When I’m well and truly dead, I try to close my thighs, but Crane doesn’t let me. He keeps licking gently, then kisses me, then crawls up my body and shares my taste with me. I take it, pulling him close and digging my nails into his shoulders.
He pulls back, then stands, his erection tenting his slacks. I reach for it, but he steps away, almost destroying the lamp once again.
“Not tonight. Tonight was for you.” He glances down. “I’ll handle this.”
“I want to handle it.” I sit up, and his gaze goes to my breasts as my t-shirt falls back into place.
“Soon.” He leans down and kisses me once more, then turns and opens the door. “I’ll send someone over to deliver a safer heater in an hour or so. Buzz them up, all right? But for now, get some rest. I’ll see you at the store tomorrow.” He steps out the door, leaving me breathless and boneless.
“Keep up the good work, Ms. Fairchild.” The door closes on his smirk, and I fall back into my bed, almost disbelieving what just happened.
“Dear Diary, I just came harder than I ever have in my life thanks to a mean man with a killer tongue.” I laugh maniacally as I try to digest it all. When the crazy giggles die down, I pull my blankets tight around me.
I’m almost asleep when my eyes pop open, and I speak to the empty apartment again. “How in the hell did he know where I live?”
Chapter 9
Crane
“Numbers are still going strong.” Higginbotham taps the spreadsheet laid out before him on the conference table. “Everything is adding up to be a banner year. Your father would be proud to see what you’ve—”
“Anyone else have any insights to offer us about the state of the company?” I look around the table.
Henry frowns and glances at Higginbotham, then me.
I sigh inwardly. Here we go.
“I’d just like to say that I think we should let the employees have Christmas Eve with their families.” Henry stands. “Dad always let them have that time off, so I don’t see why we can’t do the same.”
“Dad let the employees have the day off, but did he ever take a day off?” I practically spit the words.
Henry shrugs. “Dad loved this company and its people, so he worked all the time. That doesn’t mean we should punish the employees for—”
“Punish?” I tsk. “We give them time-and-a-half for their troubles. They have steady jobs and get paid. That’s not a punishment.”
“You know what I mean, Crane. Christmas Eve should be off limits.”
“Well, it’s not.” I look around the table. “This meeting is done. Three more weeks till Christmas, and I expect sales to remain strong. Each of you knows what’s expected of you. Don’t disappoint me.” I look at Ms. Graves’s empty chair. So does everyone else.
Striding from the room, I pick up my pace. It’s late, and taking Lindsay home has become something of a date. Even though she refuses to let me come up to her apartment again, she does seem to spend more and more time in my lap, kissing and touching in the backseat as we ride across the river.
Another week of it might kill me, but I’ll do it if it means I’ll win her. Then again, I’m not above cheating. Tonight I intend to break the streak. She’s coming home with me. Everything is already set up. All I have to do is go down to the store and wait for her like usual.
“Crane.” Henry’s voice is a nail in my skull.
“I’m busy.” I point at Beverly as I walk past. “I’m out for the weekend. Route all calls to Henry.” I open my door and stop. “But he’s not allowed to make any decisions, of course.”
She gives me a sour look. “Of course.”
“Save your disapproval for someone who cares, Bev.” I push into my office, and my door almost closes, but then Henry enters.
“That wasn’t a meeting. It was a dictatorship. You didn’t even listen to Higgie. And then you’ve got everyone so afraid of being fired that they won’t tell you you’re fucking up!”
I grab my coat. “They don’t tell me that, because it’s not true, Henry. Their bonuses are growing, their salaries increasing, and no one seems to have any complaints except you and that numbskull with the spreadsheets.”
“That numbskull is the smartest guy in the room. Dad trained him, showed him everything about the company. He practically learned at Dad’s knee.”
“Well, that makes one of us, doesn’t it?” I turn and stab my arm into suit. “Dad loved this place, Henry. Don’t you understand? He didn’t love us. He loved Marley’s. He spent his life, his time, his effort on these stores. I bet your pal Higgie saw our father more than we ever did put together.”
“Dad wasn’t perfect, but—”
I snort. “Go back to your parties and coke and whatever it is you do, Henry. Leave the company to me. I know exactly what it needs.”
I walk past him, intentionally shouldering him out of my way.
“What did Dad do to you?” he asks, his voice quiet. “Why do you hate him so much?”
“He didn’t do anything.” I don’t turn around. “That’s the problem. You don’t understand because you’re younger. When you came along, he did come home more. Not enough, but more. But me? He’d already given up on me. Already decided that Mom had raised me enough. The few times he came to watch your lacrosse matches? He never came to mine. The few times he took you to baseball games? Never once did he do that with me. I did anything and everything to gain his attention, his love. He never gave it. He was already drained. This company took every last ounce from him, and what I got was a hollowed out, tired shell of a man, and that’s when I got him at all.” I look at him over my shoulder. “But now I realize none of that matters.”
“It matters.” He steps closer, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry. I guess I should’ve realized how different he was with us. I know the company needed more work in the earlier days, took up more of his time.”
“He built it from the ground up.” I don’t say the rest, that he loved his employees more than he ever loved his impatient, angry son. That he’d rather spend his time with employees than family. But Henry will learn the truth of that soon enough. Every bit of love my father had for Marley’s pales in comparison to how much I loathe the place.
“Yeah, he built something that he knew would last, but there was a cost.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Can we talk about this some more?”
“Not tonight.”
“All right. Monday, then?”
“Monday,” I say in false agreement and walk away from my brother.
My father did build this place from the ground up, and I intend to destroy it with quite a bang from the very top.
But first, I’m going to get another taste of my sweet Georgia peach.
“Numbers are still going strong.” Higginbotham taps the spreadsheet laid out before him on the conference table. “Everything is adding up to be a banner year. Your father would be proud to see what you’ve—”
“Anyone else have any insights to offer us about the state of the company?” I look around the table.
Henry frowns and glances at Higginbotham, then me.
I sigh inwardly. Here we go.
“I’d just like to say that I think we should let the employees have Christmas Eve with their families.” Henry stands. “Dad always let them have that time off, so I don’t see why we can’t do the same.”
“Dad let the employees have the day off, but did he ever take a day off?” I practically spit the words.
Henry shrugs. “Dad loved this company and its people, so he worked all the time. That doesn’t mean we should punish the employees for—”
“Punish?” I tsk. “We give them time-and-a-half for their troubles. They have steady jobs and get paid. That’s not a punishment.”
“You know what I mean, Crane. Christmas Eve should be off limits.”
“Well, it’s not.” I look around the table. “This meeting is done. Three more weeks till Christmas, and I expect sales to remain strong. Each of you knows what’s expected of you. Don’t disappoint me.” I look at Ms. Graves’s empty chair. So does everyone else.
Striding from the room, I pick up my pace. It’s late, and taking Lindsay home has become something of a date. Even though she refuses to let me come up to her apartment again, she does seem to spend more and more time in my lap, kissing and touching in the backseat as we ride across the river.
Another week of it might kill me, but I’ll do it if it means I’ll win her. Then again, I’m not above cheating. Tonight I intend to break the streak. She’s coming home with me. Everything is already set up. All I have to do is go down to the store and wait for her like usual.
“Crane.” Henry’s voice is a nail in my skull.
“I’m busy.” I point at Beverly as I walk past. “I’m out for the weekend. Route all calls to Henry.” I open my door and stop. “But he’s not allowed to make any decisions, of course.”
She gives me a sour look. “Of course.”
“Save your disapproval for someone who cares, Bev.” I push into my office, and my door almost closes, but then Henry enters.
“That wasn’t a meeting. It was a dictatorship. You didn’t even listen to Higgie. And then you’ve got everyone so afraid of being fired that they won’t tell you you’re fucking up!”
I grab my coat. “They don’t tell me that, because it’s not true, Henry. Their bonuses are growing, their salaries increasing, and no one seems to have any complaints except you and that numbskull with the spreadsheets.”
“That numbskull is the smartest guy in the room. Dad trained him, showed him everything about the company. He practically learned at Dad’s knee.”
“Well, that makes one of us, doesn’t it?” I turn and stab my arm into suit. “Dad loved this place, Henry. Don’t you understand? He didn’t love us. He loved Marley’s. He spent his life, his time, his effort on these stores. I bet your pal Higgie saw our father more than we ever did put together.”
“Dad wasn’t perfect, but—”
I snort. “Go back to your parties and coke and whatever it is you do, Henry. Leave the company to me. I know exactly what it needs.”
I walk past him, intentionally shouldering him out of my way.
“What did Dad do to you?” he asks, his voice quiet. “Why do you hate him so much?”
“He didn’t do anything.” I don’t turn around. “That’s the problem. You don’t understand because you’re younger. When you came along, he did come home more. Not enough, but more. But me? He’d already given up on me. Already decided that Mom had raised me enough. The few times he came to watch your lacrosse matches? He never came to mine. The few times he took you to baseball games? Never once did he do that with me. I did anything and everything to gain his attention, his love. He never gave it. He was already drained. This company took every last ounce from him, and what I got was a hollowed out, tired shell of a man, and that’s when I got him at all.” I look at him over my shoulder. “But now I realize none of that matters.”
“It matters.” He steps closer, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry. I guess I should’ve realized how different he was with us. I know the company needed more work in the earlier days, took up more of his time.”
“He built it from the ground up.” I don’t say the rest, that he loved his employees more than he ever loved his impatient, angry son. That he’d rather spend his time with employees than family. But Henry will learn the truth of that soon enough. Every bit of love my father had for Marley’s pales in comparison to how much I loathe the place.
“Yeah, he built something that he knew would last, but there was a cost.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Can we talk about this some more?”
“Not tonight.”
“All right. Monday, then?”
“Monday,” I say in false agreement and walk away from my brother.
My father did build this place from the ground up, and I intend to destroy it with quite a bang from the very top.
But first, I’m going to get another taste of my sweet Georgia peach.
Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Lindsay
Food baby forgotten, I scrabble at Crane’s buttons, undoing them with sloppy fervor as he sits me on his whopper of a bed.
“I am your one-night elf,” I mutter as I pull his shirt apart and marvel at the taut muscles and smooth skin beneath.
“You’re my what?” He laughs as I grab his belt, unbuckle it, then unzip his pants.
He grips the hem of my blouse and pulls. I raise my arms so I don’t get caught. My cheeks heat. They shouldn’t. I mean, Crane made a meal out of me a week ago. But this is the first time he’s going to see me—all of me, cellulite and all—and I can’t help my worry. He’s so gorgeous, and I’m just … me.
“What is that look?” He kneels in front of me and catches my gaze. “What happened to my peach?”
I take a deep breath. “I just, um. It’s just that you’re so—” I wave my hand. “Perfect. And I’m, well, not.”
“I’m perfect?” He smiles and wraps his arms around me, his fingers making quick work of my bra. “I’d like to get that in writing, if you don’t mind. Something I can show Henry and the rest of my family when they go over my many faults.” Pulling my bra away, he tosses it aside and presses kisses down the valley of my breasts. “And you are stunning.” He pulls me to stand in front of him and unzips my skirt, then slides it down my legs.
I’m exposed. Even more so when he slides my panties off and tosses them, too.
Looking up at me, he takes in every dimple and curve. “When I tell you you’re stunning, I mean every word.” He kisses my stomach, up my chest and stands. “Do you believe me?”
It’s hard. So hard. But when he looks at me like this, it’s as if it’s his heart that’s on offer. Not mine. As if he’s the one holding himself up to scrutiny. And he needs to know that he’s good and wonderful and just as stunning.
So I let out a breath and nod. “Yes.”
His smile is so tender, so genuine, and the following kiss turns the heat up to scorching. We stand there, touching and kissing, our mouths hungry and our hands everywhere.
I slide his pants and boxer briefs to the floor and run my hand along his shaft. “You came loaded for bear.”
“What?” He looks down at me as I hit my knees in front of him, my back against the side of the bed.
“It’s one of those country-isms you seem to like so much.” I grip his thick cock and tongue his head.
He groans, and his hands tangle in my hair.
“When you go hunting—” I lick. “And you’re hunting for something small—” lick “You’d use a .22, small caliber—” lick “hunting for a deer, you’d move up to something larger—” lick “could use a shotgun with a normal buckshot load—” lick “but if you’re hunting for something huge—” long, long lick “then you choose shotgun shells that are loaded with buckshot, heavier—” I grip his base “big enough to drop a bear—” I take him into my mouth and criss-cross my tongue along the bottom of his shaft.
“Illuminating,” he grits out.
I bring his thick head back to my lips and kiss it. “Definitely loaded for bear.” When I take him to my throat again, his hips jerk, and the low masculine grunt he makes sends a sizzle along my skin. I suck and lick, bobbing my head, learning him, my hand squeezing his base as I use the other to steady myself by gripping his thigh.
I move faster, my mouth making loud, wet noises that only heighten my desire, and Crane thrusts his hips, as if he can’t help himself. I run my teeth lightly along the ridge of his head, and he pulls back.
“Did I hurt—”
He pulls me up and throws me onto the bed, then climbs on top of me. “Were you trying to make me come in your mouth?” He bites my neck. “Jesus, you almost had me.”
I grin and bite my lip. “I knew well-timed teeth would be your undoing.”
“You’re my undoing.” He captures one of my nipples and sucks as he slides his hand lower.
When he touches my wetness, he groans, and when he presses a finger inside me, I arch. Need explodes in my veins as he pulls his slick finger out and strokes my clit. He switches to my other nipple and uses his teeth. I dig my nails into his shoulders and rock my hips against his hand.
Pulling away, he stands and looks down at me, then opens his nightstand. “Spread wide.”
My brattiness kicks in, and I close my legs as he rolls on a condom.
One side of his mouth quirks up. “Is this how you want to do this?”
“Do what?” I shrug innocently.
“Spread your legs, Lindsay.” His voice is gravelly sex. “Show me that sweet, juicy peach.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll make you spread them, and I’ll enjoy doing it.”
Heaven help me, I’m in trouble, because I have never been as turned on as I am right now.
He reaches for my knees.
I try to scoot away from him, but he pounces, pinning me to the bed and opening my thighs, his hips settling between them and his cock resting on my hot, needy skin.
“You can’t escape me.” He kisses me, then bites my lower lip. “The moment I saw you in that hallway, you had me. I’ve been chasing you ever since.”
“I think you like the chase.” I run my hands up his muscled back.
“As long as I capture you in the end.” He aligns himself at my entrance and eases inside.
I spread wider, giving him every bit of access he needs, and when he slides all the way, I curl my toes at the delicious sensation of being filled.
“Fuck.” He bites my shoulder lightly, his muscles shaking. “You feel so good.”
“You do, too.” I pull his face back to me and kiss him, our tongues caressing and easing the rest of our bodies into this primal dance.
He pulls back then thrusts deep.
I moan and grip his hair as he starts a quick rhythm then slows, easing in and out as he continues our kiss. Every bit of me is filled with him, and I move my hips with his strokes, getting all the friction I can. I’m already a lit fuse, and the way his body moves is like gasoline on the flame.
My body is open for him, and he takes everything I offer. I surge with him and pull him close, our bodies pressed together, sweat-slicked and sliding as we kiss and thrust and pour ourselves into each other.
He relinquishes my mouth to claim my neck, sucking and biting his way to my shoulder. With an easy movement, he slides one arm under me and grips my shoulder from behind, leveraging me as he thrusts. He goes even deeper, and I arch for him.
Taking one breast into his mouth, he teases my desire even higher, and when he reaches between us and presses his thumb to my clit, my legs begin to shake.
“I’m close.” I can barely breathe.
His thumb moves faster, and he switches to the other nipple, his tongue wicked and perfect. “Come on my cock, show me what that sweet Georgia peach can do.”
I come. Hard. My hips seize, and I hold my breath as a wave of pleasure crashes down and drowns me in oblivion. I can’t think, can’t do anything except enjoy each quake of bliss as Crane releases my breast and meets my eyes with his beautiful green ones. I run my nails down his chest as I moan, my body in control, my pleasure calling the shots.
With another thrust, he pushes deep inside, his cock hardening impossibly more, and then he groans, his eyes locked with mine as he comes. I milk him, my walls pressing down as the aftershocks begin and send little tremors of delight through me. He lets out a huge breath, then claims my mouth again, his kiss languid as he rests on his elbows. Still joined, we kiss and float back down to earth like a leaf in a breeze.
He breaks the kiss and moves a few sweaty strands of hair from my face. “You are definitely not a one-night elf.”
I smile and kiss him again as some part of me silently defects and goes to live inside him, though I suspect a matching part of him now resides in my heart, as well.
Lindsay
Food baby forgotten, I scrabble at Crane’s buttons, undoing them with sloppy fervor as he sits me on his whopper of a bed.
“I am your one-night elf,” I mutter as I pull his shirt apart and marvel at the taut muscles and smooth skin beneath.
“You’re my what?” He laughs as I grab his belt, unbuckle it, then unzip his pants.
He grips the hem of my blouse and pulls. I raise my arms so I don’t get caught. My cheeks heat. They shouldn’t. I mean, Crane made a meal out of me a week ago. But this is the first time he’s going to see me—all of me, cellulite and all—and I can’t help my worry. He’s so gorgeous, and I’m just … me.
“What is that look?” He kneels in front of me and catches my gaze. “What happened to my peach?”
I take a deep breath. “I just, um. It’s just that you’re so—” I wave my hand. “Perfect. And I’m, well, not.”
“I’m perfect?” He smiles and wraps his arms around me, his fingers making quick work of my bra. “I’d like to get that in writing, if you don’t mind. Something I can show Henry and the rest of my family when they go over my many faults.” Pulling my bra away, he tosses it aside and presses kisses down the valley of my breasts. “And you are stunning.” He pulls me to stand in front of him and unzips my skirt, then slides it down my legs.
I’m exposed. Even more so when he slides my panties off and tosses them, too.
Looking up at me, he takes in every dimple and curve. “When I tell you you’re stunning, I mean every word.” He kisses my stomach, up my chest and stands. “Do you believe me?”
It’s hard. So hard. But when he looks at me like this, it’s as if it’s his heart that’s on offer. Not mine. As if he’s the one holding himself up to scrutiny. And he needs to know that he’s good and wonderful and just as stunning.
So I let out a breath and nod. “Yes.”
His smile is so tender, so genuine, and the following kiss turns the heat up to scorching. We stand there, touching and kissing, our mouths hungry and our hands everywhere.
I slide his pants and boxer briefs to the floor and run my hand along his shaft. “You came loaded for bear.”
“What?” He looks down at me as I hit my knees in front of him, my back against the side of the bed.
“It’s one of those country-isms you seem to like so much.” I grip his thick cock and tongue his head.
He groans, and his hands tangle in my hair.
“When you go hunting—” I lick. “And you’re hunting for something small—” lick “You’d use a .22, small caliber—” lick “hunting for a deer, you’d move up to something larger—” lick “could use a shotgun with a normal buckshot load—” lick “but if you’re hunting for something huge—” long, long lick “then you choose shotgun shells that are loaded with buckshot, heavier—” I grip his base “big enough to drop a bear—” I take him into my mouth and criss-cross my tongue along the bottom of his shaft.
“Illuminating,” he grits out.
I bring his thick head back to my lips and kiss it. “Definitely loaded for bear.” When I take him to my throat again, his hips jerk, and the low masculine grunt he makes sends a sizzle along my skin. I suck and lick, bobbing my head, learning him, my hand squeezing his base as I use the other to steady myself by gripping his thigh.
I move faster, my mouth making loud, wet noises that only heighten my desire, and Crane thrusts his hips, as if he can’t help himself. I run my teeth lightly along the ridge of his head, and he pulls back.
“Did I hurt—”
He pulls me up and throws me onto the bed, then climbs on top of me. “Were you trying to make me come in your mouth?” He bites my neck. “Jesus, you almost had me.”
I grin and bite my lip. “I knew well-timed teeth would be your undoing.”
“You’re my undoing.” He captures one of my nipples and sucks as he slides his hand lower.
When he touches my wetness, he groans, and when he presses a finger inside me, I arch. Need explodes in my veins as he pulls his slick finger out and strokes my clit. He switches to my other nipple and uses his teeth. I dig my nails into his shoulders and rock my hips against his hand.
Pulling away, he stands and looks down at me, then opens his nightstand. “Spread wide.”
My brattiness kicks in, and I close my legs as he rolls on a condom.
One side of his mouth quirks up. “Is this how you want to do this?”
“Do what?” I shrug innocently.
“Spread your legs, Lindsay.” His voice is gravelly sex. “Show me that sweet, juicy peach.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll make you spread them, and I’ll enjoy doing it.”
Heaven help me, I’m in trouble, because I have never been as turned on as I am right now.
He reaches for my knees.
I try to scoot away from him, but he pounces, pinning me to the bed and opening my thighs, his hips settling between them and his cock resting on my hot, needy skin.
“You can’t escape me.” He kisses me, then bites my lower lip. “The moment I saw you in that hallway, you had me. I’ve been chasing you ever since.”
“I think you like the chase.” I run my hands up his muscled back.
“As long as I capture you in the end.” He aligns himself at my entrance and eases inside.
I spread wider, giving him every bit of access he needs, and when he slides all the way, I curl my toes at the delicious sensation of being filled.
“Fuck.” He bites my shoulder lightly, his muscles shaking. “You feel so good.”
“You do, too.” I pull his face back to me and kiss him, our tongues caressing and easing the rest of our bodies into this primal dance.
He pulls back then thrusts deep.
I moan and grip his hair as he starts a quick rhythm then slows, easing in and out as he continues our kiss. Every bit of me is filled with him, and I move my hips with his strokes, getting all the friction I can. I’m already a lit fuse, and the way his body moves is like gasoline on the flame.
My body is open for him, and he takes everything I offer. I surge with him and pull him close, our bodies pressed together, sweat-slicked and sliding as we kiss and thrust and pour ourselves into each other.
He relinquishes my mouth to claim my neck, sucking and biting his way to my shoulder. With an easy movement, he slides one arm under me and grips my shoulder from behind, leveraging me as he thrusts. He goes even deeper, and I arch for him.
Taking one breast into his mouth, he teases my desire even higher, and when he reaches between us and presses his thumb to my clit, my legs begin to shake.
“I’m close.” I can barely breathe.
His thumb moves faster, and he switches to the other nipple, his tongue wicked and perfect. “Come on my cock, show me what that sweet Georgia peach can do.”
I come. Hard. My hips seize, and I hold my breath as a wave of pleasure crashes down and drowns me in oblivion. I can’t think, can’t do anything except enjoy each quake of bliss as Crane releases my breast and meets my eyes with his beautiful green ones. I run my nails down his chest as I moan, my body in control, my pleasure calling the shots.
With another thrust, he pushes deep inside, his cock hardening impossibly more, and then he groans, his eyes locked with mine as he comes. I milk him, my walls pressing down as the aftershocks begin and send little tremors of delight through me. He lets out a huge breath, then claims my mouth again, his kiss languid as he rests on his elbows. Still joined, we kiss and float back down to earth like a leaf in a breeze.
He breaks the kiss and moves a few sweaty strands of hair from my face. “You are definitely not a one-night elf.”
I smile and kiss him again as some part of me silently defects and goes to live inside him, though I suspect a matching part of him now resides in my heart, as well.
Chapter 11
Crane
Three weeks since I met her. Two weeks of us spending our nights together. And now I wonder how I’ll ever go without her.
“You’re chipper today.” Henry walks into my office. “Why are you smiling? Did you mow down some reindeer this morning?”
“What do you want?” If I did have a smile, it’s gone now.
“Higgie and I have been running the numbers, and we think that keeping the store open on Christmas Eve may cost more than Marley’s will make.”
“This again?”
“Yes, this again.” An edge of irritation finally creeps into Henry’s voice. It’s unexpected, mainly because getting irritated about a thing means you care about a thing. I’ve been under the impression that all Henry’s ever cared about is Henry. But, to his credit, he’s been at work every day since the holiday opening, sometimes getting here before I arrive in the mornings and staying after I leave. But I’m certain it’s just a phase. He’ll get bored soon enough.
“You and Higgie should focus on what we intend to do next year. This fiscal year is pretty much finished. Look forward, not back.”
“Is that right?” He approaches, anger in each step he takes. “You want me to plan ahead for next year. Why? So you can get an even better offer from a potential buyer?”
I finally meet his eyes. “What?”
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? You think I’m an idiot and that you can do whatever the hell you please when it comes to this company.”
“Yes.” I shrug. I mean, wasn’t all that obvious?
“You’re wrong, Crane!” He slams his hand on my desk. “I found out about your plans, how you’ve been floating the idea of a sale through backchannels. People talk.”
“Give me names, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Right, because firing people is the answer. If you don’t find them useful anymore, just cut them off. Well, big brother, you can’t fire me.”
“Are you certain about that?” I page through my emails. “As CEO and chairman of the board, I find that there’s no limit to what I can do in the confines of my Marley’s prison cell. In this hell, I am the devil, and what I say goes.”
“If you hate it so much, why don’t you just leave?” he yells.
“So you can run it into the ground?” I stand and meet him face-to-face. “I can do that just fine without your help. And, yes, I will be selling this company as soon as I get a bid to my liking.”
“I won’t let you.” He steps closer, both of us toe-to-toe.
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can if I force a proxy fight.”
“I see you and Higgie have been conspiring against me.” I step back to my desk and press the page button for Beverly.
“Yes?” she answers.
“Higginbotham is terminated. Have security escort him from the premises immediately.”
“Crane.” Henry’s eyes are wide. “Don’t do this. It’s a week till Christmas. He has a family and you can’t—”
“It’s done.” I hit the button to end the call. “Now, do you need to be escorted off the premises, too, or are we finished here?”
His face falls, and he stares at me with an emotion I can’t name. Something akin to disappointment, perhaps? Whatever it is, I don’t like it. It makes me feel … slimy somehow.
“I know why you hated Dad, but why do you hate me?” he says it softly, and suddenly the room seems too quiet, too solemn, too honest.
I don’t have an answer for him, so I don’t give one. But that’s not entirely true. I haven’t always disliked my brother. Not until I realized that all the love I wanted—it was given to him instead. The golden boy, the charmer, the son who said the right things, of course he was treated differently. The surly son with the sharp tongue wasn’t easy to love. Iam not easy to love. It makes sense that Henry was favored. And I’m mature enough to know it wasn’t any fault of his. But that simple knowledge doesn’t change anything.
The silence lingers, and he seems to deflate even more. Head down, he turns and trudges from my office. When the door shuts, I sit down and try to shake off whatever emotion is creeping up my spine. But I find I can’t. Even after ten emails and a call with a district manager, that feeling is still here, coating me in tar.
Glancing at the clock, I note it’s lunchtime. I have to see Lindsay, and maybe I can catch her while she’s not busy elfing. Somehow, I just know she’s the only one who can fix whatever Henry broke inside me.
***
“You don’t look so hot.” The drunken Santa leans against the door to the storeroom.
“You smell like vomit-flavored liquor, so I don’t think you have any room to talk.”
He laughs, the sound deep and rumbling, almost a Santa sound, but not quite. “On the naughty list for twenty-nine years running. Isn’t it time you make a change, Crane?”
“Keep talking and the only change will be your employment status.” I don’t have time for his foolishness. “Step aside.”
“Looking for that southern elf? She’s gone. Went to lunch with some friends.”
I turn on my heel.
“Do you even know what a friend is?” he calls.
“One more word, asshole, and you’ll be on the street where you belong.” I don’t stop as he laughs again, this one more ‘ho ho ho’ than ever.
Ms. Martin walks out of the breakroom and pales when she sees me. “Mr. Marley, we didn’t expect you in today. Is everything all …” Her worried trill fades as I hurry down the hall.
I stride out into the main store, past the tree and the Santa display, and then out onto the sidewalk. They can’t have gone far. Only forty-five minutes for lunch doesn’t leave a lot of options. That’s by design, of course, keeps the staff nearby so they don’t waste precious time that could be better spent working.
She loves Mexican, so I turn right and jog along the sidewalk toward Sabor. I don’t make a habit of running in business attire, but for some reason, I can’t stop. I need her. Henry’s words, the look on his face, the crushed way he left—I can’t seem to stop thinking about it all. But Lindsay can fix it. All I need is her.
I catch sight of her through Sabor’s window, and I breathe a little easier. I smooth my hair and coat, then walk in. The smell of sizzling fajitas wafts through the air as does Lindsay’s laughter. Her roommate Grant and the other elves are sitting with her in the busy restaurant.
“Hey.” Grant looks up. “It’s your guy.” He elbows Lindsay.
“Crane.” She stands and shimmies between the too-close chairs to get to me. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Resting her hands on my chest, she looks up at me, eyes worried.
“I just needed to see you.” I pull her to me and inhale the scent of her hair along with the aroma of Mexican cuisine.
“Okay.” She wraps her arms around my neck as I hold her close—hugging her in a crowded restaurant in the middle of the New York City work day. But most people don’t even look at us. New York is a strange town, and this doesn’t even touch the bottom of the weird-meter.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispers.
“No.” I clear my throat, my tension flowing away just from the nearness of her. “I’m sorry I interrupted your lunch.”
“You want to join? We can make room.”
“No.” I pull back and cup her cheek. “You have lunch with your friends. I’ll see you after work.”
“Okay. We’re just celebrating since Grant got the part in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she turns and beams at him.
Jealousy tries to crawl its way out of me, but I tamp it back down. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” He gives me a cool wave. “I’m finally the fairy my father always feared I’d be.”
Lindsay pulls on my scarf. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I don’t like the worry I’ve caused in her. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to drop by. That’s all.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t sound convinced, but there’s not much investigating she can do in the middle of a noisy restaurant while her friends look on. “I’ll see you right after work.”
“Yes.” I kiss her on the mouth but try to keep it PG. Then, because I am who I am, I slip her some tongue.
Someone at a nearby table whistles, and when I release her she’s blushing.
I’m fine. Everything is fine. Henry is just being dramatic, and my plans are going to work out.
“Everything’s great,” I reassure her and walk her back to the table. “Sorry for the interruption, and congrats again, Grant. Lunch is on me.”
“Thanks.” He nods, and the elves stare at him with hopeful eyes. How can they not know he bats for the other team?
I make my way to the bar to pay their tab.
“When are we flying out?” Grant asks Lindsay. “Did you buy tickets yet?”
The restaurant is loud, but I’m close enough to catch most of what he’s saying.
“I’m working until Christmas Day, so I’m going to drive down when my shift is over on Christmas Eve. But your flight is three days before Christmas, I think? I’ll have to look at what I booked.”
Lindsay is leaving?
“You’re missing Christmas Eve. Seriously? You told your mama yet?” Grant asks. “She’s going to have a shit fit.”
“No.” She says something else, but I can’t make it out since the table behind me gets rowdy for a moment. Apparently, it’s someone’s birthday, and that someone didn’t have the good manners to celebrate elsewhere.
“You could quit now, you know,” Grant says. “I’ve got the part. You can go back to not-so-steady work and try for better acting gigs in between.”
“I don’t mind the gig.” Lindsay sighs. “And working for …”
The birthday table behind me acts up again so I miss whatever she says next.
“… can’t believe I have to work on Christmas Eve.” The elf across from her gripes. “My mom was livid, too.”
I pay the tab, then hurry out into the cold, sunny day. She waves at me through the window, and I wave back.
Though I feel better than when I walked in, I now have another problem. Lindsay is leaving. So how do I get her to stay?
Three weeks since I met her. Two weeks of us spending our nights together. And now I wonder how I’ll ever go without her.
“You’re chipper today.” Henry walks into my office. “Why are you smiling? Did you mow down some reindeer this morning?”
“What do you want?” If I did have a smile, it’s gone now.
“Higgie and I have been running the numbers, and we think that keeping the store open on Christmas Eve may cost more than Marley’s will make.”
“This again?”
“Yes, this again.” An edge of irritation finally creeps into Henry’s voice. It’s unexpected, mainly because getting irritated about a thing means you care about a thing. I’ve been under the impression that all Henry’s ever cared about is Henry. But, to his credit, he’s been at work every day since the holiday opening, sometimes getting here before I arrive in the mornings and staying after I leave. But I’m certain it’s just a phase. He’ll get bored soon enough.
“You and Higgie should focus on what we intend to do next year. This fiscal year is pretty much finished. Look forward, not back.”
“Is that right?” He approaches, anger in each step he takes. “You want me to plan ahead for next year. Why? So you can get an even better offer from a potential buyer?”
I finally meet his eyes. “What?”
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? You think I’m an idiot and that you can do whatever the hell you please when it comes to this company.”
“Yes.” I shrug. I mean, wasn’t all that obvious?
“You’re wrong, Crane!” He slams his hand on my desk. “I found out about your plans, how you’ve been floating the idea of a sale through backchannels. People talk.”
“Give me names, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Right, because firing people is the answer. If you don’t find them useful anymore, just cut them off. Well, big brother, you can’t fire me.”
“Are you certain about that?” I page through my emails. “As CEO and chairman of the board, I find that there’s no limit to what I can do in the confines of my Marley’s prison cell. In this hell, I am the devil, and what I say goes.”
“If you hate it so much, why don’t you just leave?” he yells.
“So you can run it into the ground?” I stand and meet him face-to-face. “I can do that just fine without your help. And, yes, I will be selling this company as soon as I get a bid to my liking.”
“I won’t let you.” He steps closer, both of us toe-to-toe.
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can if I force a proxy fight.”
“I see you and Higgie have been conspiring against me.” I step back to my desk and press the page button for Beverly.
“Yes?” she answers.
“Higginbotham is terminated. Have security escort him from the premises immediately.”
“Crane.” Henry’s eyes are wide. “Don’t do this. It’s a week till Christmas. He has a family and you can’t—”
“It’s done.” I hit the button to end the call. “Now, do you need to be escorted off the premises, too, or are we finished here?”
His face falls, and he stares at me with an emotion I can’t name. Something akin to disappointment, perhaps? Whatever it is, I don’t like it. It makes me feel … slimy somehow.
“I know why you hated Dad, but why do you hate me?” he says it softly, and suddenly the room seems too quiet, too solemn, too honest.
I don’t have an answer for him, so I don’t give one. But that’s not entirely true. I haven’t always disliked my brother. Not until I realized that all the love I wanted—it was given to him instead. The golden boy, the charmer, the son who said the right things, of course he was treated differently. The surly son with the sharp tongue wasn’t easy to love. Iam not easy to love. It makes sense that Henry was favored. And I’m mature enough to know it wasn’t any fault of his. But that simple knowledge doesn’t change anything.
The silence lingers, and he seems to deflate even more. Head down, he turns and trudges from my office. When the door shuts, I sit down and try to shake off whatever emotion is creeping up my spine. But I find I can’t. Even after ten emails and a call with a district manager, that feeling is still here, coating me in tar.
Glancing at the clock, I note it’s lunchtime. I have to see Lindsay, and maybe I can catch her while she’s not busy elfing. Somehow, I just know she’s the only one who can fix whatever Henry broke inside me.
***
“You don’t look so hot.” The drunken Santa leans against the door to the storeroom.
“You smell like vomit-flavored liquor, so I don’t think you have any room to talk.”
He laughs, the sound deep and rumbling, almost a Santa sound, but not quite. “On the naughty list for twenty-nine years running. Isn’t it time you make a change, Crane?”
“Keep talking and the only change will be your employment status.” I don’t have time for his foolishness. “Step aside.”
“Looking for that southern elf? She’s gone. Went to lunch with some friends.”
I turn on my heel.
“Do you even know what a friend is?” he calls.
“One more word, asshole, and you’ll be on the street where you belong.” I don’t stop as he laughs again, this one more ‘ho ho ho’ than ever.
Ms. Martin walks out of the breakroom and pales when she sees me. “Mr. Marley, we didn’t expect you in today. Is everything all …” Her worried trill fades as I hurry down the hall.
I stride out into the main store, past the tree and the Santa display, and then out onto the sidewalk. They can’t have gone far. Only forty-five minutes for lunch doesn’t leave a lot of options. That’s by design, of course, keeps the staff nearby so they don’t waste precious time that could be better spent working.
She loves Mexican, so I turn right and jog along the sidewalk toward Sabor. I don’t make a habit of running in business attire, but for some reason, I can’t stop. I need her. Henry’s words, the look on his face, the crushed way he left—I can’t seem to stop thinking about it all. But Lindsay can fix it. All I need is her.
I catch sight of her through Sabor’s window, and I breathe a little easier. I smooth my hair and coat, then walk in. The smell of sizzling fajitas wafts through the air as does Lindsay’s laughter. Her roommate Grant and the other elves are sitting with her in the busy restaurant.
“Hey.” Grant looks up. “It’s your guy.” He elbows Lindsay.
“Crane.” She stands and shimmies between the too-close chairs to get to me. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Resting her hands on my chest, she looks up at me, eyes worried.
“I just needed to see you.” I pull her to me and inhale the scent of her hair along with the aroma of Mexican cuisine.
“Okay.” She wraps her arms around my neck as I hold her close—hugging her in a crowded restaurant in the middle of the New York City work day. But most people don’t even look at us. New York is a strange town, and this doesn’t even touch the bottom of the weird-meter.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispers.
“No.” I clear my throat, my tension flowing away just from the nearness of her. “I’m sorry I interrupted your lunch.”
“You want to join? We can make room.”
“No.” I pull back and cup her cheek. “You have lunch with your friends. I’ll see you after work.”
“Okay. We’re just celebrating since Grant got the part in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she turns and beams at him.
Jealousy tries to crawl its way out of me, but I tamp it back down. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” He gives me a cool wave. “I’m finally the fairy my father always feared I’d be.”
Lindsay pulls on my scarf. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I don’t like the worry I’ve caused in her. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to drop by. That’s all.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t sound convinced, but there’s not much investigating she can do in the middle of a noisy restaurant while her friends look on. “I’ll see you right after work.”
“Yes.” I kiss her on the mouth but try to keep it PG. Then, because I am who I am, I slip her some tongue.
Someone at a nearby table whistles, and when I release her she’s blushing.
I’m fine. Everything is fine. Henry is just being dramatic, and my plans are going to work out.
“Everything’s great,” I reassure her and walk her back to the table. “Sorry for the interruption, and congrats again, Grant. Lunch is on me.”
“Thanks.” He nods, and the elves stare at him with hopeful eyes. How can they not know he bats for the other team?
I make my way to the bar to pay their tab.
“When are we flying out?” Grant asks Lindsay. “Did you buy tickets yet?”
The restaurant is loud, but I’m close enough to catch most of what he’s saying.
“I’m working until Christmas Day, so I’m going to drive down when my shift is over on Christmas Eve. But your flight is three days before Christmas, I think? I’ll have to look at what I booked.”
Lindsay is leaving?
“You’re missing Christmas Eve. Seriously? You told your mama yet?” Grant asks. “She’s going to have a shit fit.”
“No.” She says something else, but I can’t make it out since the table behind me gets rowdy for a moment. Apparently, it’s someone’s birthday, and that someone didn’t have the good manners to celebrate elsewhere.
“You could quit now, you know,” Grant says. “I’ve got the part. You can go back to not-so-steady work and try for better acting gigs in between.”
“I don’t mind the gig.” Lindsay sighs. “And working for …”
The birthday table behind me acts up again so I miss whatever she says next.
“… can’t believe I have to work on Christmas Eve.” The elf across from her gripes. “My mom was livid, too.”
I pay the tab, then hurry out into the cold, sunny day. She waves at me through the window, and I wave back.
Though I feel better than when I walked in, I now have another problem. Lindsay is leaving. So how do I get her to stay?
Chapter 12
Lindsay
“Rehearsals are grueling.” Grant collapses onto his futon.
“Do you love it, though?”
“Every second of it.” He grins. “Did you see Sexy-Crazy-Eyes again after lunch?”
“He brought me home to you, dear friend.” I touch the face mask I applied an hour ago. The instructions said to leave it on for fifteen minutes, but mama needs smaller pores, dammit!
“He busy tonight?”
“Yes.” I relax onto my pillow. “He said he needed to go over some things at the office. Something about proxy research.”
“What’s a proxy?”
“No clue. Sounds very business-y and CEO-y to me.” I scroll through my Instagram, then post my most recent selfie with Crane. He looks grumpy, which I find endearing. He smiles plenty with me, but the second I whip out my phone for a picture, he goes all blue steel.
“That’s a cute one.” Grant is scrolling Insta, too, apparently. “Why’s he always frowning?”
“It’s just his thing.”
“But he’s nice to you, right?” He turns to look at me, his eyes tired but focused.
“Yes. I’ve told you that a million times. He’s nice.”
“Nice guys don’t make people work on Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve.” He wrinkles his nose, then touches it. “I have to stop doing that. You got another mask?”
“Yep.” I point to the bathroom. “He’s really into work. Though, he doesn’t like work.”
He gets up and drags the few steps to the sink. “I thought guys like him lived for work.”
It takes me forever to figure out the mask thing, but he’s got his on in thirty seconds and is already back in bed.
“He doesn’t like his work because his father—”
“Daddy issues. I could’ve told you that.” He scoots the new space heater a little closer to him. “You’re over here getting serious with a guy who has daddy issues. Meanwhile, I’m in a weird dry spell. What is this world coming to?”
“Anyway, as I was saying, his dad poured himself into the company and neglected Crane and his brother Henry, but Crane more, I think. So, that’s why he’s sort of not into the business.”
“Why doesn’t he just let his brother have it?” He gasps. “Wait. Is that the blond one I saw at the store the other day? Blue eyes? Tight pants?”
“Henry’s straight.”
“Ugh.” He settles back down. “What a waste.”
“But Crane is good at running the company.”
“Is that why turnover is so high?” Grant’s sarcasm is light. He must be getting sleepy.
“He just runs a tight ship is all. He’s a nice person.”
“Is he, though?” He plugs his phone in and lays it next to his pillow. “I mean sure he’s nice to you, but he seems horrible to everyone else. Is that the kind of guy you want to be with?”
I want to say ‘he’s good to other people’ or ‘you just don’t know the real him,’ but both things die on my tongue. Because Grant has a point. Crane is mean to people, most people, in fact. The way he talked to me when he thought I was Santa—that was awful. And I haven’t really seen him act any differently to anyone but me.
“See? Now I’ve got you questioning. Just ignore me. I’m clearly in a lack-of-sex induced haze.” He sighs. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know. I love you, too.”
“And I want you to be with the right guy.”
“Yeah. I want the same for you.”
“Thank you. And I think Crane has potential, but you need to watch yourself.” His voice grows quiet as he begins to enter half-awake, half-snooze. “He’s got issues. Remember when I tried to fix Zach? Broken arm, broken heart, and lesson learned. Don’t be stupid Grant. Be smart Grant who now knows better. Be me. Be a cute girl version of me.”
“Right.” I close my eyes and listen to his familiar snores as he enters full-snooze.
Despite Grant’s warning, I know Crane is good. I just know it. But I’m not sure how I can convince everyone else of that fact.
“Rehearsals are grueling.” Grant collapses onto his futon.
“Do you love it, though?”
“Every second of it.” He grins. “Did you see Sexy-Crazy-Eyes again after lunch?”
“He brought me home to you, dear friend.” I touch the face mask I applied an hour ago. The instructions said to leave it on for fifteen minutes, but mama needs smaller pores, dammit!
“He busy tonight?”
“Yes.” I relax onto my pillow. “He said he needed to go over some things at the office. Something about proxy research.”
“What’s a proxy?”
“No clue. Sounds very business-y and CEO-y to me.” I scroll through my Instagram, then post my most recent selfie with Crane. He looks grumpy, which I find endearing. He smiles plenty with me, but the second I whip out my phone for a picture, he goes all blue steel.
“That’s a cute one.” Grant is scrolling Insta, too, apparently. “Why’s he always frowning?”
“It’s just his thing.”
“But he’s nice to you, right?” He turns to look at me, his eyes tired but focused.
“Yes. I’ve told you that a million times. He’s nice.”
“Nice guys don’t make people work on Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve.” He wrinkles his nose, then touches it. “I have to stop doing that. You got another mask?”
“Yep.” I point to the bathroom. “He’s really into work. Though, he doesn’t like work.”
He gets up and drags the few steps to the sink. “I thought guys like him lived for work.”
It takes me forever to figure out the mask thing, but he’s got his on in thirty seconds and is already back in bed.
“He doesn’t like his work because his father—”
“Daddy issues. I could’ve told you that.” He scoots the new space heater a little closer to him. “You’re over here getting serious with a guy who has daddy issues. Meanwhile, I’m in a weird dry spell. What is this world coming to?”
“Anyway, as I was saying, his dad poured himself into the company and neglected Crane and his brother Henry, but Crane more, I think. So, that’s why he’s sort of not into the business.”
“Why doesn’t he just let his brother have it?” He gasps. “Wait. Is that the blond one I saw at the store the other day? Blue eyes? Tight pants?”
“Henry’s straight.”
“Ugh.” He settles back down. “What a waste.”
“But Crane is good at running the company.”
“Is that why turnover is so high?” Grant’s sarcasm is light. He must be getting sleepy.
“He just runs a tight ship is all. He’s a nice person.”
“Is he, though?” He plugs his phone in and lays it next to his pillow. “I mean sure he’s nice to you, but he seems horrible to everyone else. Is that the kind of guy you want to be with?”
I want to say ‘he’s good to other people’ or ‘you just don’t know the real him,’ but both things die on my tongue. Because Grant has a point. Crane is mean to people, most people, in fact. The way he talked to me when he thought I was Santa—that was awful. And I haven’t really seen him act any differently to anyone but me.
“See? Now I’ve got you questioning. Just ignore me. I’m clearly in a lack-of-sex induced haze.” He sighs. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know. I love you, too.”
“And I want you to be with the right guy.”
“Yeah. I want the same for you.”
“Thank you. And I think Crane has potential, but you need to watch yourself.” His voice grows quiet as he begins to enter half-awake, half-snooze. “He’s got issues. Remember when I tried to fix Zach? Broken arm, broken heart, and lesson learned. Don’t be stupid Grant. Be smart Grant who now knows better. Be me. Be a cute girl version of me.”
“Right.” I close my eyes and listen to his familiar snores as he enters full-snooze.
Despite Grant’s warning, I know Crane is good. I just know it. But I’m not sure how I can convince everyone else of that fact.
Chapter 13
Lindsay
“Mama, I have to go.”
“You come home right now. It’s three days till Christmas. Right now, Lindsay Sabrina Fairchild!”
“Mom, I told you. I’m leaving here after my Christmas Eve shift.”
“And I told you that you need to get your happy ass down here for the holidays or so help me—”
“Leave the girl alone,” Dad calls from the background. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”
“Don’t you go ganging up on me.” Her familiar indignant huff brings a smile to my lips. “Gable, tell your sister.”
“Come home, Lindsay,” my brother says with a noted lack of enthusiasm.
“See? Your baby brother needs you.”
“He’s seventeen, Mom. Not a baby. Doesn’t need me. And I’ll be there in the wee hours of Christmas morning. Just pretend Santa is bringing me.”
“That boss of yours is the worst, a horrible person, a monster for making you work on Christmas Eve!” Her blood is up, and I know she’ll continue blustering for at least an hour. But the Santa shift is starting, and I have to go. I also don’t want to tell her that technically, I could quit the seasonal job and come on home, but then--
“Who’s gonna play Santa?”
I jump and turn to find the drunken Claus standing behind me. “Mama, gotta go. Love you. See you soon.” I end the call when Mama is mid-squawk. “Mister, you need a bell.” I point to his neck. One covered by a white, fluffy beard. It’s no longer the scraggly mess I’m used, and even his skin looks less sallow, his eyes clear.
“You cleaned up.”
He tucks his thumbs into his black suspenders. “I had some extra pay, so I spent it on a barber. You like?”
“Your extra pay is earned from my labor.” I stalk into the changing stall and strip out of my street clothes. Dressing quickly, I’m almost done when I look around and don’t see my hat.
Drunken Santa hands it over the curtain to me.
“Thanks,” I say out of habit.
I snug it onto my head, then walk out and check the mirror.
He taps the side of his nose. “It’s like magic.”
“What are you even doing here? You clearly don’t intend to work.”
“I came by for my check.”
“Right. Money for more booze. That’s just what you need.” I add a little extra Rudolph fluff to my belly area, then turn to the side to check the angle.
“Looking good.” He smiles, and I notice his cheeks are … rosy. Not drunk rosy, either. Healthy rosy. “How’s it going with Crane? You two have been inseparable for the last month.”
“That is none of your business.” I narrow my eyes at him in the mirror.
“His Christmas spirit is improved but only in one area. Yours. Everyone else—” He does a thumbs down. His nails are clean now, no more grime. “He’s still the same old Scrooge in here.” He points to his heart.
I whirl on him and hold up a finger. “Are you the real—”
“Santa!” Chrissy calls from the storeroom door. “Time to go!”
He shrugs and runs his thumbs up and down his suspenders. “Better get going. You got a job to do, and I must say you’re excellent at it. Makes me proud.”
I rush away from him, and when I get to the door and look back, he’s gone.
***
“Ho ho ho!” I welcome a little girl onto my lap. Her black hair is done in a pretty ponytail, and she takes me in with her big, dark eyes.
“Santa,” she whispers, her voice full of wonder.
“Merry Christmas, Ebony. Now tell me what you’d like this year.” I smile down at her.
“I um, I …” She points to her upper lip where a white scar runs, showing she likely had a cleft palate in the past.
I glance up at her father, and he gives me a hopeful look. I realize it’s not because he thinks I can erase the scar, but because he wants to believe I can make her feel better about it. That’s a lot of faith to be putting in a department store Santa, and an impostor to boot.
I return my attention to the darling child. “Can I tell you a story, Ebony?”
She nods.
“I once knew a little girl who looked in the mirror and saw an ugly person. Now, this girl wasn’t ugly. Not at all. But there were children at her school who said she was.”
She looks down, then back up, an unspoken recognition in her eyes.
“This little girl had beauty in here.” I point to her heart. “But she couldn’t see it. And she had beauty out here.” I wave my white-gloved hand in front of her face. “But she couldn’t see it. All because other children told her she was ugly, and fat, and that she would never have her dreams come true. This little girl dreamed of being an actress. But those children, they told her she couldn’t. That she was the wrong shape. That no one would ever want to see her on a stage or in a movie.”
Her eyes begin to glisten, but I continue, “Those children, the mean ones, they were wrong, Ebony. That girl grew up, and then she chased her dreams to a big city just like this one, and right when she was thinking about giving up or doing something else or even going home, she got a part in a show. A big one. A role that changed her life.” My own eyes water, and I try to swallow my tears back down. “At first she didn’t want the part. She didn’t think she was qualified. But once she started playing the role, she realized she was good at it. That she could make her dreams come true. And you know what?”
“What?” she whispers.
“She became a great actress. One beloved by hundreds, maybe thousands of children. And she doesn’t intend to stop. So, dream big. Those other kids? They don’t know the greatness you have inside you, just like they didn’t know the greatness of the girl in the story. But one day, they will. One day, your heart will shine for the world to see. And that day will be absolutely beautiful, just like you.” I hug her gently, but she throws her arms around me and holds me tight.
“I love you, Santa.”
“I love you, too, Ebony.” I’m glad for the tickly beard, because it serves as an excellent tear catcher.
“Mama, I have to go.”
“You come home right now. It’s three days till Christmas. Right now, Lindsay Sabrina Fairchild!”
“Mom, I told you. I’m leaving here after my Christmas Eve shift.”
“And I told you that you need to get your happy ass down here for the holidays or so help me—”
“Leave the girl alone,” Dad calls from the background. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”
“Don’t you go ganging up on me.” Her familiar indignant huff brings a smile to my lips. “Gable, tell your sister.”
“Come home, Lindsay,” my brother says with a noted lack of enthusiasm.
“See? Your baby brother needs you.”
“He’s seventeen, Mom. Not a baby. Doesn’t need me. And I’ll be there in the wee hours of Christmas morning. Just pretend Santa is bringing me.”
“That boss of yours is the worst, a horrible person, a monster for making you work on Christmas Eve!” Her blood is up, and I know she’ll continue blustering for at least an hour. But the Santa shift is starting, and I have to go. I also don’t want to tell her that technically, I could quit the seasonal job and come on home, but then--
“Who’s gonna play Santa?”
I jump and turn to find the drunken Claus standing behind me. “Mama, gotta go. Love you. See you soon.” I end the call when Mama is mid-squawk. “Mister, you need a bell.” I point to his neck. One covered by a white, fluffy beard. It’s no longer the scraggly mess I’m used, and even his skin looks less sallow, his eyes clear.
“You cleaned up.”
He tucks his thumbs into his black suspenders. “I had some extra pay, so I spent it on a barber. You like?”
“Your extra pay is earned from my labor.” I stalk into the changing stall and strip out of my street clothes. Dressing quickly, I’m almost done when I look around and don’t see my hat.
Drunken Santa hands it over the curtain to me.
“Thanks,” I say out of habit.
I snug it onto my head, then walk out and check the mirror.
He taps the side of his nose. “It’s like magic.”
“What are you even doing here? You clearly don’t intend to work.”
“I came by for my check.”
“Right. Money for more booze. That’s just what you need.” I add a little extra Rudolph fluff to my belly area, then turn to the side to check the angle.
“Looking good.” He smiles, and I notice his cheeks are … rosy. Not drunk rosy, either. Healthy rosy. “How’s it going with Crane? You two have been inseparable for the last month.”
“That is none of your business.” I narrow my eyes at him in the mirror.
“His Christmas spirit is improved but only in one area. Yours. Everyone else—” He does a thumbs down. His nails are clean now, no more grime. “He’s still the same old Scrooge in here.” He points to his heart.
I whirl on him and hold up a finger. “Are you the real—”
“Santa!” Chrissy calls from the storeroom door. “Time to go!”
He shrugs and runs his thumbs up and down his suspenders. “Better get going. You got a job to do, and I must say you’re excellent at it. Makes me proud.”
I rush away from him, and when I get to the door and look back, he’s gone.
***
“Ho ho ho!” I welcome a little girl onto my lap. Her black hair is done in a pretty ponytail, and she takes me in with her big, dark eyes.
“Santa,” she whispers, her voice full of wonder.
“Merry Christmas, Ebony. Now tell me what you’d like this year.” I smile down at her.
“I um, I …” She points to her upper lip where a white scar runs, showing she likely had a cleft palate in the past.
I glance up at her father, and he gives me a hopeful look. I realize it’s not because he thinks I can erase the scar, but because he wants to believe I can make her feel better about it. That’s a lot of faith to be putting in a department store Santa, and an impostor to boot.
I return my attention to the darling child. “Can I tell you a story, Ebony?”
She nods.
“I once knew a little girl who looked in the mirror and saw an ugly person. Now, this girl wasn’t ugly. Not at all. But there were children at her school who said she was.”
She looks down, then back up, an unspoken recognition in her eyes.
“This little girl had beauty in here.” I point to her heart. “But she couldn’t see it. And she had beauty out here.” I wave my white-gloved hand in front of her face. “But she couldn’t see it. All because other children told her she was ugly, and fat, and that she would never have her dreams come true. This little girl dreamed of being an actress. But those children, they told her she couldn’t. That she was the wrong shape. That no one would ever want to see her on a stage or in a movie.”
Her eyes begin to glisten, but I continue, “Those children, the mean ones, they were wrong, Ebony. That girl grew up, and then she chased her dreams to a big city just like this one, and right when she was thinking about giving up or doing something else or even going home, she got a part in a show. A big one. A role that changed her life.” My own eyes water, and I try to swallow my tears back down. “At first she didn’t want the part. She didn’t think she was qualified. But once she started playing the role, she realized she was good at it. That she could make her dreams come true. And you know what?”
“What?” she whispers.
“She became a great actress. One beloved by hundreds, maybe thousands of children. And she doesn’t intend to stop. So, dream big. Those other kids? They don’t know the greatness you have inside you, just like they didn’t know the greatness of the girl in the story. But one day, they will. One day, your heart will shine for the world to see. And that day will be absolutely beautiful, just like you.” I hug her gently, but she throws her arms around me and holds me tight.
“I love you, Santa.”
“I love you, too, Ebony.” I’m glad for the tickly beard, because it serves as an excellent tear catcher.
Chapter 14
Crane
“This looks fine.” I flip through the pages Beverly prepared for me. “Just make the two changes I marked and have a runner send it down to the store for Ms. Fairchild.”
“You sure about this?” Beverly asks.
“Don’t question me.” I sit back in my chair and wave her out of my office.
She takes the papers, gives me an acidic look, then leaves. I understand her hesitancy. After all, I’m hiring a second assistant. But she doesn’t need to fear. Lindsay will be an assistant in name only. I don’t expect her to do much around the office except keep me company, and I can think of plenty of ways to make that pleasant for both of us.
Once she sees her new position, she won’t want to leave for Christmas. I smile and turn to look out at the brightening day. Everything is working out perfectly.
Conference calls go on as scheduled, each manager checking in. Some are fearful of falling numbers, others crow about the money they’re raking in. I find myself almost uninterested at this point. Possibly because the Christopher Company has been sniffing around my financials and, if my spies are correct, Reed Christopher intends to make an offer before the end of the year. If that happens, I can close the deal in the first quarter, then wash my hands of this place for good.
I’m enjoying a quiet lunch at my desk when Henry strides into my office without knocking.
“What?” I focus on my steak.
My door opens again, and Higginbotham enters right behind Henry.
“Beverly, call security.” I stand and cross my arms.
“On it,” she calls.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I carefully fold my napkin. “Didn’t we already have this chat? Higginbotham, you’re out. You’ve been out. Henry, if you keep this up, you’ll be out on your ass just the same.”
Henry points to a sheaf of papers in Higginbotham’s hand. “We have the proxy votes.”
I raise a brow. “That’s not possible.”
“It certainly is.” A woman enters behind Higginbotham. She’s familiar, but I can’t place her.
“I’m not sure why you think it’s all right to barge into my office, but—”
“This is Gertrude Uline. She owns a great deal of stock in Marley’s.”
“I collected it when your father gave it out as part of our bonuses, though I see you stopped giving much of anything.” The elderly lady levels me with the same disappointed look as she had weeks ago in the store.
“I remember you.”
Henry pats the papers. “I have her votes, as well as the votes of several former and current employees.”
I wave a hand at them. “You don’t even know what you’re doing. The board isn’t meeting until next—”
“The board meets this afternoon.” Higginbotham turns the sheaf around to me. “The articles of incorporation allow for a proxy fight to move forward with a quorum at the earliest possible juncture.”
“That juncture is this afternoon,” Henry says. “And I just got off the phone with Reed Christopher. I was very sorry to inform him that Marley’s isn’t for sale.”
Two security guards walk in, their eyes shifting from me to the three interlopers.
“Escort them out.” I jerk my chin at Henry and crew.
“Touch me, son, and you’ll regret it,” Mrs. Uline practically growls.
Henry turns. “Everyone, please wait outside. I need to talk to my brother.”
“Sir?” A security guard asks.
“Go.” I sit at my desk, my legs suddenly weak. If what Henry says is true—and it certainly looks like it is—I’m done. All my plans are falling apart because of my brother. Actually, not just because of him. Mrs. Uline is like my father’s skeletal hand reaching out from beyond the grave to torment me.
I rub my eyes. “This is a mistake.”
“No, it’s not.” Henry sits across from me. “You need this as much as I do.”
“What?” I look up at him.
“Look at you.” He gives me an earnest stare. “You hate this job, this company, and your life. You are miserable.”
“Not true.” I may hate this place, but I have happiness in my life now. Lindsay.
“Completely true. The only thing that brings you joy is the new holiday hire. All the rest of this can go. You’ll be better off.”
The sinking feeling inside me turns to seething anger. “Don’t make your theft of the company from me out to be some mercy mission. You’re a spoiled, selfish prodigal son who wants to be just like our father.”
“No, I don’t. But I do want to keep his business alive. People depend on us for jobs. I don’t want that to end.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on my desk. “We can keep the company without turning into him. You know that, right?”
A million flashbacks play through my mind. My father absent, aloof, uninterested, angry, or simply gone. Nothing warm. Nothing to be salvaged.
“You’re wrong, Henry.”
“Crane, you have to go. I know it doesn’t make sense right now, but I can see it clear as day. You have to get out of here and stay out of here for long while. We don’t need your vote this afternoon. We have a quorum. Just go. Trust me.”
I laugh, the sound barked and ugly. “Trust you?” I rise and grab my coat. “Trust the brother who stabbed me in the back and stole my company?” I walk past him. “We are no longer brothers. I hope you’ve already arranged legal counsel, because I intend to tie this fight up in court for years, draining Marley’s coffers all the while. Everything you’ve done here today has been for nothing.”
I keep my head high as I stroll past a shocked Beverly, a smug Mrs. Uline, and a flustered Higginbotham. They can have this place. I hope it brings them the same amount of joy that it’s brought me.
“This looks fine.” I flip through the pages Beverly prepared for me. “Just make the two changes I marked and have a runner send it down to the store for Ms. Fairchild.”
“You sure about this?” Beverly asks.
“Don’t question me.” I sit back in my chair and wave her out of my office.
She takes the papers, gives me an acidic look, then leaves. I understand her hesitancy. After all, I’m hiring a second assistant. But she doesn’t need to fear. Lindsay will be an assistant in name only. I don’t expect her to do much around the office except keep me company, and I can think of plenty of ways to make that pleasant for both of us.
Once she sees her new position, she won’t want to leave for Christmas. I smile and turn to look out at the brightening day. Everything is working out perfectly.
Conference calls go on as scheduled, each manager checking in. Some are fearful of falling numbers, others crow about the money they’re raking in. I find myself almost uninterested at this point. Possibly because the Christopher Company has been sniffing around my financials and, if my spies are correct, Reed Christopher intends to make an offer before the end of the year. If that happens, I can close the deal in the first quarter, then wash my hands of this place for good.
I’m enjoying a quiet lunch at my desk when Henry strides into my office without knocking.
“What?” I focus on my steak.
My door opens again, and Higginbotham enters right behind Henry.
“Beverly, call security.” I stand and cross my arms.
“On it,” she calls.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I carefully fold my napkin. “Didn’t we already have this chat? Higginbotham, you’re out. You’ve been out. Henry, if you keep this up, you’ll be out on your ass just the same.”
Henry points to a sheaf of papers in Higginbotham’s hand. “We have the proxy votes.”
I raise a brow. “That’s not possible.”
“It certainly is.” A woman enters behind Higginbotham. She’s familiar, but I can’t place her.
“I’m not sure why you think it’s all right to barge into my office, but—”
“This is Gertrude Uline. She owns a great deal of stock in Marley’s.”
“I collected it when your father gave it out as part of our bonuses, though I see you stopped giving much of anything.” The elderly lady levels me with the same disappointed look as she had weeks ago in the store.
“I remember you.”
Henry pats the papers. “I have her votes, as well as the votes of several former and current employees.”
I wave a hand at them. “You don’t even know what you’re doing. The board isn’t meeting until next—”
“The board meets this afternoon.” Higginbotham turns the sheaf around to me. “The articles of incorporation allow for a proxy fight to move forward with a quorum at the earliest possible juncture.”
“That juncture is this afternoon,” Henry says. “And I just got off the phone with Reed Christopher. I was very sorry to inform him that Marley’s isn’t for sale.”
Two security guards walk in, their eyes shifting from me to the three interlopers.
“Escort them out.” I jerk my chin at Henry and crew.
“Touch me, son, and you’ll regret it,” Mrs. Uline practically growls.
Henry turns. “Everyone, please wait outside. I need to talk to my brother.”
“Sir?” A security guard asks.
“Go.” I sit at my desk, my legs suddenly weak. If what Henry says is true—and it certainly looks like it is—I’m done. All my plans are falling apart because of my brother. Actually, not just because of him. Mrs. Uline is like my father’s skeletal hand reaching out from beyond the grave to torment me.
I rub my eyes. “This is a mistake.”
“No, it’s not.” Henry sits across from me. “You need this as much as I do.”
“What?” I look up at him.
“Look at you.” He gives me an earnest stare. “You hate this job, this company, and your life. You are miserable.”
“Not true.” I may hate this place, but I have happiness in my life now. Lindsay.
“Completely true. The only thing that brings you joy is the new holiday hire. All the rest of this can go. You’ll be better off.”
The sinking feeling inside me turns to seething anger. “Don’t make your theft of the company from me out to be some mercy mission. You’re a spoiled, selfish prodigal son who wants to be just like our father.”
“No, I don’t. But I do want to keep his business alive. People depend on us for jobs. I don’t want that to end.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on my desk. “We can keep the company without turning into him. You know that, right?”
A million flashbacks play through my mind. My father absent, aloof, uninterested, angry, or simply gone. Nothing warm. Nothing to be salvaged.
“You’re wrong, Henry.”
“Crane, you have to go. I know it doesn’t make sense right now, but I can see it clear as day. You have to get out of here and stay out of here for long while. We don’t need your vote this afternoon. We have a quorum. Just go. Trust me.”
I laugh, the sound barked and ugly. “Trust you?” I rise and grab my coat. “Trust the brother who stabbed me in the back and stole my company?” I walk past him. “We are no longer brothers. I hope you’ve already arranged legal counsel, because I intend to tie this fight up in court for years, draining Marley’s coffers all the while. Everything you’ve done here today has been for nothing.”
I keep my head high as I stroll past a shocked Beverly, a smug Mrs. Uline, and a flustered Higginbotham. They can have this place. I hope it brings them the same amount of joy that it’s brought me.
Chapter 15
Lindsay
I stand and stretch, my back aching until it pops, and I let out a relieved groan. Despite my aches and pains, I smile. It’s been a great day with the kids, and Crane has been extra sweet by trying to set me up in a permanent position at his office. I can’t take it because I need to keep trying for acting jobs, but just the thought of him making the offer has my big bowl-full-of-jelly stomach jiggling with butterflies, or maybe my Rudolph stuffing has shifted. Either way, I’m happy.
Brianna, the elf I don’t know quite as well, organizes the checkout desk while there’s a lull in children coming to see Santa. We’ve been slammed most of the day, and I’m looking forward to a quiet evening alone with Crane.
An associate from ladieswear hastens over and starts up a loud chatter with Chrissy. “Did you hear?”
“Hear what?” Brianna asks.
I walk over to listen. It’s not really eavesdropping; I’m in a bright red Santa suit.
“We’re off on Christmas Eve.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised, then lower my voice. “Really?”
“Yes.” The associate leans closer. “And I hear the mean Marley is out and the cute Marley is in at the top.”
My stomach does an ugly twirl. “What?”
“Yeah,” the associate nods, clearly pleased to be delivering the tea. “The cute one took control from the mean one. They’re going to make it official at the board meeting thing in less than an hour. So we get Christmas Eve off, and everything is going to be so much better.”
“Thank God.” Brianna laughs. “I hate when the mean one comes in. He’s not bad to look at, but then he always has something nasty to say. Everyone hates him. Good riddance.”
“He’s not so bad.” I step closer.
“What?” The ladieswear associate gives me a skeptical look. “That man is the devil. He fired two of my friends this summer for no reason. Just because he was feeling like an asshole that day. He’s no good, Santa. Just check your naughty list. You’ll find him there.”
“Stop chattering, and get back to work.” Ms. Martin hurries up, her stern face on tight.
The associate frowns but walks away.
“Hey,” I call after her. “He’s not a bad person. He’s just—”
“Good afternoon, shoppers!” Crane’s voice comes over the PA. But there’s something wrong with it. “So glad to have you here at this stinkin’, over-priced department store that should’ve closed in the eighties, but somehow lives on to torment me.”
I look up. “Is he…”
“Drunk.” Brianna covers her mouth with her hand.
“Oh no,” Ms. Martin and I say in unison.
She turns and sprints through menswear, her steps surprisingly spry. I turn in a circle, but don’t see him anywhere.
“Here ye, here ye. This is Crane Marley.” He hiccups. “The store is closed. Closed. But first take whatever items you like! Yes. Take things. Don’t leave them for my ingrate employees to steal.”
I get up on the tiptoes of my giant shoes and try to find him, but no luck. The PA can be accessed from any phone in the store.
“Yes, you. You take this.” Scuffling noises sound, as if the microphone is rubbing against fabric. “Take it. It’s yours. We don’t need that mannequin anymore.”
“Where is he?” I ask Brianna, but she shrugs, a grin on her face.
“It’s not funny!” I step off the stage and hurry to the administration hall. People are standing and staring at the speakers as Crane continues to force free items on what I assume are terrified customers.
“This is yours.” Another hiccup. “You’ll look lovely in that dress … what? No it doesn’t matter if you’re a man. Take it!”
I turn back around and rush out, almost running into Santa.
“You better watch out.” He steadies me before I go sprawling.
“Where is he?” I jump to try and see over the racks of menswear.
“Second floor.” Santa taps the side of his nose and points to the women’s formalwear department.
I take off, my big black boots trying to trip me as I jump onto the escalator.
“One-hundred percent off. Everything in the store is one-hundred percent off. Grab it before it’s gone. If security tries to stop you, just keep running. The courts go hard on shopkeepers who do a false imprisonment. I should know. We have dozens of pending lawsuits. Dozens,” he slurs into the microphone as I almost fall on the escalator. “Because I’m hard on shoplifters, okay? I’m hard on people who steal from me. Like my brother, for example. He’s a thief. A nasty, back-stabbing thief!”
My foot gets caught at the top of the escalator, and the entire thing shuts down as I try to wrench my boot free.
“Come on!” I pull and pull until my foot pops out and the boot stays wedged, so I run with only one shoe on. “Crane!”
“Thieves, can’t trust ‘em. Same for all my employees. Can’t trust ‘em. They looooooved my father, though. Hate me. Loved him. He loved them, too. Way more than me. So Merry Christmas, employees! I hate you all.” He turns and looks right at me. “And you! Santa! I hate you worst of all.”
The venom in his words stops me.
“You are a liar. Kids—if there are any kids in the store—this Santa isn’t real. He’s a fake. Santa was never real. Your parents LIE to you. That’s right. And this guy right here?” He points at me, his drunken eyes glassy. “He’s the biggest liar of all. He tells you things are going to be okay, that people will get what they deserve at the end of the year, that good will win. He’s a liar. He doesn’t love anyone. He’s fake. He’s a drunk! This stupid fake Santa you’ve all been raving about? He’s a drunk! He can’t hold down a real job, just one where he gets to be a clown for children for one month out of the year.”
My eyes sting, and I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut. He isn’t saying it to me. I know that. But I also don’t. What sort of man can say these things? Have I been ignoring all the bad just because Crane’s been good to me?
“He’s a fraud, a joke, a drunk, a criminal. He’s stupid, just like all of my employees. Expendable, too. Santa, you’re fired.”
Someone comes to my elbow.
Crane’s gaze shifts. “Hey, Ms. Martin, good to see you. You’re fired, too.”
Tears roll down my cheeks as Ms. Martin threads her arm through mine. I turn to look at her, and her upper lip is as stiff as always, but her eyes are soft and not the least bit surprised it’s me. She knows. She knows I’m Santa. Has she known all along?
“Crane,” Henry calls from behind us. “Put the handset down.”
“Et tu brute?” He laughs maniacally into the PA. “Another liar. You and Santa, perfect together.” He looks around. “Hey, where’s Lindsay? Lindsay, come get a load of these liars. I’m sorry I ever had you working with this garbage Santa. He couldn’t fool anyone. Just look at him. Pathetic.” He laughs some more.
“Crane, stop this. You’ve done enough,” Henry says.
I take a shuddering breath and reach up, grab my Santa hat and wig, then pull them off my head. With another tug, I remove my beard, and drop it all to the ground beside me.
Ms. Martin holds my arm tighter, and Henry comes to my other side. Crane’s mouth falls open as I pull off the netting holding my hair tight beneath the wig.
Crane drops the phone and lurches around the cash wrap. “Lindsay, it’s you. Why are you dressed up as Santa?”
“She’s been playing Santa this whole time, and she was damn good at it,” Ms. Martin snaps.
“Lindsay, all that stuff I said, it wasn’t meant for you.” He moves closer, and I get the strong scent of whiskey.
“I know.” I sniff and wipe my eyes with my gloved hands. “I know it wasn’t meant for me, but it was meant for someone, and that’s enough.” I back away. “We’re done, Crane.”
“Lindsay, I’m sorry.” He really does seem sorry, but it doesn’t matter. I see him now. He’s broken. I’ve been ignoring the broken pieces, but I can’t do that anymore.
“Stop, Crane. Leave her alone.” Henry’s voice carries to me, but I’m already gone, hurrying down the escalator and down to the store room. I grab my bag of clothes, not bothering to change as I rush to the back door. I push it open and run onto the sidewalk.
The cold wind blows against my exposed face, almost freezing the tears to my skin, but I keep going. I won’t stop. Not until I’m away from this nightmare and safe at home.
I stand and stretch, my back aching until it pops, and I let out a relieved groan. Despite my aches and pains, I smile. It’s been a great day with the kids, and Crane has been extra sweet by trying to set me up in a permanent position at his office. I can’t take it because I need to keep trying for acting jobs, but just the thought of him making the offer has my big bowl-full-of-jelly stomach jiggling with butterflies, or maybe my Rudolph stuffing has shifted. Either way, I’m happy.
Brianna, the elf I don’t know quite as well, organizes the checkout desk while there’s a lull in children coming to see Santa. We’ve been slammed most of the day, and I’m looking forward to a quiet evening alone with Crane.
An associate from ladieswear hastens over and starts up a loud chatter with Chrissy. “Did you hear?”
“Hear what?” Brianna asks.
I walk over to listen. It’s not really eavesdropping; I’m in a bright red Santa suit.
“We’re off on Christmas Eve.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised, then lower my voice. “Really?”
“Yes.” The associate leans closer. “And I hear the mean Marley is out and the cute Marley is in at the top.”
My stomach does an ugly twirl. “What?”
“Yeah,” the associate nods, clearly pleased to be delivering the tea. “The cute one took control from the mean one. They’re going to make it official at the board meeting thing in less than an hour. So we get Christmas Eve off, and everything is going to be so much better.”
“Thank God.” Brianna laughs. “I hate when the mean one comes in. He’s not bad to look at, but then he always has something nasty to say. Everyone hates him. Good riddance.”
“He’s not so bad.” I step closer.
“What?” The ladieswear associate gives me a skeptical look. “That man is the devil. He fired two of my friends this summer for no reason. Just because he was feeling like an asshole that day. He’s no good, Santa. Just check your naughty list. You’ll find him there.”
“Stop chattering, and get back to work.” Ms. Martin hurries up, her stern face on tight.
The associate frowns but walks away.
“Hey,” I call after her. “He’s not a bad person. He’s just—”
“Good afternoon, shoppers!” Crane’s voice comes over the PA. But there’s something wrong with it. “So glad to have you here at this stinkin’, over-priced department store that should’ve closed in the eighties, but somehow lives on to torment me.”
I look up. “Is he…”
“Drunk.” Brianna covers her mouth with her hand.
“Oh no,” Ms. Martin and I say in unison.
She turns and sprints through menswear, her steps surprisingly spry. I turn in a circle, but don’t see him anywhere.
“Here ye, here ye. This is Crane Marley.” He hiccups. “The store is closed. Closed. But first take whatever items you like! Yes. Take things. Don’t leave them for my ingrate employees to steal.”
I get up on the tiptoes of my giant shoes and try to find him, but no luck. The PA can be accessed from any phone in the store.
“Yes, you. You take this.” Scuffling noises sound, as if the microphone is rubbing against fabric. “Take it. It’s yours. We don’t need that mannequin anymore.”
“Where is he?” I ask Brianna, but she shrugs, a grin on her face.
“It’s not funny!” I step off the stage and hurry to the administration hall. People are standing and staring at the speakers as Crane continues to force free items on what I assume are terrified customers.
“This is yours.” Another hiccup. “You’ll look lovely in that dress … what? No it doesn’t matter if you’re a man. Take it!”
I turn back around and rush out, almost running into Santa.
“You better watch out.” He steadies me before I go sprawling.
“Where is he?” I jump to try and see over the racks of menswear.
“Second floor.” Santa taps the side of his nose and points to the women’s formalwear department.
I take off, my big black boots trying to trip me as I jump onto the escalator.
“One-hundred percent off. Everything in the store is one-hundred percent off. Grab it before it’s gone. If security tries to stop you, just keep running. The courts go hard on shopkeepers who do a false imprisonment. I should know. We have dozens of pending lawsuits. Dozens,” he slurs into the microphone as I almost fall on the escalator. “Because I’m hard on shoplifters, okay? I’m hard on people who steal from me. Like my brother, for example. He’s a thief. A nasty, back-stabbing thief!”
My foot gets caught at the top of the escalator, and the entire thing shuts down as I try to wrench my boot free.
“Come on!” I pull and pull until my foot pops out and the boot stays wedged, so I run with only one shoe on. “Crane!”
“Thieves, can’t trust ‘em. Same for all my employees. Can’t trust ‘em. They looooooved my father, though. Hate me. Loved him. He loved them, too. Way more than me. So Merry Christmas, employees! I hate you all.” He turns and looks right at me. “And you! Santa! I hate you worst of all.”
The venom in his words stops me.
“You are a liar. Kids—if there are any kids in the store—this Santa isn’t real. He’s a fake. Santa was never real. Your parents LIE to you. That’s right. And this guy right here?” He points at me, his drunken eyes glassy. “He’s the biggest liar of all. He tells you things are going to be okay, that people will get what they deserve at the end of the year, that good will win. He’s a liar. He doesn’t love anyone. He’s fake. He’s a drunk! This stupid fake Santa you’ve all been raving about? He’s a drunk! He can’t hold down a real job, just one where he gets to be a clown for children for one month out of the year.”
My eyes sting, and I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut. He isn’t saying it to me. I know that. But I also don’t. What sort of man can say these things? Have I been ignoring all the bad just because Crane’s been good to me?
“He’s a fraud, a joke, a drunk, a criminal. He’s stupid, just like all of my employees. Expendable, too. Santa, you’re fired.”
Someone comes to my elbow.
Crane’s gaze shifts. “Hey, Ms. Martin, good to see you. You’re fired, too.”
Tears roll down my cheeks as Ms. Martin threads her arm through mine. I turn to look at her, and her upper lip is as stiff as always, but her eyes are soft and not the least bit surprised it’s me. She knows. She knows I’m Santa. Has she known all along?
“Crane,” Henry calls from behind us. “Put the handset down.”
“Et tu brute?” He laughs maniacally into the PA. “Another liar. You and Santa, perfect together.” He looks around. “Hey, where’s Lindsay? Lindsay, come get a load of these liars. I’m sorry I ever had you working with this garbage Santa. He couldn’t fool anyone. Just look at him. Pathetic.” He laughs some more.
“Crane, stop this. You’ve done enough,” Henry says.
I take a shuddering breath and reach up, grab my Santa hat and wig, then pull them off my head. With another tug, I remove my beard, and drop it all to the ground beside me.
Ms. Martin holds my arm tighter, and Henry comes to my other side. Crane’s mouth falls open as I pull off the netting holding my hair tight beneath the wig.
Crane drops the phone and lurches around the cash wrap. “Lindsay, it’s you. Why are you dressed up as Santa?”
“She’s been playing Santa this whole time, and she was damn good at it,” Ms. Martin snaps.
“Lindsay, all that stuff I said, it wasn’t meant for you.” He moves closer, and I get the strong scent of whiskey.
“I know.” I sniff and wipe my eyes with my gloved hands. “I know it wasn’t meant for me, but it was meant for someone, and that’s enough.” I back away. “We’re done, Crane.”
“Lindsay, I’m sorry.” He really does seem sorry, but it doesn’t matter. I see him now. He’s broken. I’ve been ignoring the broken pieces, but I can’t do that anymore.
“Stop, Crane. Leave her alone.” Henry’s voice carries to me, but I’m already gone, hurrying down the escalator and down to the store room. I grab my bag of clothes, not bothering to change as I rush to the back door. I push it open and run onto the sidewalk.
The cold wind blows against my exposed face, almost freezing the tears to my skin, but I keep going. I won’t stop. Not until I’m away from this nightmare and safe at home.
Chapter 16
Crane
Dingo steals the bottom half of my bed just like old times. She’s a Golden Retriever whose sweetness far outweighs her smarts. But she’s good at keeping my feet warm, so there’s that.
Christmas Eve is here, and Mama is in the kitchen banging pots and pans under the guise of making a breakfast casserole when what she really wants is for me to get up so she can grill me about what happened in the city.
I pull my pillow over my head and will the tears to stay away. I’ve cried enough. Poor Grant had to listen to me blubber for hours as he drove us all the way home in a tiny, rented car. He may not want to be my roommate any more after all that. I can’t blame him.
Despite my efforts to forget them, Crane’s words still ring in my head about what a crappy Santa I was. But I know it’s not true. The smiling children—and even the crying ones sometimes—showed me that I had Santa’s spirit the entire time I wore his suit. All the same, isn’t it a kicker how one bad review can somehow erase all the rave reviews, at least temporarily?
“I was a great Santa.” I reach down and blindly pet Dingo’s head. “Seriously, Dingo. I was the best.”
She licks my hand, so I take that as a vote of confidence.
“Charlene, will you lay off the crock ware for a minute?” Dad calls.
“I will not,” she shoots back. “If you want a silent breakfast, then go find yourself a silent wife! Your daughter’s been moping for two days. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of her. I’m not interested in your need for quiet time, Lionel!”
“Lordy.” He laughs from his spot in his favorite recliner. “What a tear she’s on today.”
More banging cabinets and clanging pots follow, and I have to admit defeat and get out of my tear-stained bed.
“At least we got some decent snuggle time.” I pet Dingo again.
She gives me a panting doggy grin and jumps down to follow me to the bathroom.
Once I’m showered and dressed, the scent of bacon, eggs, and hash browns floats through the house. My stomach rumbles, and I make the short walk into the kitchen.
The breakfast casserole sits on the stove in an enormous cast-iron pan that first belonged to my great-grandmother. Above the sink is a commemorative plate of “Gone With the Wind,” my mother’s touchstone. No matter how many times I tell her that book and movie are better left in the past, she won’t give them up. My brother’s name is a prime example of that little quirk.
“Well, sit down and eat before it gets cold.” Mama grabs some paper plates and serves up a giant slice of casserole, plunking it down in front of me and grabbing me a fork from the dish drying rack.
“Lionel, if you don’t get in here and eat, I’m going to give your part to the dogs!”
“Lordy,” he says again, but I hear the springs in the chair creaking as he gets up. “Gable, breakfast,” he calls down the hall.
“Mornin’, darlin’.” He kisses my head and sits down as Mama continues fussing and setting the table.
I take a bite of steaming hot casserole, and my eyes may roll back in my head for a second. So good. Maybe food is the way to mend a broken heart.
“Sit.” She points her spatula at a sleepy-eyed Gable.
He does, then pops in his AirPods and is, for all intents and purposes, absent. Good. He doesn’t need to hear my tale of woe.
Once Mama has laid her apron next to the sink and sits down with her own plate, Dad says grace, and then she stares at me. The same stare that she used when I got home late, when I was lying, or when I was up to no good. The kind of stare that makes you itch and have to pee at the same time.
“Well?” The ‘well’ comes out ‘weh-yuuullll’ as she continues to watch me.
“Out with it, so she can calm down.” Dad gestures, a faint smile on his lips.
“Lionel, shut it. This is between me and Ms. Hoity Toity.”
“Mom.” I roll my eyes at her but take another big bite of her casserole. After I wash it down with some sweet tea, I start. “I needed a job. . .” And I tell it. I. Tell. It. All. Until the cast-iron pan is cool and Gable is long-gone to goof off with his friends in the woods.
When I’m done and sniffling all over again, Mama reaches over and grabs the dish cloth, handing it to me more gently than usual.
“Did you love him?” she asks.
“I hope not.” Daddy crosses his arms and leans back.
“Lionel.” That’s all the warning Mama has to give for him to get up and head out.
“Did you, Lindsay?” she asks again.
“Yes.” That only makes me cry more, a big sob welling up and catching in my throat. “I loved the man who loved me. Who was so kind to me. But he had that other side. The mean Mr. Marley. And I—” I sob so hard I can’t breathe.
Mama comes around, pulls me up, and hugs me. “Shh, now. That’s all right. Everything is gonna be all right, sweet pea.” She rocks me gently back and forth the same way she used to do when I’d come home from school crying because some mean boy or girl called me fat or ugly or both, or when they said I’d never be an actress because of how I looked. “You remember how Scarlett lost Rhett in the book, and he left because he said his bank was plum empty? But that wasn’t the end. It never is where love is concerned.”
When I finally calm my breathing, Mama steps back and holds me at arm’s length. “Sounds to me like this fella of yourn wants to be a good man for you.”
“Yes, but—”
“But he’s going to have to let go of his past if he wants a future with you.”
“Yes.” I sometimes hate it when Mama boils things down to too simple a syrup, but she has this one right.
“Would you forgive him?” She grips my upper arms and gives me the stare again. “If he truly changed, could you forgive him?”
I want to say no, that I’m done with him, that I never want to see him again. But I can’t. The piece of me that quietly stole away and hid inside him tells me those are the wrong answers. “Yes.” I nod. “I can.”
“All right then.” She pulls me back into her arms. “That’s what I needed to know.”
“Why?”
She rubs my back. “Don’t be a fool, girl. If he’s worth his salt, he’s on his way here now to get you back.”
“You think so?” I’m the one doing the stare now.
“Of course.” She gives me a wry look. “Lionel,” she calls, “you hear this fool girl of yours thinking her fella’s just gonna let her walk on out as she pleases?”
“She’s foolish, just like her mama,” he replies, a smile in his voice.
Mama laughs, he laughs, and for the first time in days, I laugh, too.
Dingo steals the bottom half of my bed just like old times. She’s a Golden Retriever whose sweetness far outweighs her smarts. But she’s good at keeping my feet warm, so there’s that.
Christmas Eve is here, and Mama is in the kitchen banging pots and pans under the guise of making a breakfast casserole when what she really wants is for me to get up so she can grill me about what happened in the city.
I pull my pillow over my head and will the tears to stay away. I’ve cried enough. Poor Grant had to listen to me blubber for hours as he drove us all the way home in a tiny, rented car. He may not want to be my roommate any more after all that. I can’t blame him.
Despite my efforts to forget them, Crane’s words still ring in my head about what a crappy Santa I was. But I know it’s not true. The smiling children—and even the crying ones sometimes—showed me that I had Santa’s spirit the entire time I wore his suit. All the same, isn’t it a kicker how one bad review can somehow erase all the rave reviews, at least temporarily?
“I was a great Santa.” I reach down and blindly pet Dingo’s head. “Seriously, Dingo. I was the best.”
She licks my hand, so I take that as a vote of confidence.
“Charlene, will you lay off the crock ware for a minute?” Dad calls.
“I will not,” she shoots back. “If you want a silent breakfast, then go find yourself a silent wife! Your daughter’s been moping for two days. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of her. I’m not interested in your need for quiet time, Lionel!”
“Lordy.” He laughs from his spot in his favorite recliner. “What a tear she’s on today.”
More banging cabinets and clanging pots follow, and I have to admit defeat and get out of my tear-stained bed.
“At least we got some decent snuggle time.” I pet Dingo again.
She gives me a panting doggy grin and jumps down to follow me to the bathroom.
Once I’m showered and dressed, the scent of bacon, eggs, and hash browns floats through the house. My stomach rumbles, and I make the short walk into the kitchen.
The breakfast casserole sits on the stove in an enormous cast-iron pan that first belonged to my great-grandmother. Above the sink is a commemorative plate of “Gone With the Wind,” my mother’s touchstone. No matter how many times I tell her that book and movie are better left in the past, she won’t give them up. My brother’s name is a prime example of that little quirk.
“Well, sit down and eat before it gets cold.” Mama grabs some paper plates and serves up a giant slice of casserole, plunking it down in front of me and grabbing me a fork from the dish drying rack.
“Lionel, if you don’t get in here and eat, I’m going to give your part to the dogs!”
“Lordy,” he says again, but I hear the springs in the chair creaking as he gets up. “Gable, breakfast,” he calls down the hall.
“Mornin’, darlin’.” He kisses my head and sits down as Mama continues fussing and setting the table.
I take a bite of steaming hot casserole, and my eyes may roll back in my head for a second. So good. Maybe food is the way to mend a broken heart.
“Sit.” She points her spatula at a sleepy-eyed Gable.
He does, then pops in his AirPods and is, for all intents and purposes, absent. Good. He doesn’t need to hear my tale of woe.
Once Mama has laid her apron next to the sink and sits down with her own plate, Dad says grace, and then she stares at me. The same stare that she used when I got home late, when I was lying, or when I was up to no good. The kind of stare that makes you itch and have to pee at the same time.
“Well?” The ‘well’ comes out ‘weh-yuuullll’ as she continues to watch me.
“Out with it, so she can calm down.” Dad gestures, a faint smile on his lips.
“Lionel, shut it. This is between me and Ms. Hoity Toity.”
“Mom.” I roll my eyes at her but take another big bite of her casserole. After I wash it down with some sweet tea, I start. “I needed a job. . .” And I tell it. I. Tell. It. All. Until the cast-iron pan is cool and Gable is long-gone to goof off with his friends in the woods.
When I’m done and sniffling all over again, Mama reaches over and grabs the dish cloth, handing it to me more gently than usual.
“Did you love him?” she asks.
“I hope not.” Daddy crosses his arms and leans back.
“Lionel.” That’s all the warning Mama has to give for him to get up and head out.
“Did you, Lindsay?” she asks again.
“Yes.” That only makes me cry more, a big sob welling up and catching in my throat. “I loved the man who loved me. Who was so kind to me. But he had that other side. The mean Mr. Marley. And I—” I sob so hard I can’t breathe.
Mama comes around, pulls me up, and hugs me. “Shh, now. That’s all right. Everything is gonna be all right, sweet pea.” She rocks me gently back and forth the same way she used to do when I’d come home from school crying because some mean boy or girl called me fat or ugly or both, or when they said I’d never be an actress because of how I looked. “You remember how Scarlett lost Rhett in the book, and he left because he said his bank was plum empty? But that wasn’t the end. It never is where love is concerned.”
When I finally calm my breathing, Mama steps back and holds me at arm’s length. “Sounds to me like this fella of yourn wants to be a good man for you.”
“Yes, but—”
“But he’s going to have to let go of his past if he wants a future with you.”
“Yes.” I sometimes hate it when Mama boils things down to too simple a syrup, but she has this one right.
“Would you forgive him?” She grips my upper arms and gives me the stare again. “If he truly changed, could you forgive him?”
I want to say no, that I’m done with him, that I never want to see him again. But I can’t. The piece of me that quietly stole away and hid inside him tells me those are the wrong answers. “Yes.” I nod. “I can.”
“All right then.” She pulls me back into her arms. “That’s what I needed to know.”
“Why?”
She rubs my back. “Don’t be a fool, girl. If he’s worth his salt, he’s on his way here now to get you back.”
“You think so?” I’m the one doing the stare now.
“Of course.” She gives me a wry look. “Lionel,” she calls, “you hear this fool girl of yours thinking her fella’s just gonna let her walk on out as she pleases?”
“She’s foolish, just like her mama,” he replies, a smile in his voice.
Mama laughs, he laughs, and for the first time in days, I laugh, too.
A collection of Christmas Stories from USA Today Bestselling Author Celia Aaron.
Christmas Candy
Can the bigger-girl-turned-yoga-expert live peacefully with the candy maker who sets up shop across the street, or will this Christmas end in a sticky mess?
A Cowboy for Christmas
The last thing this cowboy needs is a big-mouthed, beautiful woman telling him his business. But Christmas gifts can come in all shapes and sizes.
A Stepbrother for Christmas
The hard and dirty holidays have never been steamier than in this Christmas novella with a hot stepbrother, a shy stepsister, and all the jingle bells and whistles.
Christmas Cake
She sends him a Christmas cake every year. Every year he throws it in the garbage. But this year, he intends to get even with the spitfire at the bakery in town, at least until he finally meets her . . .
Christmas Candy
Can the bigger-girl-turned-yoga-expert live peacefully with the candy maker who sets up shop across the street, or will this Christmas end in a sticky mess?
A Cowboy for Christmas
The last thing this cowboy needs is a big-mouthed, beautiful woman telling him his business. But Christmas gifts can come in all shapes and sizes.
A Stepbrother for Christmas
The hard and dirty holidays have never been steamier than in this Christmas novella with a hot stepbrother, a shy stepsister, and all the jingle bells and whistles.
Christmas Cake
She sends him a Christmas cake every year. Every year he throws it in the garbage. But this year, he intends to get even with the spitfire at the bakery in town, at least until he finally meets her . . .