“I made sure this entire album plays tonight.” He grins at me.
“Why?”
“Because you love it. It’s what you always play while you’re baking,” he answers.
Smiling, I nod. This album is one of my favorite Christmas albums.
“Did all of the current board members hold their position while your father was CEO?”
He lifts his eyebrows, thinking. “Only one of the current members. Why?”
I shrug. “They all appear almost as dedicated to the cause as you do.”
He nods. “Glad that’s the impression they give off because they are. I wouldn’t keep them around if they weren’t.”
“Then, it was a conscious decision?”
He nods. “Definitely. My father deeply cared about the work he did, but he’d gotten a little sidetracked in making money. That’s a direct quote from him, by the way. Part of the reason he requested that I take over as CEO is because he felt that I could take McKenna in another direction.”
“And you have,” I say confidently.
“It’s what I strive to do every day.”
Neil, it seems, has gone out of his way to surround himself with people who are genuinely committed to doing well. While the members of his team are aware of their financial obligations to shareholders, they speak about servicing others and growing their reach to end the cycle of addiction that plagues families. They aren’t solely concerned about their wallets.
Lifting my hand to his cheek, I plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “You do.”
His gaze heats, and I feel pulled into his body, but when I think if he’s about to lower his head to kiss me deeply, he draws me in only to press against my shoulder, spinning me on a twirl.
I let out a joyous laugh, and soon we find ourselves dancing to the Nat King Cole classic about chestnuts and open fires.
“This is my favorite time of year,” he says.
I pause and look into his eyes. There’s a depth there that I could fall into. No, the truth is, I’ve already fallen into it.
“Mine too,” I reply.
“How fitting that we finally came together during this time of the year. For me, it’s always a time of rebirth.”
I nod, not sure I quite understand what he’s getting at, but feeling connected to his words all the same. His comment from earlier floods my mind.
“Were you asking me to move in with you earlier?”
He looks me directly in the eye and nods. “Yes.”
“Don’t you think it’s too soon?”
“No,” he says immediately. “We’ve waited for years and until it’s right. When it’s right, you know. Do you love me?”
“Yes.” There’s not even a question of whether or not I love him, but still.
“Then that’s settled.”
“Neil, it’s not settled. What about my family? I haven’t even spoken to my mother since Thanksgiving.”
“What does that have to do with how we feel about one another?”
I open and close my mouth a few times, searching for an answer. “It doesn’t have anything to do with how I feel about you, but …”
“But?”
I can’t think of a response.
“Hot chocolate?” A passing waitress pauses, smiling between the two of us, holding a tray of steaming hot chocolate with candy canes sticking out over the brims of the cups.
“Thank you,” Neil says, lowering his arms from my body and taking two cups, passing one to me. “Dark chocolate for you. Since it’s your favorite.”
I give him a grateful smile over the edge of my cup before taking a sip of the creamy, velvety liquid inside. The chocolate flavor is coated with a peppermint taste, thanks to the candy cane. As I sip, I still feel Neil’s gaze burning into the side of my face.
My thoughts swirl with all the what-ifs. My reluctance arises when I think about my mother’s face as we stood in her kitchen on Thanksgiving. Her eyes were full of disappointment. It was eerily similar to the way she used to look at Dierdre. I hated that look, yet, when I glance over at Neil, I despise seeing the appearance of concern in his eyes.
I take another sip of the hot chocolate, hoping that it will somehow soothe the feeling of my heart tearing in two.
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice comes from the front of the room.
Glancing up, I see Neil’s father standing in at the front of the stage, holding a microphone.
“Thank you all for coming,” he starts. “As most of you are well aware, McKenna’s annual holiday party is a huge undertaking as it brings in a lot of donations that will be well spent in the coming year. I’m told that as a result of your generous donations, McKenna will be able to expand our facilities’ outreach here in Washington and a few southern states. Give it up for yourselves.”
He pauses to clap into the microphone while those of us in the audience applaud as well.
“With that great news, I think it fits for me to introduce the man who continues to be the driving force behind McKenna Rehab. Neil, would you please?” He nods toward his son.
I turn to Neil, smiling with pride. Despite my mixed emotions about how quickly our relationship is moving, I know that Neil deserves this moment more than anything.
He gives me a final look prior to turning to another passing waiter to hand his cup of hot chocolate before heading up to the stage area.
I watch, keenly observing how the dark tuxedo lays comfortably and effortlessly against his straight back. He has a natural pull to him, which prevents most of the other people and me in the room from looking away.
My heart turns over when he reaches the mic and gives the room a bright smile.
“Good evening, everyone. First of all, I’d like to give you all my appreciation for making it out tonight, and more importantly, for opening your hearts and wallets to our cause.”
He pauses, looking toward his father, who remains standing at the side of the stage.
“As my father stated, McKenna is going to be allowed to put your money to good use in the coming twelve months. One day at a time and one client at a time, McKenna vows to work to end the horrors of addiction.”
He pauses as the crowd claps and cheers on his motivating speech.
Neil goes on, espousing the values of McKenna, the sense of community it works to provide all of its clients, and his outlook for the coming year. If I weren’t already, seeing him up there under the lights, looking regal and yet still down-to-earth with his casual man bun, I’d fall head over heels for him.
“Please, everyone, enjoy yourselves,” he finally says after giving away a few presents to some notable shareholders and donators.
I sense others clapping and cheering as Neil descends the stairs of the stage, but all I truly see is him. The same must be true for him, also, because as soon as his foot reaches the bottom stair, he locks eyes with me. His gaze doesn’t move until he’s standing directly in front of me.
Neil leans into my ear and tells me, “It’s time to go.”
Tilting my head, I start to ask what he means, but he doesn’t give me time. He meant exactly what he said—he takes me by the elbow and begins walking us in the direction of the door. Even as a few people attempt to approach Neil, asking him for one moment of his time, he politely but firmly shoos them away.
“Neil, what are you doing? The party isn’t over,” I insist as we step out into the lobby.
“Our party hasn’t even begun yet, baby. I need to get you alone to convince you of all the reasons why moving in with me is the best for both of us.”
I grin as one of the venue’s staff members brings us our coats. Neil helps me to put mine on before donning his.
“Are you sure leaving like this is okay? What about all the guests in there?”
“They’ll be fine,” he insists, holding the door open for me.
As we pass through, he wraps one arm around my waist, securely holding me to him. I melt into his embrace.
“Where is he?” an a
ngry voice yells from our left.
Both Neil and I turn to see one of the bodyguards holding back a man with a thunderous expression on his face. He doesn’t appear to be older than twenty-five.
“There he is. You son of a bitch,” he yells directly at Neil.
We stop, peering over, and somehow the man breaks away from the security guard and immediately begins charging for Neil.
Neil pushes me behind him, standing between the man and me. I hold my breath, fearing he’s going to hit Neil, but instead, he unleashes a verbal tirade on him.
“You lying son of a bitch. You’re the reason my brother is dead!”
Neil cocks his head to the side, and I can spot his anger in the tense set of his jaw, but he doesn’t yell or berate the man.
“And you are?” he questions.
“You don’t know my fucking name? You killed my brother, Charles Whittaker! He went to your so-called rehab and only got worse. You’re the entire reason he’s dead,” he shouts angrily, glancing around.
Unfortunately, a few onlookers are stopping to see what all the commotion is about.
“You sold him drugs,” the man yells. “He told me all about the bullshit you have going on in McKenna. I bet you got all these fucking people believing your lies and your bullshit about being sober, but you’re a piece of shit liar,” he barks at Neil.
“Neil, no,” I call when he takes a step into the man’s face.
He stops, possibly by my hold on his arm, or by the fact that security has finally gotten ahold of the man.
“Do your jobs,” Neil grits out with his teeth clenched as he looks between the two security guards.
They eye him and then tighten their hold on the man, pulling him away even as he continues to scream.
“What was that?” I question as Neil wordlessly spins us in the direction of his vehicle, which has been parked curbside by the valet.
“Nothing.” He holds the door open for me but doesn’t say anything else.
“Neil.”
“Get in the car, Desiree.”
Anxiously, I get in and wait for Neil to round the car, getting in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t say anything as we pull off. The tension in the air is thick, and it’s all coming from him. What that man said back there rattled him.
“Neil, I know what he said isn’t true,” I state, feeling he needed affirming somehow.
He glances over at me, tossing me a grateful look. As we come to a red light, he sighs, brushing his hand through his hair, loosening his bun.
“No one who knows you would believe it.”
He nods. “I know. It’s not his asinine accusations that piss me off.”
“What is it then?”
“I know him. I knew his brother, Charles. He started as a counselor at McKenna three years ago a couple of years after he got sober. Unfortunately, he went back out.”
“Back out?”
He turns to me before looking back to the road as the light turns green. “He got drunk again and then started doing drugs. He started selling to some of our patients. Of course, I had to fire him, and when he refused to leave willingly, I pressed charges. Not for me, but because he’d made threats toward some of our staff.”
“That’s horrible.”
He nods. “Yeah, eventually, he got worse and worse and died of a drug deal gone wrong.” Neil shakes his head. “Anyway, as a result of Charles’ shit, McKenna was investigated by authorities for possibly selling illicit substances. They never found anything, but there’ve been some lingering rumors.”
Reaching over, I rub Neil’s shoulder, trying my best to help him release the tension from his body. I can tell by his voice that those rumors hurt him.
However, even as I do my best to provide him with comfort, my mother’s words from Thanksgiving come back to me full force.
“Your sister was a good liar, too.”
Chapter 15
“Oh my gosh,” I squeal as I peer, wide-eyed at my tablet screen.
“What?” Neil’s worried question reaches my ears as he makes his way down the hall to my kitchen, but I continue to peer into the screen.
“What is it?” he asks again.
“Look.” Turning the tablet screen to face him, I wait for his reaction.
Soon enough, his eyebrows lift, and he whistles low. “Three hundred cookies.”
“I know, right?” I turn the screen back to me to stare at it again, just to make sure I’m not making things up.
“That’s a lot of cookies.”
“And he wants them delivered by Christmas Eve, which is in three days.” I blink as I mentally calculate how I’m going to get it all done.
“Who’s the order from?”
I run my finger down the length of the screen until I come to the name on the order. Gasping, I answer, “Xavier Grant. He’s that restaurateur down in Houston, isn’t he?”
Neil nods. “Yeah, I’ve met him once or twice. Good guy.”
“His e-mail says the cookies are for his staff and some for his family. His wife has a monster sweet tooth and loved my red velvet inside out cookies from a few weeks ago.”
I think back to my orders from earlier in the month. “Oh, Chanel Grant. I remember fulfilling her order right before Thanksgiving.”
Xavier Grant had sent in a special request via my website’s email. He apologized for such a massive order in a short amount of time but informed me that the baker he usually uses is out of work sick, and he knew his wife loved my cookies.
“She’s been a regular for a couple of years now,” I say, knowing the name Chanel Grant. I hadn’t even known she was married to Xavier Grant. I never put two and two together.
“I don’t know if there’s enough time.” I glance up at Neil with a worried expression. “I can finish the cookies between now and then, but I would have to mail them out by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. And they’d need to be overnighted.”
“Then what’s the issue? It sounds like it’s doable.”
Slumping my shoulders, I remind him. “I have a little thing called a job, remember? I would need two full days of baking to make this work.”
Neil moves to me, cupping my shoulders with his hands, squeezing them reassuringly. “Now is the time when you need to make a decision, baby.” He glances down at the tablet in my hands. “It’s either your passion, what you want to do with your life, or remain with what you feel safe doing because you think it’s what you should do.”
Frowning, I peer down at the order, looking at the amount Xavier is willing to pay for this rush order. It’s nearly double what my usual asking price would be.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m going to call out for the rest of the week.” It sucks, but my school will find a substitute for my classes in no time. “I’m taking a leap of faith,” I say, glancing up into Neil’s eyes.
When he smiles down at me, with that radiant gleam in his eyes, I feel as if I’ve made the right decision.
“Is there anything you need me to do?” he questions.
“Yeah, get out of my way. I’ve got three hundred cookies to make.”
He laughs. “Heading to work as we speak.” He pinches my chin between his fingers, kissing me before exiting the kitchen.
I watch for a moment, grateful for his encouragement. “How did I get so lucky?” I sigh, repeating the same question he asked a few nights earlier before entering the holiday party.
Unfortunately, as I think about that night, memories of our exit also come to mind, but I push them aside. I refuse to dwell on that man’s accusations, even if they have been coming back to me repeatedly.
Ten minutes later, I hang up the phone, having called out of work for the rest of the week, using my vacation time to do so. A pang of guilt flickers in my chest, but I choose to ignore it. While I love teaching, Neil is right. Baking is my passion. The thing I’ve wanted to do since I realized that you could bake for a living. Why it took me so long to come to terms with it … well, that’s something I’ll hav
e to think about when I have more time.
It takes me another fifteen minutes to respond to Xavier’s email, take stock of the ingredients I’ll need to complete the order, and compile a list of what I need to get from the store.
“Oh,” I blurt out as I open my door to come face-to-face with my mother.
Her hand is raised as if she was poised to knock.
“Glad I caught you before you left for work,” she says by way of greeting.
“Mom … uh, I’m not on my way to work. I’m going to the store. Is everything okay?” I ask, concerned since it’s the middle of the week, and she’s stopping by so early.
“No, everything isn’t okay. We haven’t spoken since Thanksgiving, and Christmas is four days away,” she says, sounding flustered and almost tired.
“Yeah, I meant to call you.”
“I bet you have. I understand how difficult apologizing can be, especially at your age. You want to believe you know everything there is to know.”
“Yeah, I— Wait, what?”
My mother blinks, looking at me as if she has no idea what my confusion is about.
“What do you mean apologize? I have nothing to apologize for.”
“How about bringing that man to our home?”
“That man’s name is Neil.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You brought an addict into our home. Sure, he’s all dressed up now with a big title over at that rehab facility, but you and I know what he truly is. I heard about what happened at the holiday party for his company.”
Angling my head to the side, I stare at her. “How did you hear about that?”
“I have my sources. Don’t you see, Desiree? You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what again?”
“Putting blinders on to what’s happening. You did the same thing with your sister. She lied and manipulated you into believing whatever she said. And you bought it hook, line, and sinker. Even after she stole from you, lied to you, and hung you out to dry with her drug-dealing friends.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I say, shutting my door behind me and starting down the hall toward the stairwell that leads to the parking garage.
A Holiday Seduction: A Holiday Novella Page 12