Christmas at Prescott Inn

by Cathryn Parry

  “But what about Julie?” Lynette said. “She said she was moving in with you tonight because she was sick of Katya’s drama.”

  Yes, Emilie should check on Julie, too. And Julie was headed for heartbreak, too. “We’ll all three room together. We’ll have a girls’ night. Popcorn and pedicures. I’ll go find her, okay?” Emilie rose from her position behind the couch.

  But Nathan had arrived. Emilie saw him standing at the edge of the party. He looked downcast. She wondered what had changed his mood, and tried to see the scene from his perspective—a table bursting with foods and dishes. Claude’s under-chef, Pierre, was attempting to woo Katya with treats on a special platter. Katya—who was surprisingly amenable to his flattery—was tasting a chocolate éclair. Suddenly Emilie realized why there were so many treats, and also why Katya’s costumes were fitting snugly.

  That’s why she’d been gaining weight—because of Pierre’s pastries.

  Emilie knelt to Lynnette again. “Is Katya interested in Claude’s assistant?”

  Lynette wiped her eyes. “I heard him offer to marry her if she stays here with him.”

  “Okay...if they’re in love...”

  Lynette shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe it will be easier for her to send money home to her family that way.”

  Emilie groaned and held her head in her hands. Was Katya setting herself up for more heartache? Suddenly it seemed like everything was falling apart. Emilie had to figure out how to solve this problem now, too.

  She stood again. Nathan caught her eye across the busy dining room. He was staring straight at her. She smiled at him, but he just stared dully back.

  I’m sorry! she telegraphed. Was he upset by all the sumptuous tables of treats that the kitchen staff had made to fulfill Emilie’s simple request for a birthday party? He was surely angry that he was spending so much money on the event.

  Despair filled her. The stress was more than she could bear. I’m trying so hard to hold everything together. It wasn’t her fault that Nathan’s under-chef had a thing for tiny Katya.

  Emilie walked over to Nathan. She could almost feel herself putting on her happy, diplomatic Ice Mom mask. Was Lynette right about her? Was she a “faker”?

  A “pleaser,” Nathan had called her. But maybe the pressure of the skater drama had gotten to her. And, truth be told, maybe it was seeing Lynette express the pain she was going through.

  Emilie was tired of being the one with unrequited love. She had loved Nathan. And it hadn’t been enough for him. Would he always love his inn more than he’d loved her?

  She stood before the table with the cake, hands shaking, unable to fake that all was well anymore, and not sure what to do about it.

  Somber, Nathan just gazed at her. “How is Jason?” he asked, shocking her. “Am I too late to watch him blow out his candles and make a birthday wish?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry we couldn’t wait for you, Nathan. His mom had to go back to work, so we did it earlier while she was here.”

  Nathan nodded, resigned. “I’ve been on a phone call. It...couldn’t be helped.”

  “Yes. I know.” The call must not have gone well, judging by his mood.

  Hands at his sides, Nathan stoically took a step back. “Thank you for arranging to make him happy,” he said in his formal voice. “You’ve been good to him and I appreciate that.”

  “Why are you saying this to me?” she asked.

  “Because no one else would have thought to do this but you. Look how happy he is.” He glanced to Jason. The boy seemed to have come alive with the attention. He and Katya were sharing a bowl of ice cream and playing with Prescott.

  Nathan turned back to Emilie. “I won’t keep you from the party. We’ll...talk later.”

  “About what?” she asked.

  He gave her the briefest of smiles. “I honestly appreciate you, Emilie.” Nathan dipped his head and then left her.

  Her mouth hung open. What was happening? Was she missing something with Nathan just as she’d missed what was going on between Curtis and Lynette?

  Emilie balled her hands into fists and stalked after Nathan to catch up with him.

  But before she could reach him, Gary caught her sleeve. “Ice Mom, Sergei is here. And he looks ticked off at Pierre.”

  Emilie diverted her path to attempt to avert a disaster in the making. Sergei stepped in front of his romantic rival and plucked up a packet of tea, Katya’s favorite. He tore out the tea bag and put it in a mug. Then he poured hot water inside. He brought it over to Katya and placed it before her.

  From her position on the floor beside Jason’s cat, Katya smiled feebly up at Sergei.

  “He is just not giving up, is he?” Gary breathed to Emilie.

  “Sergei,” Emilie called, getting to the end of her rope, “what are you doing?”

  “He can’t answer you.” Katya gazed at her with wide eyes.

  Emilie went over and knelt beside her. “Then please help us translate.”

  “Sergei will be fine.” Katya dipped her bag in her hot tea and looked away. Jason had already trotted off after Prescott.

  Emilie leaned close to Katya’s ear. Pierre was far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to hear, but Sergei wasn’t. “Please help me talk to him so I can keep us all together and happy for the show’s sake.”

  But Katya just stared at her.

  She had to connect with her. “Please, aren’t I helping you with your money and with your future with the company?”

  “Please do not speak to me of money and future. I am tired of thinking of money and future,” Katya said, tight-lipped. She stood and whirled on her toes, leaving Emilie kneeling in her wake. Emilie felt as if she could do nothing to please the people she needed to please most.

  How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

  * * *

  NATHAN STOOD IN the lobby, his heart heavy. He’d gone downstairs to the dining room, intending to tell Emilie about his phone call with Rob so she could prepare for any consequences.

  But the moment had been wrong. She’d been fighting to keep her troupe together. She was also busy giving a little boy the birthday party he deserved. Nathan had been too ashamed to tear her away and ruin that for her and the others just then. How could he ever hurt her with the news?

  He had out-and-out lied to her, and he needed to make that up to her. She’d been beautiful to him, as always. How would she ever forgive him for this?

  Martha waved to him from the front desk. It occurred to him that he would have to let everybody go, and on the day after Christmas.

  The burden of that responsibility was crushing. But he went over and met Martha’s gaze with a steadying look. “What is it, Martha?”

  “Um, you had a call come in just now. She said it’s important. Very important.”

  “Who is it?”

  Martha handed him a slip. The call was from Lynn Bladewell. Had she heard the news about the inn being sold somehow? Would she threaten to pull the skaters out, which Rob had specifically instructed him to prevent?

  Nathan groaned inwardly, though he kept his face schooled. “Thank you.” Nathan nodded at Martha and then headed for the stairs to his office.

  Seated at his desk, he inhaled deeply. He thought briefly of pulling Emilie from her party and conferring with her, but no, his responsibility to the inn came first.

  Nathan smoothed out the wrinkled slip of paper. Then he bit the bullet and dialed up Lynn Bladewell’s number. He would do everything he could to make the situation easier for Emilie.

  Lynn answered quickly. “Hello, Mr. Prescott.”

  She obviously had his phone number plugged into the contact list on her phone.

  “Hello.”

  “I’m glad we’ve finally gotten a chance to speak. Your associate and I discussed the details of the earlier contract, and I haven’t
managed to catch you about extending it. How are you today?”

  So this was it, then—a standard sales call, pressuring him to act on the option in the contract and to purchase more performances from the skaters. She doesn’t know about the sale yet.

  “I’m fine,” he said cautiously. Could be a lot better, actually.

  “So, I’m just calling to see if you received my packet with news about our option opportunity,” she said.

  “Right.” Nathan leaned back, his chair squeaking at the shoulders. He decided to deflect, to buy himself some time to figure out how he would approach this. “I did receive it. What do you want to know about where we are in the decision process, specifically?”

  “Well, are you personally satisfied with our skating cast? I understand that the first official show is set for this weekend. I’ll be present next week, of course.”

  “Yes,” Nathan said, as blandly as he could. “I did see your name on our booking list.”

  “Great! Well, I’m calling mainly because I want to know if we can count on you to order up another month of shows, at least through January? Perhaps we could meet and talk next week?”

  He steeled himself to do what needed to be done.

  “Well, Lynn, thank you for calling. Believe me, if we could, we would take you up on the contract option to extend the shows. As it is, I’m afraid we’ll have to pass on it.”

  There was silence on Lynn’s end. Nathan said nothing, waiting for her to respond.

  “That’s shutting it down earlier than we’d hoped.” There was a distinct note of disappointment to Lynn’s tone. Nothing compared to how Emilie would feel, however. “May I ask why?” she said with an edge.

  “I assure you the troupe has been fantastic. In fact, you could probably book an arena for them and sell it out. Emilie is doing a first-rate job managing the show. She’s a real pro at what she does. I give her my highest recommendation.”

  “Then why?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Lynn. I wish I had better news for you.”

  “I saw the television publicity,” she insisted. “And the print commercials. Emilie has sent me copies and forwarded news about everything completed so far. Tell me, haven’t you been getting calls for show tickets?”

  “Yes, we have. But there are other factors. And I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. I’m not at liberty to pick up the option.”

  “Well...what if we were able to help with those other factors?” Lynn asked.

  “I’m sorry. It just isn’t possible.”

  “Let me speak with my boss about what we can do for you. Will you hold back on your decision until I talk with you again?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t,” he said politely.

  “We can commit to booking a block of rooms.” Lynn just wasn’t giving up. “Would that help influence the factors you mentioned?”

  Nathan closed his eyes. How he would love to say yes to Lynn’s offer. If he owned Prescott Inn outright, he would do it in a heartbeat.

  “I’m sorry, no,” he said to Lynn. “The skaters will have to leave once this particular contract is satisfied.”

  “You want the skaters to leave the inn?”

  “No, it’s not what I want, at all. I just can’t expand the scope of the project. I’m sorry about this.”

  There was a short silence. Nathan knew he really was giving her nothing to work with.

  That was his intent. He just couldn’t give false hope.

  “Well. I’ll phone Emilie and break the news,” Lynn said finally.

  “Thank you for calling,” he murmured.

  As Lynn hung up the phone, Nathan knew exactly how it would look to Emilie.

  That he’d lied to her. That he’d chosen the inn over her. That he was betraying her and blindsiding her—just like he had done before.

  Nathan grabbed his coat and headed down to speak with her before Lynn did.

  And then the call he’d been waiting for came in.

  It was the homeless shelter.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EMILIE WAS STILL downstairs in the dining room lounge, but now she was knee-deep in letting out a seam on Katya’s costume. Jason had gone upstairs with one of the other families, and only her troupe remained. She was concentrating on ripping out a row of stitches when her cell phone rang.

  She decided to let the call go to voice mail. Tomorrow was their first dress rehearsal, and she was crunched for time.

  “Katya,” Emilie murmured, picking at the tightly sewn threads, “You spent six months at sea with all those huge buffets and you didn’t gain an ounce. We’re here two weeks and you’ve changed a dress size.”

  “It’s Pierre’s hot chocolates,” Katya said.

  “They’re that good?”

  “It’s not that. I have to drink them. It makes him happy.”

  “Katya, can we talk about your situation? Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Katya took the opportunity to snatch up Emilie’s still-ringing phone. “Oh, look.” She held out the screen. “It’s Lynn at the production company.”

  “Lynn?!” Emilie did need to take that call. She took the phone from Katya and ditched her sewing supplies. She hustled out to the hallway for privacy.

  “Lynn, I’ll be with you in a moment,” Emilie said into the phone. Rosie popped her head out of the room to observe her, so Emilie turned and strode away, phone still to her ear, and hurried upstairs.

  In the lobby, the huge Christmas tree was all lit up and twinkling with multicolored lights. Emilie settled into a couch and curled up her legs. She stared at her own expression, reflected off the bright red tinsel of a round red Christmas tree ornament, and took a deep breath.

  Fake it, yet again. Act like the troupe isn’t falling apart, and that you have it all under control.

  “I’m here,” she told Lynn in her most confident tone. “We’re getting ready for the dress rehearsal tomorrow. Everything is going well on our end. The inn is showing increased receipts, and Mr. Prescott is happy with us. What’s up with you?”

  There was a slight hesitation and Emilie got a queasy feeling in her stomach.

  “Emilie... I have news for you.”

  She tightened the phone in her grip. What news...? What could possibly be wrong?

  “Are you still flying out to see us this week?” Emilie asked. She’d really wanted Lynn and Donnie to watch one of their shows in order to see what a great job they all had been doing.

  There was an awkward silence, and then Lynn coughed slightly. “You should know that I talked with Nathan Prescott just now.”

  Emilie sat up. “How long ago was this?”

  “A few minutes,” Lynn said reluctantly.

  Emilie thought back. At the party, he’d acted awkwardly toward her. She’d thought it was because he was simply busy, but obviously something was going on.

  “So...what did he say?”

  “Well, he informed me that Prescott Inn has decided not to pick up the option for any post-Christmas show dates. Donnie isn’t happy about it. As a result, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to wrap things up there now and disband your team.”

  Disband? Emilie put a hand to her mouth.

  “Emilie? Hello?”

  “Did he say why he’s ditching us?” she asked Lynn in a small voice.

  Lynn sighed audibly. “No. I have no idea. He wouldn’t say.”

  Emilie clutched her phone. Tears were filling her eyes, and she didn’t trust her throat to speak.

  So many people were looking forward to the show. And it was going to be a great show! She was proud of what she’d accomplished. She’d done everything that Lynn had required of her, and she’d done it well.

  “Where...did I go wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, Emilie
,” Lynn murmured. “It happens sometimes. Consider it a business idea that didn’t pan out.”

  “But...” So many people relied upon her. Her team members. Jason. She’d promised them she would take care of them all!

  And what of her own dreams? This had been her chance to prove herself worthy of one of the few choreography jobs. And now that seemed further and further out of reach.

  Emilie suddenly glanced up, realizing that there were people—customers—in the lobby, gazing at her curiously. She simply couldn’t cry in front of them. She tried to paste on a smile, but for the first time in her life, she couldn’t do that, either.

  Hurriedly wiping her eyes, she scrambled up, phone still to her ear, and strode for the hallway that led to her room.

  Thankfully, she passed no one on her way. She spoke into the phone as she rounded the last corner to the west wing corridor. “Please, let me talk to Nathan and get back to you. I have some influence with him.”

  But as soon as Emilie said it, plugging her key into her hotel room door, she realized how ridiculous that sounded. And untrue. If she honestly had influence with Nathan, then he would have trusted her enough to tell her what was going on.

  “Emilie, customers sometimes don’t come through,” Lynn said sympathetically. “You can’t beat yourself up. It happens.”

  “Not to me.” Emilie tossed her room key on the table and slumped onto the bed. “I’ve been working my butt off, Lynn. I did interviews and organized parades. I’ve fought to create the best shows possible, like you asked me to, and out of very little to start with.”

  Indeed, she’d gone head-to-head with Nathan about the rink almost daily since she’d arrived, even though she was uncomfortable being so adversarial. “I rechoreographed the show to fit the outdoor conditions and the larger-size rink. In addition, I came up with a new, original show geared for the facility. I’ve been looking forward to its debut next week.”