Christmas Affair

by Ginny Frost

  He glanced at the texts again. Several from Ted, but only one from Dad. Neither contained good news.

  Dad: Fire at Porters. Not our fault. Gotta talk, but no need to come back.

  Curious, but Ted’s…

  Ted: 911… Need to talk NOW

  Thankfully, Ted added to his bizarre text in more cryptic half-sentences.

  Ted: shoulda texted earlier. Sorry. Fire at Earl’s place. No one hurt. Ryan being a hero. But shit is going down.

  Brett’s phone rang as he attempted to call Ted himself. “What’s up?” he asked. “I got these texts, and…”

  “I’m so pissed I can barely speak.”

  Brett pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced to ensure it was super-chill Ted. The guy had a long fuse, but when it reached the end, watch out.

  “Calm down, bro. Tell me what happened.” Brett paused outside the lounge, out of the flow of traffic.

  “Did you hear about the fire?” Ted’s words came out through heavy breaths, as if he’d been in the ring a few rounds before calling.

  “Just your texts…”

  And Ted launched into a tirade about a fire, Ryan, Dad, the business, everything. Apparently, Ryan put out the fire, investigated it, blamed Dad, then rescinded the blame. Brett’s head spun. Ted moaned on through. Then, according to Ted, Dad turned the entire company, lock, stock, and barrel, over to their little brother without a word to the two older siblings.

  Brett grimaced, pulling the phone away from his ear. Anger flared through him, white-hot. One of the desk twins strained her neck toward him, as if trying to eavesdrop. He narrowed his gaze and ducked into a stairwell for privacy.

  Ted continued to ramble on, and it took a few minutes to get him back to earth.

  “Bro,” Brett repeated for the tenth time. “So, we didn’t cause the fire?”

  “No, but that…”

  Brett broke through, tired of the sketchy details, but also trying to process what his brother communicated. “And Dad up and handed the entirety of Kramer and Sons to Ryan.”

  Ted sighed in relief. “Yeah.”

  “Well, fuck. Dad told me not to come home because you don’t need me.” Anger rolled over him.

  “Well, no, I guess not.” The trepidation in Ted’s voice didn’t quell Brett’s anger one bit.

  “Whatever,” he snarled and ended the call.

  They “didn’t need him?” Seriously? Who cleaned all the messes lately? With Dad indifferent and Ted unfocused and lost, Brett covered for them more times than not.

  He put some blame on Ryan coming back. The guy showed up out of the blue, back in town, and not working for Dad. It hit the man hard, not that he ever said anything. And there was Brett left holding the bag, getting no credit for keeping the family together.

  With a curse at the lack of cell reception, he headed to his room. He tossed the phone on the bed and paced. He should head home and handle this, but he needed at least another day to finish the rooms. Abandoning the job now would piss off Stanley. No more winter work for the Kramers if Brett ditched now.

  The room was too small to move in. With no more pressing texts, he considered his options. Nothing left to do but wait. But man, the pent-up energy gnawed at him. An image of Jo in the tub rose in his brain. An evening in her company would burn a few thousand calories if she…

  His thoughts dropped off as he covered his face with his hands. He’d blown her off, left her hanging in the lounge with her computer fired up. She’d been so excited to share with him, and boom, he’d walked out.

  He fell on the bed, the anger and extra energy gone. Damn his family, always fucking him one way or another. They always left him in the lurch and never gave him half a break. Ted, as the oldest, always pushed to be in charge, to be the leader. Too bad lately he couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag. Women were always Ted’s downfall, and Cheryl…

  Hell, his brother needed to stay far away from the girl. Brett told him so at the beginning. She ripped his heart out and chewed it to pieces.

  Then there was little Ryan, two years Brett’s junior. The golden boy. Ry could do no wrong in Dad’s eyes. Dad hadn’t said a word when Ry took off east to the big city and left the business a man short—a trained and talented man who knew his shit. Brett and Ted tried to compensate for the loss, and Dad acted as if it was no big deal.

  Now this mess.

  Brett knew exactly which job started the clusterfuck—that asshole Earl Porter. Brett rolled over on the bed, considering. He’d helped with the job, but as he ended up being the emergency guy, he’d been pulled off to help with a broken hot water heater.

  And Earl fired them. Dad let it go without a fuss. Brett argued until he lost his breath, but Dad filed the paperwork and moved on to the next job.

  Dad quitting the business over it? And Ryan being chosen to lead the company after he’d abandoned them years ago? Seriously? And not a word from Dad? It chapped Brett’s ass hard. Why now? It was fucking Christmas.

  Not to mention, he'd blown off a beautiful woman because of the bullshit.

  He remembered Jo’s excitement at showing him her computer game. She seemed to have a genuine passion for it. He’d been a dick. He should go to the lounge and explain. Hopefully, she’d still be there. And he knew her room number. Groveling usually worked. And maybe… With the excess energy shifting inside him, his thoughts went lewd.

  No, dammit. She wasn’t a booty-call kinda girl.

  The best thing to do, as he always did with these crap situations, was hit the gym. He grabbed his duffle and changed, sliding his key card in his sock. Glancing at the phone, he opted to leave it behind. He could tolerate the canned music played over the loudspeakers for an hour.

  After a grueling run and two rounds of weights, Brett rested on the bench. He didn’t feel any better about the family situation, only tired. Grabbing a towel, he hit the shower and changed into clean shorts and a tank. He hated being sweaty and smelly after working. Headed to his room, he took the long way to enjoy the quiet of the hotel at night. Most people were tucked away in their beds, ready for tomorrow’s winter fun—skiing, tobogganing, a horse-driven carriage through the snow. The lounge would be silent and dark except for twinkling lights on the two Christmas trees and the fireplaces.

  The fireplaces… he loved them.

  Something about the crackling fire, the lighting, and the warmth hit the spot. The dual hearths were the best feature of the hotel. The rest of the masses could take ski lessons, and play in the snow, but Brett loved nothing more than lounging in front of a warm fire with a beer and a book.

  Quietly, he climbed the stairs to the main lobby. The night clerk raised a hand in greeting as Brett passed him. The large lounge stood in twilight. A few candles surrounded plastic pine wreaths dotted the tables. And in each fireplace, decked with subtle twinkling- lights, low embers glowed with a hint of flames licking the last of the logs. Stress leached out of his body better than during his workout. He moved among the leather furniture, seeking a nice high-back chair with a hassock near the flames.

  He cursed, not bringing his cell or a book for something to read. He occasionally read on his phone, but paper always felt better. Besides, he loved bookmarking his spot and tipping the book on its side to see how much progress he’d made.

  A glimmer of blue light caught his attention in the far corner. A computer. Brett’s shoulders fell.

  Jo sat by the corner, her head bowed over the machine, intent on her work.

  Shame crept up his neck and hooded his face. He should talk to her, apologize, but what was the point? He wasn’t trying for a hookup, and he’d been rude. Something in his chest fell. The love connection severed with a loud kaboom.

  He glanced at the fireplace one last time, with an unexpected ache.

  Jo.

  He headed back to his room. If he stretched the renovation out one more night, he could indulge. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to reconnect. Unless Kramer and Sons needed him in Stone
water by morning.

  Chapter Seven

  At breakfast the next morning, Josephine kept an eye out for Brett. She owed him an apology or something. The entire thing seemed so awkward and strange. Her nerves were responsible for her reaction last night. Between the dinner party and the gaming contract, she didn’t know up from down.

  The party was more concerning than it should’ve been. Mom had been relentless lately. She amassed dozens of young people at various parties to socialize with Jo. All the while, Mom cautioned guests about being careful with touching and contact. As if Jo’s celiac might get worse from a handshake or a sharing a meal.

  Dexter Charlton appeared to be Mom’s newest favorite. He visited the house several times a week, though he hardly ever spoke a word to Jo or she to him. Jo tried to date him, tried to form a close connection, but intimate contact sent him running for the hills. The one time she tried…

  Eww, not going there.

  She switched her thoughts back to the usual complaints about Mom. Like the job thing.

  Pre-diagnosis, the woman had blurted out. “Josephine, how could you ever hold a job with your health issues? Everything sets you off, puts you in bed, or the hospital. We may never find out what’s hurting you, sweetie. You need to plan for that. Plan for your future. However long that future is.”

  Before she gave up gluten, her health had gone from bad to worse as the effects of the celiac disease continued to ravage her body. Unknowingly eating the wrong foods day after day, she was slowly killing herself. At one point, during her college studies, she ended up in the hospital on an IV, her weight dangerously low.

  She remembered the nurse, Jaime. The woman came into the room and locked the door behind her. She crossed to the bed and took Jo’s hand in hers.

  “Look,” Jaime said. “I’m no doctor, but I’ve done rotation on the pediatric ward.” Jo looked at her, confused. “You’re no kid, but I glanced at your records. Honey, tell me right now. I won’t judge, but I will get you help.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Jamie sighed and squeezed her hand. “There’s a mental illness called Munchausen syndrome. Are you doing this to yourself?”

  Jo blinked at her.

  Jaime shook her head. “I didn’t think so. Munchausen syndrome by proxy…”

  “Like the old movie with the ghost-seeing kid?”

  She nodded. “Is your mother doing it to you? It’s less common between adults, but it sure looks like—”

  Jo held up a hand to stop her. “No. I know it looks bad, but my mother… she wants to keep me safe, wants me to be protected. It isn’t in her to hurt me. I’m her only child, and she just… well, she’s so worried I’ll leave her. She’d never injure me on purpose.”

  Jaime narrowed her gaze, her mouth in a tight line. “I’m not sure…” She shook her head. “I said something to the doctor, and he nay-sayed it. But it should be in your record somewhere. You should know. You should be vigilant.” She pressed her lips as if holding back anger.

  Jo swallowed and said, “Mom took a month-long cruise without me a few years ago. She arranged for me to stay at a spa during her absence. I could have stayed at the house, but she worried. I got sick there, too. In fact, I had a bad bout and went to the hospital. My mother isn’t the cause.”

  Jaime shook her head, still not believing. “Just be careful, okay? Move out. Be super sure.”

  Jo listened and regulated her diet after that. She ate nothing Mom brought her. Sometimes she had difficulty faking it or hiding the food. But for a good solid two months, she managed and was still sick. A short time after she stopped watching Mom, her masseuse found the rash.

  Jo reflected on Jaime’s idea for a second. What kind of person would… She left the thought there. No use spending time on a nonissue. She turned back to her program.

  A half an hour later, Brett hustled into the breakfast area and made a cup of coffee. Or he tried to. He looked left and right, his mouth dropping into a frown. Only tiny cups remained in the dispenser, and someone else had snagged the last from the large pot. Brett hung his head, teeth gnashing.

  Jo sympathized with him. No coffee in the morning made her super cranky, too.

  As she stood to help him, he wheeled and disappeared into the kitchen. She sat down, disappointed he hadn’t noticed her. After a minute, he reemerged with a large travel mug in his hand and a satisfied grin on his face.

  Jo stared at him for a second, drinking in his expression. Something about his smile tickled her deep down. She would kill to see that smile as he hovered over her naked body.

  Embarrassed and a little giddy, she shook off the sexy thoughts and crossed to the handyman. She’d steal a few minutes from his busy day. “Hey,” she called softly as he headed for the door.

  Brett stopped and glanced around, his brow furrowed.

  Jo stepped forward, her hands crossed in front of her, her bottom lip caught under her teeth.

  He smiled. “Hey, Jo. Sleep well?”

  His voice sounded strained, as if he were as uncomfortable as she. Perhaps she’d read the situation wrong yesterday, imagined their connection. Maybe it was all in her head, and he hadn’t really glanced at her with those bedroom eyes last night.

  “Get your problem solved? You seemed kinda upset.” She stepped to the side so as not to block the entrance to the dining room, and Brett mirrored her actions.

  He scrubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Business problems at home because of a fire.”

  Her eyes widened, terrible thoughts racing in her brain. A fire constituted the worst thing in the world for her.

  “Not my place,” he added hurriedly. “No one got hurt. It’s… uh… complicated. I’m waiting to hear from my brother, but I gotta finish the job here.” He shrugged, but worry remained in his eyes.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I just wanted to…” What the hell did she want to do? Here stood her hunk of a handyman, obviously frazzled with much on his mind, and she hedged and fawned over him. “I wanted to say thanks for dinner. I’m sorry I ran off and—”

  “Oh, that.” He laughed. “No worries. Nice to see someone so passionate about their work.”

  Her brow furrowed. “And you’re not?” An opening to a conversation, but would he bite?

  He shrugged. “About some parts, but…” He waved away the rest of his comment. “You don’t wanna hear about the struggles of a family-owned business. Sorry I didn’t see your project.” He seemed genuinely apologetic.

  “Another time.” She smiled, trying not to seem too needy. Every fiber of her body wanted to rush him to her room and show him the game.

  Naked.

  She blinked as the enticing idea hit her full-on. She never behaved this way around men. Of course, most of the men she knew were wiggling their way into her mother’s good graces, or her wallet.

  Brett was a regular blue-collar guy. He didn’t seem to care about her last name or her history of health problems. It was part of his appeal, the other being his broad chest and tight butt.

  “I’ll be in the lounge later, waiting for my mom’s guests to arrive either today or tomorrow.” She threw the comment out, not sure if she appeared too needy, too “come and see me.” She wanted to show him but didn’t want to be a nag.

  “Your family?” his brow furrowed. “Oh, yeah. There’s some party tomorrow night. The kitchen staff is buzzing about it.”

  “Just another of my mother’s holiday parties. She likes to say she’s doing these for me. But really, it’s an excuse to be hostess. She’s doing gluten-free. So when people complain about the menu…” She shrugged a shoulder, rolling her eyes.

  “Don’t worry too much, Jo.” Hearing him speak her name sent electricity down her spine. “The cooks here are excellent. I bet it’ll be the best dinner you’ve ever had.” He grinned. “I gotta go. Toilets and sinks to install. Boring, but must be done.”

  “See you.” Jo watched as he headed to the opposite wing of the building. She studied his
butt as it moved in those jeans. She’d ask him to her room today or tonight or something. He might say no, or it might be the boldest decision of her life.

  ***

  Brett hummed as he installed the new bathroom fixtures in an ancient room. Stan needed to update more than bathrooms. The section required new carpets, beds, furniture, everything. Even Brett realized it was old, outdated, and unflattering. And he had no aesthetic abilities whatsoever.

  Kramer and Sons couldn’t do much for the place, other than paint and install new carpet. Stanley might pass a recommendation on to the owner if he did an outstanding job. A dozen sad rooms stood empty, which could only be filled with last-minute arrivals, or temp staff like him.

  He sat back, admiring the work—a no-brainer job, but satisfying, nonetheless. And it let his mind wander over and over to a certain young lady in a bathtub. The woman kept sneaking into his head since he first laid eyes on her. And not the almost-flashing in her bathroom. Dinner had been great, and she’d apologized for him taking off to talk to Ted. He should make it up to her, visit her room, view her project, give her multiple orgasms.

  That made him chuckle. She might be game. She’d been giving him that come-hither vibe since he met her. But women like her didn’t want guys like him for much more than those multiple orgasms.

  And damn it, he would not play those games here.

  Stan watched him like a hawk, and Brett hoped his womanizing label wouldn’t follow him into another town.

  Yes, he dated a bit. And most relationships didn’t last long. But he wasn’t the hook-up king his brothers made him out to be. He liked sex, but not relationships. He behaved like a complete gentleman to the woman for the twenty-four to forty-eight hours he spent with them. And then he moved on.

  But Jo was different, and not because she booked the Presidential Suite for a few days. The chatter he’d heard about the Christmas party sounded both ominous and ridiculous. He didn’t listen to gossip, and being temporary help, he didn’t know the staff well. But tidbits dropped here and there, especially from those clerks at the front desk. Talk about drama queens.