Christmas Affair

by Ginny Frost

  Something in his chest clunked. Every inch of him wanted to run over to her, scoop her up, and carry her off like some fairytale princess, despite her mother sitting right there next to her. The woman looked like she’d been sucking lemons.

  Jo looked defeated. Her head hung low, and she nibbled at her food. How could she be the same woman who gobbled down the salmon last night?

  Frozen in the dining hall entrance, he watched her, willing her to pick up her head and see him. If only those gray eyes would lift and he could bask in her smile. He waited. She never looked up.

  “Hey, Brett,” Javier said, “Your table’s set. Let’s get you out of the line of traffic.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jo woke the next morning with mortification still looming over her. She paced the room, considering what to do next. Her mom brought Dexter as Jo’s beau-de-jour. Dinner had proven that. Mom forced her to sit next to Dexter throughout the meal, while hints of after-dinner “activities” were thrown at her.

  Eww.

  Been there, done that. No thank you on seconds.

  She collapsed onto the bed, her emotions racing between anger with her mother and the bliss of being with Brett. Sex with him changed her whole view of the universe. Never before had it been as wild, raw, and exciting. For the first time, she wanted as much for him as for her. It sounded super selfish, but usually, sex focused on the man and not her. Usually, the guy left her wanting more.

  But Brett took care of her, wanted her happy and satisfied. She must return the favor. Perhaps that was what an actual relationship was like—real sex, authentic emotions—no one trying to get one over on the other before crawling away and not returning phone calls.

  An image of Dexter rose in her mind. Meek and nerdy around Mom, condescending and snobbish as soon as she disappeared. What would he think of big, tough, blue-collar Brett?

  Giggling, she rolled around on the still-unmade bed. She didn’t care what Dexter thought. Not a snip. Nor did she care what her mom’s impression was. Brett was exactly what she needed.

  Damn, why hadn’t she gotten his number? She should call and ask him to the party. Yes, Mom tossed him out like the unwanted help. When did he say he was leaving? She couldn’t remember.

  Snatching the phone, she dialed the desk. When the clerk answered, she requested Brett’s room number and for the call to be transferred. And of course, with her luck, one of the giggly clerks answered.

  “Do you have a problem in your room again, Miss Lockwood?” Her tone sounded snide and condescending. Jo bristled. “I can send Ernie any time.”

  Jo was tired of games, tired of people acting like she was a bubble-wrapped princess, tired of this bitch treating her and Brett like the town joke. Seriously, why? And she must have been mad, because she'd never called another person a bitch, not even in her mind.

  Ever.

  “Please connect me, or give me his cell number.” She kept her tone flat, confident. Usually, she asked with a whiny, begging voice. The tone always worked on Mom. The more pathetic, the more Mom gave her.

  But it stopped now.

  Her computer game was submitted, with all the accompanying paperwork. She’d met a fantastic new man. Together, they'd solved a hotel-wide cable problem. Once she got the job and started getting regular paychecks, she’d find an apartment and start her brand-new life.

  The clerk, Tiffany, she thought, huffed and hummed. “Let me ask the manager.”

  “No,” Jo cut her off. “Don’t bother.” She slammed the phone down, prepping to deliver a scathing report to the management about the mistreatment. Halfway to the door, she stopped.

  Mom would do that. And coming from Jo, it might appear to be a juvenile tirade. A spoiled brat begging her due.

  Jo didn’t want to be that girl. She didn’t want to be like her mom, didn’t want to use her name, her condition to demand things. Grabbing her keycard, she headed downstairs to find Brett herself.

  ***

  Brett stood back from the last toilet he needed to install. He rechecked everything, hoping for no leaks in his haste. The adrenaline from the afternoon fueled a work frenzy—new pipes installed, and the shower wraps done. He should have been using the extra energy with Jo, except her over-protective, vindictive mom had interfered.

  So, he vanished to the west wing to finish his job. He hurried, in case Stanley showed and chastised him for slacking on the job. Brett put his nose to the grindstone, even working over the weekend. And he hadn’t taken off when Ted called about Dad’s bad decision. He still didn’t have all the data about the business situation at home and probably needed to return soon.

  He glanced around the bathroom. A few more hours to complete the last room, then he’d go home without the guilt of shorting Stanley a day. If the job was done, it was done. And he’d even helped Jo restore the internet, so…

  And of course, Stanley knocked on the door. “Got a minute?” he asked, poking his head into the room.

  Brett’s shoulders fell, knowing what Stanley had to say.

  “It’s about the Lockwoods.” His tone sounded resigned, almost apologetic.

  “Let me guess,” Brett said, heaving himself from the floor. “I must stay away from Miss Lockwood. I’m not allowed to be in the room with her. Mrs. Lockwood will have my head if I go anywhere near her daughter.”

  Stanley cracked a grin. “Pretty much. Gotten the speech before?”

  “Too many times.” Brett hit the handle on the new toilet, and miracle of miracles, nothing overflowed, backed up, or leaked. “It’s the first time the lecture's pissed me off.” He turned on the faucets of the sink, letting the taps flow. Again, things worked. Hot flowed out of the correct side. He’d finished the shower earlier. He washed his hands, his back to Stanley. In the mirror, their gazes caught.

  “Big client, and…” Stanley held his hands out in a “what can you do” gesture.

  “And I’m pretty sure her little darling is not only over eighteen but tipping toward thirty. I won’t spout about how the woman has no right to dictate Jo’s life. Nor am I going to piss and moan about how Jo blew me off.” He wiped his hand on a towel.

  Stanley laughed. “Blew? Interesting verb choice.” He grinned.

  “I broke the rules, but she came after me.” Guilt hit him. “No, it was mutual. We both wanted it. I don’t care what her mother claims. She’s an adult, with an adult brain. So…” He furrowed his brow, confused by the rationalization. He didn’t need to explain to Stan.

  “Are you almost done with the repairs?”

  Brett nodded.

  “Finish and head out. I won’t interfere in your love life, but knowing your reputation…”

  “You tell her that?” He turned, his hands on his hips, well aware of how he towered over Stanley. “Because it’d be a shitty thing to do. I’m not some kid…”

  Stanley held up a hand. “I didn’t say anything to the mother or the girl. I told her you’d be scarce for the rest of the weekend.” He raised his eyebrows as if seeking consent.

  “Fine,” Brett said. “But, like I said, she’s an adult capable of making her own decisions.”

  Stanley sighed, crossing his arms. “Please try to keep it in your pants. You know what the deal is, right?” The vibes coming off him seemed ugly and harsh. It wasn’t as if Brett had attacked the woman, or that she was underage.

  “Yeah, the controlling mom forced her to go to a party…”

  Stanley swallowed. “Wedding,” he said the word with a squeak.

  “Okay, wedding… and she got here early to work on her computer project…”

  Stanley cleared his throat, stopping Brett’s speech. “Her wedding.”

  Brett’s eyebrows popped up. “The mom? She didn’t tell…”

  Stanley put a hand on Brett’s arm. His eyes brimmed with sympathy. “Josephine’s wedding. The staff was told to keep quiet. According to the mother, Jo wanted everything to be on the downlow. No big fanfare. Just go along with the party thing.” />
  Brett stared at him, his mouth agape.

  Jo is getting married?

  Jo was getting married today and didn’t bother to mention it once. She slept with him but planned to marry some other dude in a couple hours. He was her bachelorette party.

  “Fuck.” Brett spun away from Stanley, placing his hands on the sink. Fire and fury boiled under his skin.

  Jo—sweet little shy Jo, computer programmer, fixer of Wi-Fi fucking lied the whole time. Another high-society predator like her mother, who wanted him for a last fling before being tied down. Hell, she probably planned the rescue from the balcony thing.

  She used him.

  His stomach churned, sick with anger. He’d charge into that wedding… he’d… do nothing of the sort. Not if he wanted further business with these bluebloods. He was a tool for the high classes to play with, and he had been played well.

  “Fuck!” He screamed the word this time. Clutching the sides of the sink, he shoved his anger into the innocent object and heaved. The pedestal sink tore from the wall, ripping the pipes and the sheetrock. He tossed it to the floor, uncaring about the spraying water or shattering porcelain.

  He brushed past Stanley, who stood stock-still, his eyes open wide. “Bill me.”

  ***

  Josephine walked through the confusing corridors of the Excelsior until she found the oldest wing. The dated wallpaper and threadbare carpet validated the hotel owner’s decision to renovate. But the bones seemed fine. Brett’s company could spend the entire winter here fixing the rooms. And in the spring, the hotel would have another wing full of customers.

  Brett said he’d finish the job today. Hopefully, he hadn’t left yet. After the scene with her mom, she desperately wanted to talk to him, to explain, to see if any spark remained between them.

  She paused halfway down the hall, a sinking feeling coming over her. The dark stretch of hall spoke of horror movies and jump scares.

  Jo wasn’t an adventurous person by nature, and the wild, willy-nilly search for Brett seemed impetuous. She hunched a little, ready to call it quits, when a door two rooms down burst open, and Brett charged out.

  He looked like a pissed-off bull, his cheeks red, his fists at his side, his face scrunched in deep emotion. A squeak escaped Jo’s lips as she flattened to the wall, out of his path. His gaze met hers, and the anger didn’t dissipate.

  Uh-oh.

  They stood there, feet apart, staring hard at each other. Brett caved first.

  He pulled himself up to his full height, his gaze still boring down on her. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered.

  Jo did not understand how to react to that. What did that mean? She glared at him, waiting for clarification. Yes, she erred, mostly because of her mother’s behavior, but his anger seemed over the top. “I’m glad I found you.”

  “Oh?” he asked, as he crossed his arms. Apologies wouldn’t work here if his feelings ran that deep. But she had to try. She didn’t want to lose him because of her mother’s snobbish attitude. The truth of the thought gave her the strength to step forward.

  “I wanted to apologize for…”

  Brett waved her words away before she began. “Busy here. I gotta work for a living. Busted pipe needs fixing.”

  Stanley poked his head out of the room Brett had exited. “You will fix this, right?” he asked. The man seemed skittish and worried. His gaze met Jo’s, and his eyes widened, but he said no more.

  Brett spun, the heat of his anger radiating far enough for Jo to sense it on her skin. “Of course, I’ll fix it. That’s my job, right? Mopping up messes. Fixing things so everyone can have an easy day in your pretty hotel.” He turned again, heading toward her. “I need a pipe wrench,” he muttered.

  He didn’t glance at her as he passed. She raised a hand to touch his arm, but his violent expression gave her pause. Not the time to invite him to the party, to apologize for Mom, to pursue the relationship she so desperately wanted.

  Her heart squeezed. Had she lost him before they began? If her mother had anything to do with this, she’d give her an earful.

  She hurried down the hall in Brett’s wake, ignoring Stanley as he called for her. Another of Mom’s flunkies. That was done and over. She'd promised to attend the party, but afterward, she’d find her own life without smarmy men like Stanley, and definitely without her overbearing mother. The women’s shelter had plenty of room if she needed it. Maybe the family lawyer could give her some of the tiny trust fund from Father, even though she couldn’t touch it until her thirtieth birthday.

  It didn’t matter.

  If Mom chased Brett away, she’d jettison every other nice man who entered her life. Jo was tired of being her mother’s doll, of being coddled and pampered. She was entitled to a life better than this.

  “Brett,” she called as she reached the lobby door. He stopped, but his shoulders were at his ears. “I want to apologize for my mother.” He didn’t turn, so she continued. “It’s hard to understand the dynamic of my family.” The muscles in his neck tightened further. “But she doesn’t speak for me. Please understand.”

  ***

  Brett had enough. He liked Jo—a lot, but the poor-little-sick-girl thing got old super-fast. She’d become a different person once her mother arrived. All the boldness drained out of her. She became a meek and mild wuss, instead of the quirky, strong woman he’d slept with.

  When she asked for understanding, something broke inside him. She’d never be free of her mother. She’d always be Mommy’s little girl and not the woman he needed. He mourned for losing the goddess who’d invited him into her bed yesterday.

  His temper escaped. “Do you understand your ma has you under her thumb? She dictates your life because you’re a little”—he waved his hands at her body—“fragile. You’re not a child, but you let her baby you.” He wanted to mention her impending wedding, to throw it in her face, but something in him wouldn’t allow it.

  She must have known. It was her goddamned wedding. Women attended dress fittings, parties, and planning sessions. Jo had slept with him as a last rodeo before marrying that cardboard cutout who came to her room. She’d never have the passion with Dexter that they’d shared.

  And that was a damned fact.

  “It’s complicated, Brett. My illnesses and my mother…” Her chin fell to her chest as if the word “mother” explained it all.

  “It’s not. You can’t eat wheat. You know it. She knows it. You built an entire world in your computer…” He stopped as the epiphany hit him. The computer game represented an escape, a virtual world away from the mother. No wonder she liked computers. She could jump online and escape anytime.

  “And what?” Red crept into Jo’s cheeks. Her hands fisted at her sides, and her mouth drew into a straight line. She was finally pissed, too.

  Good.

  “And…” Images of the wedding, of Jo’s potential future, of a situation he couldn’t fix with his tools flooded his brain. “And someday, when you finally get the guts to stand up to your ma, come find me. Right now, I gotta fix a busted pipe.” Without another word, he headed to Ernie’s tool room/server room/mancave. He’d make the guy help him repair the damage so he could take off today. He didn’t want to be here when Josephine Lockwood strolled down the aisle.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Josephine walked into her room in a daze. Brett’s words bored into her core. Inside, her heart felt damaged, bleeding, her brain addled. He had a point, and part of her could not admit it. She’d been under Mom’s thumb her entire life—sickness or no.

  Now that she had a diagnosis and traveled the road to a healthy life, why wasn’t she living it? Why stay here in the hotel rather than get her own apartment? Why did she come at all? If she stayed home, she might have turned in the audition program earlier. Why hadn’t she told her mother about the game?

  Why hide?

  Blinking back tears, she shuffled into her suite like a zombie. Of course, her mother was there, with her complete access
to Jo’s private room, and all other aspects of her life.

  Jo wiped at her eyes, ignoring her mother’s greeting. She staggered to the bathroom for a long, hot soak, and then she’d check out of the damned hotel.

  She turned on the taps, her mind wandering to Brett’s statement about fixing pipes. An excuse to avoid her.

  Probably. After yesterday, who could blame him?

  Splashing the water to check the temp, she considered leaving immediately. Forget the pampering and head out the door. She’d have to use the credit card Mom paid for until she had her own card. And honestly, as long as the laptop traveled with her and internet remained available, she’d earn a living.

  The idea of leaving didn’t quite spur her to action yet, but it rolled around in her brain. She undressed. As she eased herself into the vat of bubbles, a rapid knock sounded on the bathroom door. Couldn’t the woman leave her alone when she was in the tub? The handle rattled.

  Apparently not.

  “Josephine.” Mom opened the door and scanned the room. “You need to get ready. Where have you been?” She sounded as if she were speaking to a child.

  Jo finally heard it. She sighed, slipping deeper into the foam.

  “The party begins in an hour,” her mother said. “The hairdresser will be here in twenty minutes. Be ready.”

  “Mom,” Jo said, lifting her chin from the water. “I’m not up to it. Can’t I make an appearance and go home?”

  “Josephine, you promised.” Mom used her best guilt-inspiring voice. “Everything has been planned and paid for. I have so many social and business contacts arriving for it. My daughter cannot be absent. How would it look?” She sat at the edge of the tub, skimming her hand on the water. “I’m aware that man…” She refused to meet Jo’s gaze. “But perhaps another time you can speak to him and clear up what happened. We have an obligation tonight. After that…”