My Christmas Darling

by Vivien Mayfair

  “Oh dear,” fussed Iris. “It’s just champagne.”

  He wiped it off. “So I can smell.”

  “It’s a Christmas party.”

  No way to mistake that now with Bing Crosby singing to White Christmas. So, this is what it felt like to live on the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie. His energy surged thinking again of Bibi’s book. He made a mental note to tell her about the party as soon as he went back.

  Iris came back from the buffet table with a plate. “For you, honey.”

  He took a bite of the pink cake with fluffy white frosting and candy cane crumble on top. The sweet zing sent a buzz straight up to his head. “Delicious.”

  Bibi would love this. She loves Christmas.

  He licked his fork, annoyed that he couldn’t stop thinking about emailing her. For three days since the phone call, they must have exchanged dozens of emails in the evening. At first, it was to check on her illness. Then it morphed into more personal storytelling on both ends.

  It baffled him – her writing.

  The bubbly valley-girl voice on the phone didn’t match the deeply emotional nature of her writing. Even her emails held an air that nowhere near matched what he heard on the phone. He played it up to social anxiety.

  Iris introduced him to a few people.

  Stiffies in suits.

  It was then he recognized an authoritative male voice. He twisted around, hairs standing up on his neck. It can’t be, not here, not now. Oh Iris, you little devil. That was Iris Connelly for you. Ms. Fixer Upper.

  “Don’t be angry, darling,” she pleaded.

  “You invited my father?”

  “He and my husband were dear friends. Remember?”

  A husband who died. William knew why she did it. Likely she wanted to patch things up between them.

  “It’s Christmas, honey,” she tapped his arm before heading off. “Enjoy yourself.”

  Maxwell Harcourt stood near a grand piano drinking his usual whiskey sour. Two men his age chatted about business until all three of their heads turned as a lanky blonde cruised past.

  “Real classy,” Will uttered to himself.

  With Iris out of sight, he decided it the perfect time to make like a tree and boot. He scanned for a back exit that wouldn’t require passing his father. No, wait, it can’t be, but it is. Why can’t he ever escape the man?

  It was then he saw Lucy Carpenter.

  Alone.

  The letch of Fifth Avenue (who had a real reputation for acquiring ladies), leaned over her from a corner spot by a holiday cookie spread. Seedy eyes kept glued to her perfect cleavage that pushed out of a crimson satin dress like ripe grapefruits.

  At first, William couldn’t move.

  She knocked his socks off.

  Locks of sunset hair came down like a waterfall over her left arm. She nibbled off of a small plate offering a radiant smile behind crisp red lipstick while snared by a Wall Street weasel. William knew the smile was fake since no woman liked the letch of Fifth Avenue by the time he got done with them.

  Lucy’s eyes glittered off of her champagne glass like green sapphires in a jewelry case.

  The blundering blockhead leaned into her like the cunning shark he was. William headed her way with long strides, paying no attention to the women who tossed themselves in his path like worms dangling from fishing hooks. “There you are,” he said on approach.

  She struggled to swallow a large bite.

  “William, old boy,” said the letch, not looking pleased. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Steve.”

  “It’s been a long time.”

  William ignored the hand that came out his way. Stephen Walker not only slept with every bored married woman in the publishing industry, he also stole William’s ex-girlfriend right out from under him.

  Will slid an arm around Lucy. “Miss me?”

  Her eyes stretched like flying saucers. Mouth still full, which she hid with fingertips.

  “You know Lucy?” asked Steve.

  “We’ve been together almost a year now.”

  Not a total lie considering she worked for him just that long.

  The platinum Ken doll loosened the tie at his neck. “She’s with you?”

  “Yes, and I plan on keeping her with me. Understand?”

  “Sorry, she didn’t say anything.”

  “No doubt you didn’t give her a chance.”

  The man vanished fast with an excuse to find a restroom. Or a gun. William took his arm back, which wasn’t the easiest thing considering she smelled like fresh snowflakes.

  “Thank you,” she said, sheepishly.

  “You looked like you needed help.”

  “He wasn’t taking no for an answer.”

  “Not sure I blame him. You look quite lovely tonight.”

  Her cheeks pinked like cherry blossoms. “What brings you here?”

  “I could ask you the same. And, I’m Iris’ neighbor.”

  “She invited me the day she came in to sign her book contract. More like insisted.”

  “You’re alone?”

  “Don’t make it sound so evil. Yes, a single girl in Manhattan at a Christmas party. Tacky, pathetic, sad even. My mom made sure I knew all about that before I left.”

  William couldn’t stop gawking at her eyes. Extra heavy eyeliner made her emerald irises sparkle like polished gemstones. Warming up inside, he stepped back. It’s Bibi he was interested in now.

  They had a connection.

  Three times he tried to invite her to the party as his date. Three times she called him a dreamer. Yet, the striking Lucy Carpenter standing in front of him wasn’t a bad exchange. It was the perfect time to talk business.

  “I came alone, too,” he offered with a smile.

  “Two pathetic souls, I guess.”

  “Or, smart souls if you think about it. When you come alone, you can leave with whom you want and not with whom you don’t want. No guilt, no arguments about staying longer.”

  Did he really just say that? Her brows drew in as if he just propositioned indecency. Not like he could pick up a woman he worked with while his father was present. A surefire way to lose all forms of respect.

  Not happening.

  “Do you know him?” asked Lucy.

  “Who?”

  Popping a mini quiche in her mouth, her eyeballs dodged toward his father. “You keep staring.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Old friend?”

  “Old enemy.”

  A server came by and took her plate. “Lovely dress,” said the girl.

  It was true.

  The gown could have been right off the set of White Christmas from the final scene. It swept the floor with a red train. The entire bodice was covered in red sequins, giving it a mystical shimmer from standing so near the tree. White fur outlined the sleeves and neck.

  He imagined the softness.

  “I found this in a vintage dress shop in Brooklyn,” she said, spinning to show him. “Apparently, it belonged to an old woman who was a jazz stage performer in the forties.”

  “That’s quite a trek.”

  “Not when you live there.”

  “You live in Brooklyn?”

  “Bay Ridge, actually. I take the subway, it’s not bad.”

  “You realize with the snowstorm picking up outside, most transportation will shut down.”

  She waved him off. “I have a thumb. Somebody with a plow can pick me up.”

  They shared a laugh, although he didn’t like the image at all. Protectiveness surged through him.

  “I’m glad I ran into you,” William sputtered.

  “Oh?”

  “Perhaps we can talk some business.”

  Moron. Imbecile. Fool. What single man standing in the company of a thick, curvy redhead with all the lusciousness of a marshmallow pie would try to talk business? Flirting with staff was off the table.

  “Is that all you think about?” she asked.

 
; A young man drifted by in a blue polo sweater. He eyed Lucy with interest, smiling when she met up with his gaze. Jealousy crept up William’s spine. She may not be skinny, but she had what many men wanted.

  A full body.

  Something to hold onto during cold nights. And, her hair? Yowza. Like walking into a Bath and Bodyworks store on sample day; too many scents came from her locks to identify his favorite. A surge of disappointment washed over him when she took a step back while watching the man walk off after William’s glare. That little green guy in him again.

  “You want to talk business at a party?” she looked back at him.

  This woman was essential to his success with Big Apple Books. His dad’s looming presence commanding attention reminded him of that. When he came into the party, all he could think about was emailing Bibi about the stunning decorations. Now all he could think about was that dress.

  Lucy pulled his attention. “You should have fun now and again.”

  Instead of flirting, her presence brought his mind back to Bibi. Yet, somehow, he felt like a slinky little cheater even talking to Lucy. Emails with Bibi recently had turned flirtatious.

  Sensual even.

  So, then why did his mouth feel stuffed with cotton? He focused on his publishing goal.

  “We’re almost out of time,” he said.

  “Party just started.”

  “I mean for publishing Bibi’s book and selling it to the studios. I’d like you to please help me move it forward as quickly as possible.”

  She shifted nervously, breaking eye contact. “How would I do that?”

  “Email her for me.”

  “Don’t you do that yourself? She mentioned it to me.”

  “Yes, but at this point we’ve become personal, and I don’t want her to think I’ve only been interested in her because of her book. She may see it as pressure.”

  “Interested in her?”

  “Something’s brewing there, not sure what. I just need to keep focused on her book.”

  Lucy licked her lower lip. “What should I ask her?”

  “Convince her to have dinner with me. She already agreed, but then she cancelled.”

  “Maybe she has a good reason.”

  “I need to see her in person to find out what that is. It could be she’s afraid to sign over rights to her book. Sort of the empty-nest syndrome I suppose. Or, she’s that afraid of people.”

  “Or, maybe she doesn’t want to deceive you.”

  “How would she do that?”

  “Whatever it is she’s keeping private could be too painful. If you knew, maybe you’d see her differently. Or maybe you wouldn’t even want her book.”

  Pushing his hands into his pockets, he kept an eye on his dad near the bar. “Oh, I want it.”

  “I know you do.”

  “If we can have dinner together, I can get her to sign the paperwork. Coming into a boardroom full of people looking at her and asking questions will likely never happen.”

  Lucy fidgeted, uncomfortably. “You want her to sign at dinner?”

  “First, I have to assess that she’s functional. Can you ask her?”

  “She barely agreed to the phone call.”

  “And, now there’s the issue of her verbal skills. She was a bit scatterbrained.”

  “Maybe you make her nervous.”

  “I want to show her she doesn’t need to be.”

  There was something magical about spilling his guts to a total stranger. Part of him didn’t want it to end, which he knew it would once they met. The other part wanted her for nothing more than her book.

  He concluded, “I gave her some shocking news in the call. She hasn’t mentioned it since.”

  Lucy knew all about the shocking news.

  It took her a good hour to get off Heather’s floor after the phone call ended that night. She called in sick to work twice since then thinking about it because her gut was so twisted up.

  The big news.

  “Ten million dollars,” she struggled to say out loud. “She told me.”

  “Not enough?”

  Was this her chance to play ball? Already, she pushed her luck out of the solar system. This living-a-lie-thing was turning into a real charade. It was true that she’d always been a natural-born storyteller. She always reported events with a little embellishment and excitement, adding extra color and twists to reality. She enjoyed amplifying what already existed in order to create more of a dreamworld state to thrive in, simply because it was often preferable to real life. Some days she felt herself on the fence between truth and fiction.

  But this was a problem.

  She tested the waters. “Ten million to commission a town seems fair.”

  “I’ve been negotiating with a developer in Vermont who wants to invest in making Snowdrop Valley a real town. My father’s a friend of the governor, who has our back making it happen. We want it to be real; not just a movie set for filming when her book gets to that point.”

  “A real book town.”

  “Yep, café walls made out of books and all. I plan on starting the first publishing house there. We’ll formulate a town council with all the first residents who become business proprietors. With any luck, it should only take about two years, since the land we’re buying already has abandoned buildings.”

  “So, this is about your own ambition?”

  He shook his head, aware of her disapproval. “I’m building an empire.”

  “You’re asking the woman to be the founder of a town. To live there, run it, be the mayor, and make it into a real place on the basis of a fictional novel. She’d have no clue what to do with it.”

  “She’ll have a staff; she’ll learn.”

  “The book isn’t even published yet. How is this possible?”

  “I showed it to them.”

  “Showed what?”

  “The manuscript, and without Bibi’s permission.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You did whaaaat?”

  “You see why I have to get her to sign?”

  “That’s illegal if you don’t own the rights.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  A muscle twitched under his eye. “Because we’re going to lose Big Apple Books to my father, and I know my plan will work. I’m desperate, Lucy.”

  “It’s unethical.”

  “Think about it, though. The first U.S. book town where everything in the town somehow revolves around great literature. Korea has one. The Netherlands has one. Portugal has one, so why not us?”

  “You don’t think you’re moving too fast?”

  “Not at all; I’m committed.”

  “About as much as a senior in a knitting bee. Too much so, maybe?”

  “Bibi Roquette has taken the spirit of Christmas and turned it into literary gold.”

  She held her chin high and snipped, “And, you’re the banker, it seems.”

  Why was she arguing about a dream-come-true plan?

  “I’m trying to raise a literary sensation,” he explained patiently. “It’s not just about the book, although I’d say it’s the first holiday novel since Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol to capture the holiday. I want the book town.”

  “This seems more like a personal competition to me.”

  “Even so, Bibi will have her name in history books. Don’t you see?”

  A little nugget of bitterness made her skin flush. His drive and ambition softened her resolve. Now, this was a man she could respect. Maybe his desperation wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe he could relate to hers.

  They were the same.

  Part of her feelings hurt that he didn’t want the book just for the book. Oh well – that’s business.

  “You think this one book can do all that?” she asked skeptically.

  “It blends elements in a way I’ve never seen. Holiday, fantasy, romance, drama, suspense. Can you imagine a series of books about a book town that turns into a movie, a TV series, and a real
town with flourishing businesses? People will come from all over to see it.”

  It sounded as harebrained as the Easter Bunny.

  “It’s just a book. A fiction novel.”

  He nodded. “Yes, but it’s the idea from the book we capitalize on.”

  “That almost sounds like an insult.”

  “A real book town with a main street lined with bookstores from every existing genre. Book-themed cafes and restaurants, bed and breakfasts and sundry shops. Publishing houses, writing schools, publishing schools, print schools, writer’s retreats, themed attractions, statues in parks representing literary geniuses. Like in the book, every street name will be named after an author or a book.”

  “It’s just a book, though,” she sighed.

  He slapped his hands together. “It’s modern Middle Earth. We’ll build an entire world. And, the more subsequent books Bibi writes, the more we’ll attract people to the town.”

  “But, that’s just absurd,” cried Lucy.

  What was it with men and big dreams? All she wanted was a surgery for her mom. Then again, the concept of an entire United States book town did have an appeal. If it already existed, she’d be living there.

  A booming male voice shouted, “William, my boy!”

  The man he kept staring at earlier approached with two others at his side. Lucy witnessed William’s frame lock up from chin to toes. “Hello, Dad.”

  She sucked in a deep breath as they walked out of her space. So, this was the man who made a young boy into a passionate monster of a boss. No wonder William was staring so hard in his direction.

  Maxwell Harcourt laughed. “I’ve been telling these gentlemen that I’m buying your business. Your little publishing house gave it a good run, but if it wasn’t for me, it would be under water.”

  “You haven’t bought us yet. We still have air.”

  Lucy strained to listen as William defended himself with each insult. The older man seemed to enjoy belittling his son in front of other businessmen and one smoking-hot runway model. Their faces contorted.

  “No!” shouted William, drawing stares. “I worked hard to get where I am.”

  “Because of me.”

  “No, Dad, not because of you. Because I got away from you.”

  “Lower your voice, please.”

  “You’re the one that started belittling me in front of strangers.”