That Mistletoe Moment

by Cat Johnson

  He set his mug on the coffee table, crossed to one of two doors on the far side of the room. “Bedroom, bathroom,” he cast over his shoulder. He entered the bedroom, eased back the pocket doors on an empty walk-in closet, and located the journal on a top shelf above the shoe rack. He brought it to Riley. Sat back down. A bit closer to her on his return. Despite his cold.

  She weighed the journal on her palms, then fanned the pages with her thumb. “Thick as a dictionary,” she commented. “There’s long lists of designer contacts, phone numbers, web pages, photos from fashion shows—Saint Laurent, Michael Bastian, Vivienne Westwood Men’s Collection—along with seasonal updated trends, and page after page of your personal likes and dislikes.”

  She drew a breath, scanned a section. “Shoes and sandals. No, to flip-flops, slide sandals, Crocs, or clogs. Yes, to shoemakers John Lobb, Berluti, and A. Testoni.” She gave a soft whistle before lowering her gaze to his wingtips. “Royal Black Berluti, according to the catalog picture. You paid a king’s ransom.”

  “I pay for comfort.”

  She slowly closed the journal. “You in a binder. Very helpful. I’ll get started on Monday.” She hesitated. “Will I have a desk?”

  “I thought you might work from the elevator.”

  “A day of ups and downs.”

  She had a sense of humor. “You’ll have an office.”

  Her eyes closed, and he swore she sighed. Looking at him again, she said, “A small space would be amazing.”

  “It won’t be a suite like mine, but you’ll be comfortable.”

  “I don’t need much.”

  “You’ll have whatever you need.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. Sincerely.

  Her appreciation touched his heart. His chest warmed.

  She licked her lips, asked, “Do I check with you first on all wardrobe purchases?”

  “Not necessary. Just don’t take off for New York Fashion Week without letting me know first. Judith went last year, without a word.”

  “No travel plans.”

  “I do, however, leave shortly. Have a suitcase packed and ready to go by next weekend. Professional attire. Five suits.”

  “Will you have downtime?”

  “Minimal. A dinner possibly with the representatives from our London office. I keep entertaining to a minimum.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why?”

  He was honest with her. “Socializing crosses the line between professional and personal. My father taught me to keep my distance, not to become too friendly. I don’t need to be anyone’s best friend. I avoid wives and children’s names. I prefer it that way. My primary concern is that each man upholds his position to the highest standards.”

  He heard her mumble. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

  She dipped her head. “Best you didn’t.”

  “Don’t be shy, Riley. I won’t fire you for speaking your mind.”

  She blew out a breath. “Good to know, since I’ve only been on board three hours.”

  “So?” he pressed.

  “You could let it go.”

  “Not if your comment concerned me.”

  She clutched the journal to her chest, as if protecting herself from him. Meeting his gaze, she spoke formally. “Very well, Mr. Hayes. I said, ‘How sad for you.’ ”

  “Sad? How?” He didn’t fully understand.

  “To have executives and staff busting their butts for you, making financial history, and you don’t have time to know one personal thing about them.”

  He was stunned by her assumption, however true. He had worked with these people for ten years. They’d sat in boardrooms all over the world for days straight, discoursing on immediate and far-reaching economic issues. He was aware of their qualifications, but he knew nothing about them beyond the facts on their résumés.

  She faulted him for that. He set his jaw, irritated by the fact.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I’m not offended, but I do feel judged. I’m in charge, and can’t let my guard down. I don’t have the freedom for friendships.”

  “Detachment is your friend.”

  Detachment? He cared. In his own way. “Tell me about your boss at Baby Gap,” he said stiffly. “Were you buddies?”

  “Baby Gap is a world apart from global capital. We’re very human there.”

  And he wasn’t?

  “My manager was an older woman,” she said with feeling. “Myra Ronan shared pictures of her grandchildren with everyone who entered the store. There was no separation of company and clientele. Being personable, caring, built our sales.” She next rattled off Myra’s husband’s name, listed all her children and grandchildren. The schools they attended. Their teachers and grades on report cards. Their extracurricular activities. She covered the dogs and cats, and a goldfish named Glimmer. “The assistant manager—”

  He held up his hand. “One big, happy family. I get it.”

  “We were close, no denying. That closeness made for a comfortable work environment.”

  “You think I’m a stuffed shirt?”

  “More of a tight ass. You wear pants well.”

  He blinked. Riley jumped topics so fast, it took him a second to catch up. She’d censured him, then complimented his butt. He didn’t have a comeback.

  “I’d never criticize you, Daniel.” Her tone was apologetic, sincere. “You are who you are. You’re aloof, and I’m open, a people person.”

  “There’s not a lot of socializing here, Riley,” he cautioned, not wanting her feelings hurt. “Don’t be offended—”

  “If I’m ignored? Should someone blow me off?”

  “We have a lot of work to accomplish each day. My executives pack sixteen hours into a ten-hour day.”

  “I’m grateful for my job. I can fade into the background. I won’t approach anyone for coffee or conversation.”

  He felt like a heel, discouraging her from making friends. But he liked things the way they were. He prided himself on organization. The offices ran smoothly. Everyone kept his nose to the grindstone. He sensed there might be something about Riley that would prove disruptive. He suspected she had that kind of personality. Positive and personable, she would touch lives. Look what she’d done to him with the train. She’d recognized his youth. Made him feel like a young boy. Intuitive, she saw people from the inside out.

  She set the journal beside her on the sofa. “I will have you packed and ready to travel, easy-peasy.”

  Easy-peasy. He’d never heard the expression. He assumed she’d accomplish the task.

  “What are my responsibilities while you’re gone?”

  “How do you feel about Christmas decorations?” He awaited her reaction.

  She told him what he hoped to hear. “They make the season bright.”

  “You were hired as my personal shopper, but there might be additional duties.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  He appreciated her enthusiasm. “The firm hasn’t decorated for years. Do you have any experience?”

  “I did the store windows at Baby Gap.”

  He pictured garland-wrapped strollers. Ornaments hanging from the rails of a baby’s bed. Holiday sippy cups. He hoped for a more mature theme, but refused to discourage her before she even got started.

  “Meet with Georgia once I’m gone. You’ll be starting from scratch. Buy whatever you need. There’s friendly competition between the floors, so let’s let everyone know that the best decorated floor wins a catered deli lunch. George in Security is the impartial judge.”

  “I’m already tasting pastrami on rye. Those big deli dill pickles.” She pursed her lips, had one final question, “Any restrictions?”

  “No live animals.”

  “So much for the reindeer.”

  He nearly smiled. Nearly. They were back in sync. It felt good. Outside, the world disrupted them. The windows shuddered with the force of the wind. Snow plastered the glass. The electricity flickered, held, fail
ed. They sat in darkness.

  Daniel didn’t hesitate. He reached across the coffee table, found the book of matches. He began lighting the candles. Flames jumped, then settled into an intimate glow. The room was cast in gold and orange hues.

  “The television’s off,” he said.

  “Too difficult to read by candlelight.”

  He relaxed enough to say, “Care to play a board game?”

  She shut him down. “Not Monopoly, you’d kick my butt. I don’t want to spend the blizzard in Jail.”

  “How about Daytrader?”

  “I’m not familiar.”

  “Monopoly meets The Wolf of Wall Street.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Financial markets?”

  He nodded, rubbed his hands together, and gave her an idea of what to expect. “You get jobs and make money, then start trading in the companies you work for to accumulate enough cold, hard cash to retire. When it’s time to cash out, you try to make it to the bank for the win before the volatile market sets you back.” He let the concept soak in. “Care to play in my world?”

  “The game’s right up your alley, not mine. You’d have an advantage.”

  “Give it a try—what do you have to lose?” He retrieved the boxed board game from the bottom dresser drawer in the bedroom. He’d played the game often as a kid. He’d only beaten his father once.

  “We’ll use the coffee table as our trading floor.”

  “I can hardly wait.” She was less than enthusiastic.

  He laid out the game, then ran through the rules with her, keeping them as simple as possible. He finished with, “You’ll need to make fast decisions. Don’t get greedy and overtrade. As far as money management, beware of the volatility of stocks. Got it?”

  “I’m processing.” Her eyes were glazed.

  They both leaned forward, ready to play.

  Thirty quick minutes passed. She fell back on the sofa, her face pinched. “You won.”

  That he had. She hadn’t proved much of a challenge. It was the quickest game he’d ever played. “You came in second.”

  “There were only two of us playing.”

  “The game was new to you. You’ll do better next time.”

  “If there is a next time.”

  “Surely you’ll want a rematch.”

  “My game next time.”

  “Whenever.”

  “Now.”

  She reached for her envelope purse. “How about Connect Four? I carry a miniature version with me. I haven’t emptied my bag since Baby Gap.”

  He’d played so few kids’ games, and wasn’t acquainted with her choice. “A brain game?”

  “You have to think fast.”

  He had a quick mind. “I accept your challenge.”

  He soon learned Connect Four was similar to tic-tac-toe. The object of the game was to connect four of a player’s colored discs so they formed a line in a horizontal, vertical, or diagonal direction.

  She chose the red discs and he went with yellow. He had big hands, and the playing grid was only six by six inches. The discs were tiny, and they slipped off his fingertips. They alternated turns, and she played hard. Riley bit down on her lip, all wide-eyed concentration. He paid more attention to her than the game. She had a sweet mouth. Full, gently curved. Kissable. The thought distracted him. So much so, he missed a turn or two.

  She beat him twenty-one of twenty-two games.

  He held up his hands in defeat.

  She laughed out loud. Grinned from ear to ear. Crazy-happy at beating him. A game meant for ages six and up. He was thirty-five and she, thirty. They were on the older side of Connect Four.

  Still, her delight touched him. Warmth spread from his gut to his chest. His smile came easily, and hers faded. She stared at him. A stare he now recognized as being either astonished or simply dazed.

  Completely awed, she placed her hand over her heart, and slowly said, “Total transformation, Daniel Hayes. You’re a handsome man, but when you smile, you’re a lady-killer.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Riley couldn’t forget Daniel’s smile. Fleeting and astonishing. His dimples flashed, deepened, and she forgot to breathe. She’d never seen a better-looking man in all her life. She felt a moment of sadness that he was so serious. A grin from the CEO, and world economic leaders and his own executives would see him as more than a financial genius. The lean hardness of his face had shown his character. His smile portrayed both charm and strength. A man of depth. He was so much more than a suit.

  She took apart the game grid, scooped up the discs, and tucked Connect Four back into her envelope purse. To be played another day. A sharp knock on the apartment door, and Daniel rose to check on the arrival.

  A flashlight swept the room. “Last pass of the night, Mr. Hayes,” George from Security said, sounding out of breath. “Climbing stairs has worn me out. I wanted to make sure everything was secure before I headed back to my station in the lobby.”

  “We’re fine,” Daniel assured him. “Can I make you a sandwich to go? How about an iced tea?”

  The guard shook his head. “Thank you, no. My wife sent me to work with a grocery bag of food. She anticipated the snowstorm long before the weatherman.”

  “How is—” Daniel’s brow creased.

  “Hannah, my better half?” George supplied.

  “Yes, Hannah,” Daniel slowly repeated, as if storing her name in his memory.

  “She retired from teaching, sir. Her days are filled with grandchildren and knitting. A neighborhood coffee klatch. Thank you for asking.”

  “She’s safe during the blizzard?”

  “Hannah’s staying with my oldest son and his family. My boy recently built a new home. Two fireplaces. The garage is stacked with wood. Everyone will be warm and out of harm’s way.”

  Daniel nodded, nothing more. His attempt at personal small talk was short, but obviously appreciated. George stood taller.

  “I’ll see you after the storm passes.” The guard quietly closed the door.

  “He’s a nice man. Conscientious,” Riley said once he was gone. “Climbing all those stairs had to be strenuous.”

  Daniel mused, “George is known to take the stairs on occasion. Keeps him in shape, and he swears he beats the elevator when it stops on every floor.”

  “His wife’s name is Hannah.”

  He came back to the couch, stood over her. “So he told us.”

  “Because you asked him.”

  “I was being . . . polite.”

  “You showed interest. Most people love to talk about their families.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It was to George.” Pause. “And to me.”

  “Why you?” he asked.

  “I like compassion in a man.”

  “Don’t read too much into our conversation.”

  “You know his wife’s name, and next time you can ask about his oldest son.”

  His jaw tightened. “We’ll be all business when I see him again. He’ll be running Security and I’ll be dealing with finances.”

  “That’s that.”

  “It is what it is, Riley. The way it’s always been. We work hard and smart, proving to the financial world that we’re serious. We stretch ourselves. We don’t let each other down.” He pinned her with a look. “Change can be confusing.”

  “I think you’re in a rut,” slipped out. She kicked herself for once again speaking so bluntly. It wasn’t her place. Being confined with the man, playing games by candlelight, had skewed her perspective. He was powerful, influential. He’d hired her, he could just as easily fire her.

  Regret prompted her apology. “Open mouth, insert foot.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, and calmly said, “Twice you’ve apologized to me now.”

  “You’re keeping count?”

  “I’m good with numbers.”

  “Two is memorable.”

  His expression was unreadable when he said, “You’re too new t
o Global Financiers to understand our spectrum of personalities, and how each person settles into the company.”

  “Like human puzzle pieces?”

  “We fit.”

  She wondered if there was a space open for her. Doubtful. A personal shopper was not a key player. She’d never take a seat in the boardroom. Too starched and stuffy. She might never make a friend. She would do her job. Stay out of everyone’s way.

  She unexpectedly yawned. Her day had been full, emotional, as she’d awaited Daniel’s decision on who would win the role as his personal shopper. So few hours had passed since she’d presented him with the train set. Since he’d chosen her. Now they faced a night together on the thirtieth floor. Fatigue claimed her.

  She placed her hands on either side of her thighs, gave a bounce on the sofa cushion. The couch was comfortable. She had no expectation that Daniel would give up the bedroom. Toss her a pillow and blanket, and she’d sleep tight. The sofa was long enough that she wouldn’t get a crick in her neck from the armrest.

  “You look tired,” Daniel observed.

  She rubbed her eyes. “I’m fading fast.”

  “Bed, then.”

  Bed? “The sofa is fine.”

  “You’d be more comfortable in the bedroom.”

  “Where will you sleep?” she asked cautiously.

  She met his gaze. Heat darkened his eyes. She flushed. The walls closed around them. Intimate and embracing. Awareness thickened the air. Unexpected. Unintentional. But tangible. He released a slow breath. She barely managed to draw air in. His nostrils flared ever so slightly. Her lips parted. Expectancy swelled amid the shadowed flames. A sudden longing lodged in her chest.

  Unfamiliar territory. Two people riding out a snowstorm. Attraction tugged, awakening feelings and possibilities. She hadn’t seen it coming. The sensation jarred and scared her.