This wasn’t his Back Bay condo. He sprang up, only to have a sharp pain push him back down on the bed.
Sofa, he amended. He was lying facedown on a leather sofa, his cheek swallowed by a large memory foam pillow. Gingerly, he felt the back of his skull, his fingers meeting a patch of gauze and tape.
The drone. This must be Noelle Fryberg’s living room. Last thing he remembered was leaning into her warm body as she led him through the front door. Explained why he had orange blossoms on the brain. The memory of the smell eased the tension between his shoulder blades.
Once the vertigo abated, he surveyed his surroundings. Given her slavish devotion to Fryberg’s vision, he pictured his hostess living in a mirror image of the Christmas Castle, with baskets of sugarplums and boughs of holly. He’d been close. The house definitely had the same stucco and wood architecture as the rest of the town, although she’d thankfully forgone any year-round Christmas motif. Instead, the inside was pleasantly furnished with simple, sturdy furniture like the large pine cabinet lining the wall across the way. Brightly colored plates hung on the wall behind it. Homey. Rustic. With not a chandelier or trace of Italian marble to be found.
“You’re awake.”
A pair of shapely legs suddenly appeared in his line of vision, followed seconds later by a pair of big cornflower-colored eyes as the elf squatted down by his head. “I was coming in to check on you. I’m supposed to make sure you don’t fall into a coma while sleeping,” she said.
“I haven’t.”
“Obviously.”
As obvious as her joy over having to play nursemaid.
She looked less elfish than yesterday. More girl next door. The red dress had been shucked in favor of a white-and-red University of Wisconsin sweatshirt and jeans, and her short hair was pulled away from her face with a bright red headband. James didn’t think it was possible to pull back short hair, but she had. It made her eyes look like one of those paintings from the seventies. The ones where everyone had giant sad eyes. Only in this case, they weren’t sad; they were antipathetic.
He tried sitting up again. Slowly this time, making sure to keep his head and neck as still as possible. He felt like an awkward idiot. How was it that people in movies bounced back from head wounds in minutes? Here he was sliding his legs to the floor like he was stepping onto ice.
“How did I end up here?” he asked.
Her mouth turned downward. “Do you mean the house or the sofa?”
“The sofa.”
“Good. For a minute I was afraid you didn’t remember anything.” She stood up, taking her blue eyes from his vision unless he looked up, which didn’t feel like the best idea. “You collapsed on it soon as we got through the door last night,” she told him. “I tried to convince you to go upstairs to the bedroom, but you refused to budge.”
That sounded vaguely familiar. “Stairs were too much work.”
“That’s what you said last night. Anyway, since you refused to move from the sofa, I gave you a pillow, threw an afghan over you and called it a night.”
Out of the corner of his eye, James saw a flash of bright blue yarn piled on the floor near his feet. Tightness gripped his chest at the notion of someone tucking a blanket around his legs while he slept. Cradling his head while they placed a pillow underneath.
“Wait a second,” he said as a realization struck him. “You checked on me every few hours?”
“I had to. Doctor’s orders.”
“What about sleep? Did you...”
“Don’t worry—I didn’t put myself out any more than necessary.”
But more than she preferred. He was but an unwanted responsibility after all. The tightness eased, and the familiar numbness returned. “I’m glad. I’d hate to think you had to sacrifice too much.”
“Bare minimum, I assure you. Belinda would have my head if you died on my watch. In case you hadn’t guessed, she takes her responsibility to others very seriously. Especially those injured in her store.”
His store now. James let the slip pass uncommented. “Good policy. I’m sure your lawyers appreciate the extra effort.”
“It’s not policy,” she quickly shot back. Her eyes simmered with contention. “It’s compassion. The Frybergs have always believed in taking care of others. Belinda especially. I’ll have you know that I’ve seen her literally give a stranger the coat off her back.”
“I apologize,” James replied. “I didn’t mean to insinuate...”
She held up her hand. “Whatever. Just know that lawsuits are the last thing on Belinda’s mind.
“You have no idea how special the Fryberg family is,” she continued. Driving home the point. “Ned and Belinda were...are...the best people you’ll ever meet. The whole town loves them.”
“Duly noted,” James replied. Must be nice, having a family member care so much they sprang to your defense at the slightest ill word. “I’ll watch my language from now on.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They both fell silent. James sat back on the sofa and rubbed his neck, an uncomfortable itch having suddenly danced across his collar. Normally silence didn’t bother him; he didn’t know why this lapse in conversation felt so awkward.
Probably because the entire situation was awkward. If they were in Boston, he would be the host. He would be offering to whip up a cappuccino and his signature scrambled eggs, the way he did for all his overnight guests. Instead, he was sitting on her sofa, feeling very much like the obligation that he was.
And here he’d thought he was done feeling that way ever again.
Noelle broke the silence first. Tugging on her sweatshirt the way an officer might tug on his jacket, she cleared her throat. “I’m heading back into the kitchen. You might as well go back to sleep. It’s still early. Not even seven-thirty.”
“You’re awake.”
“I have cooking to do. You’re supposed to rest.”
“I’m rested out.” Headache or not, his body was still on East Coast time, and according to it, he’d already slept several hours past his usual wake time. “I don’t think I could sleep more if I wanted to.”
“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “TV remote’s on the end table if you want it. I’ll be in the kitchen.” The unspoken Stay out of my way came loud and clear.
She turned and padded out the door. Although James had never been one to ogle women, he found himself watching her jean-clad rear end. Some women were born to wear jeans, and the elf was one of them. With every step, her hips swayed from side to side like a well-toned bell. It was too bad the woman disliked his presence; her attractiveness was one of the few positive things about this debacle of a trip.
He needed to go back to Boston. It was where he belonged. Where he was...well, if not wanted, at least comfortable.
Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. The room spun a little, but not nearly as badly as it had yesterday, or even fifteen minutes earlier, for that matter. If he managed to walk to the kitchen without problem, he was leaving. Grant him and Noelle a reprieve.
Plans settled, he made his way to the kitchen. Happily, the room only spun a little. He found his hostess in the center of the room pulling a bright yellow apron over her head. The delicious aroma from before hung heavy in the air. It wasn’t a candle at all, but some kind of pie. Pumpkin, he realized, taking a deep breath.
His stomach rumbled. “I don’t suppose I could get a cup of coffee,” he said when she turned around.
She pointed to the rear cupboard where a full pot sat on the coffee maker burner. “Cups are in the cupboard above. There’s cereal and toast if you want any breakfast. Do you need me to pour?” she added belatedly.
“No, thank you. I can manage.” He made his way over to the cupboard. Like everything else in the house, the mugs were
simple, yet sturdy. He was beginning to think she was the only delicate-looking thing in the house. “You have a nice place,” he remarked as he poured.
“You sound surprised.”
“Do I?” he replied. “I don’t mean to.”
“In that case, thank you. Kevin and his father came up with the design.”
That explained the resemblance to the Christmas Castle.
“I’m curious,” he said, leaning against the counter. She had bent over to look in the oven, giving him another look at her bottom. “Is there some kind of rule that the houses all have to look...”
“Look like what?” she asked, standing up.
“Alike.” Like they’d all been plucked off a picture postcard.
“Well the idea is to resemble a European village. That’s part of what makes us such a popular tourist attraction.”
She was tossing around his words from yesterday. He’d insulted her again.
Which he knew before asking the question. Hell, it was why he’d asked it. Their exchange earlier reminded him how much he’d enjoyed her backbone yesterday. Next to her cute figure, pushing her buttons was the only other thing that made this trip enjoyable. “I’m sure it does,” he replied.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
James shrugged. “Nothing. I was simply noting the town had a distinctive theme is all, and wondered if it was by design. Now I know.”
“I’m sure you already knew from your research,” she said, folding her arms. She had the closed-off pose down to a science. “You just felt like mocking the town.”
“Actually...” What could he say? He doubted she’d enjoy knowing her anger entertained him. “Maybe I did.”
She opened her mouth, and he waited for her to toss an insult in his direction. Instead she closed her lips again and spun around. Immediately, James regretted pushing too far. What did he expect? Surely, he knew she wouldn’t find him as entertaining as he found her. Quite the opposite. She disliked him the same as everyone else. Pushing her buttons guaranteed the status quo.
There was one thing he could say that she might like.
“Your pie smells delicious, by the way. I’m sorry I won’t get to taste it.”
That got her attention. She turned back around. “Why not?”
Leaning against the counter, he took a long sip of his coffee. Damn, but she made a hearty cup. “Because as soon as I have my coffee and grab a shower, you’re driving me to the airstrip so I can fly back to Boston.”
* * *
Noelle almost dropped the pie she was taking out of the oven. Had she heard right? Not that she wouldn’t be glad to see the back of him, but... “I thought the doctor said no flying.”
“Doctors say a lot of things.”
“Yeah, but in this case...” She flashed back to his falling into her at the hospital. “You could barely stand without getting dizzy.”
“That was yesterday. Clearly, that’s not the case today.”
No, it wasn’t. He appeared to be standing quite nicely against her counter, all wrinkled and fresh with sleep as he was.
The guy might be annoying, but he wore bedhead well.
Still, she couldn’t believe he was serious about flying an airplane less than twenty-four hours after getting whacked in the head. What if he got dizzy again and crashed the plane? “It doesn’t sound like the wisest of plans,” she said.
From over his coffee mug, he looked at her with an arched brow. “You’d rather I stick around here with you all weekend?”
“No, but...”
“Then why do you care whether I fly home or not?”
Good question. Why did she care? She looked down at the golden-brown pie still in her hands. Setting it on the cooling rack, she took off her oven mitts, then nudged the oven door shut with her hip.
“I don’t care,” she said, turning back around. “I’m surprised is all. In my experience, doctors don’t advise against things without reason.
“Why are you so eager to leave Fryberg anyway?” she asked. She could already guess the answer. It’d been clear from his arrival he didn’t think much of their town.
Unless, that is, he had a different reason for returning to Boston. Something more personal. “If you have Thanksgiving plans with someone, wouldn’t they prefer you play it safe?”
His coffee cup muffled the words, but she could swear he said “Hardly.” It wasn’t a word she’d expected him to use. Hardly was the same as saying unlikely, which couldn’t be the case. A man as handsome as Hammond would have dozens of women interested in him. Just because he rubbed her the wrong way...
She must have misheard.
Still, it wasn’t someone special calling him home. And she doubted it was because of Black Friday either. He could get sales reports via his phone; there was no need to physically be in Boston.
That left her original reason. “I’m sorry if our little town isn’t comfortable enough for you to stick around.”
“Did I say it wasn’t comfortable?”
“You didn’t have to,” Noelle replied. “Your disdain has been obvious.”
“As has yours,” he shot back.
“I—”
“Let’s face it, Mrs. Fryberg. You haven’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat. Not that I mind,” he said, taking a drink, “but let’s not pretend the antipathy has been one-sided.”
Maybe it wasn’t, but he’d fired the first shot.
Noelle’s coffee cup sat on the edge of the butcher-block island where she’d set it down earlier. Seeing the last quarter cup was ice-cold, she made her way to the coffee maker to top off the cup.
“What did you expect,” she said, reaching past him, “coming in here and announcing you were phasing out the Christmas Castle?”
“No, I said the castle was near the end of its lifespan. You’re the one who got all overprotective and jumped to conclusions.”
“Because you called it a fading tourist attraction.”
“I said no such thing.”
“Okay, maybe not out loud, but you were definitely thinking it.”
“Was I, now?” he replied with a snort. “I didn’t realize you were a mind reader.”
“Oh, please, I could hear it in your voice. I don’t have to be psychic to know you dislike the whole concept, even before you started making efficiency suggestions.”
She set the pot back on the burner, so she could look him square in the eye. The two of them were wedged in the small spot, their shoulders abutting. “Or are you going to tell me that’s not true?”
“No,” he replied, in an even voice, “it’s true. You shouldn’t take it personally.”
“Are you serious? Of course I’m going to take it personally. It’s Fryberg’s.” The store represented everything good that had ever happened in her life since she was seven years old. “You didn’t even want to keep the name!”
“I already conceded on that point, remember?”
“I remember.” And considering how quickly he conceded, he’d probably already decided he didn’t care. “That doesn’t mitigate the other changes you want to make.” The reindeer. Fryer. Those suggestions were the tip of the iceberg. Before anyone knew, her version of Fryberg’s would be gone forever.
“Forgive me for wanting to improve the store’s bottom line.”
“Our bottom line is perfectly fine.” As she glared into her coffee cup, she heard Hammond chuckle.
“So what you’re saying is that you all would have been better off if I’d stayed in Boston.”
“Exactly,” she gritted.
“And you wonder why I don’t want to stay in Fryberg.”
Noelle’s jaw muscles went slack. She looked back up in time to see Hammond tipping back the last of his drink. “I don’t make a
habit of staying where I’m not wanted,” he said, setting the cup on the counter. “I’m certainly not about to start now. Would you mind if I grabbed that shower now? Then you can drop me off at the airstrip, and we’ll both be free from an uncomfortable situation.”
While he walked out of the kitchen, Noelle went back to contemplating the contents of her cup. She was waiting for a sense of relief to wash over her. After all, he was right; his leaving did free them both from an uncomfortable situation.
Why then wasn’t she relieved?
Maybe because your behavior helped drive the man out of town? her conscience replied as she rubbed away a sudden chill from her right arm.
Perhaps she had been...prickly. Something about the man got under her skin. Everything he said felt like a direct assault on her life. Between the company being sold and Belinda moving to Florida, she felt cast adrift. Like a part of her had been cut away. The only things she had left were the castle, the town and its traditions. Without them, she’d go back to being...
Nothing. No, she’d be worse than nothing. She’d be the nameless little girl whose mother left her in the stable. She’d rather be nothing.
Still, regardless of how angry Hammond made her, she still had a responsibility as a host. Belinda would have never been as argumentative and...well, as bratty...as she’d been.
She found Hammond in the living room folding last night’s cover. As he bowed his head to match one corner to another, he wobbled slightly, clearly off balance. A stab of guilt passed through her. No way was he better.
“You’re going to have to keep your head dry,” she said, taking one end of the afghan for him. After making sure the folds were straight enough, she walked her end toward him. “That glue the doctor used to cover your stitches needs to stay dry until tomorrow. I could draw you a bath though.” They met in the center, their fingers tangling slightly as he passed her his end.
“Anything that gets me clean works fine. Thank you.”
Hammond’s index finger ran along the inside of hers as he spoke. Coincidence, but Noelle got a tingle anyway. It had been a long time since a man’s fingers touched her even accidentally. “It’s the least I can do,” she replied.
Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss Page 4