Santa Series: Three Stories of Magical Holiday Romance

by Grayson, Kristine

  Raine frowned, and looked up. Her movement must have caught his attention, because their gazes met.

  His smile fell away for a moment, and his skin lost its healthy color. He went pale.

  She could tell what he was thinking: He had spent the evening with a reporter. She actually saw the edges of fear in his expression.

  Then his smile returned and his gaze left hers, seeking out some other reporters’.

  “I’m sure all this is too detailed for the average press conference,” Niko said. “I am clearly not the best marketing representative from our company—especially judging by the reaction of the staff in the back.”

  He turned toward them again, grinning this time. His hands left the podium and his thumbs returned to his back pockets. A nervous gesture, a tell.

  “So, I guess I’ll return to the script.” Then he chuckled. “If actually speaking on script for the first time could be called returning to the script.”

  Raine’s mouth had gone dry. That itch in her back was worse than it had been a few minutes ago. He knew, as well as she did, that she could reveal his evening of doubt.

  His father sounded like a true stickler for details. That little escape might forever destroy Niko’s chances to head the company.

  And Raine held the power in her hands to change the course of Claus & Company. Niko had given that to her, as clearly as he had given her the boots.

  “Normally,” Niko was saying, “we hold charitable events like the one last night. We charge money so that patrons of the arts or large donors can have an evening of entertainment in return for their gifts.”

  Something in his tone caught her attention again. Was that sarcasm? Did he think as little of those events as she did?

  Surely, she had asked the people in charge at her first charitable giving press conference years ago now, donors could just pony up funds for the poor without being rewarded for it. Isn’t giving its own reward?

  Ah, the flunky in charge of that press conference had replied, we have an idealist in the back. I do wish the world worked that way, my dear. Unfortunately, it does not.

  “We also have large toy drives, sponsored through several of your organizations. Thank you for that support, by the way.” Niko sounded more relaxed as he said all of this, but he was clearly working on a script now. “We work with the food pantry to provide holiday meals, and with a variety of charities to make sure that everyone has warm winter clothing.”

  Raine tensed. Had she been a charitable case to him? Someone to provide for? Had she misread the entire interaction?

  That wasn’t like her, but then again, she hadn’t had a lot of experience with people who were natural philanthropists, either. She was used to the hard-bitten reporters or the overwhelmed workers in soup kitchens.

  “I don’t have trouble with the organizations we work with,” Niko was saying, and then he glanced over his shoulder. Someone was probably going crazy. That sentence was clearly off script once again. He stepped slightly forward, as if trying to get the marketing person out of his range of vision.

  Raine kept her pen poised over the page. She had a hunch this was going to be the money quote. And yes, it would probably appear in the evening newscasts, but she didn’t care. She could take room and expand on this.

  “My problem,” he said, “is not with what we do. We’re extremely effective at it. We have a great success rate. Fully ninety-five percent of our funding goes directly to those in need.”

  Impressive. Even the best charities often spent as much as 25 percent on overhead and expenses. The lights had to stay on, and the people who ran the charities had to feed their families as well. Some charities—particularly those that were science-based—also had to factor in research costs.

  “Clearly,” Niko said, “we’re well run. We have great support worldwide. So, I suppose you’re wondering what my issue is, why I’m rambling on about changes.”

  Raine’s pen was still poised over the page. She was wondering, and she would wager everyone else in the room was as well. But no one was asking, which was pretty amazing, considering the room was full of reporters.

  Niko had them mesmerized.

  “My issue is with our mission,” he said.

  Someone moaned loudly behind him. Apparently, the person in charge of keeping him on message had finally lost it.

  Niko grabbed the podium again. The radio reporters winced a second time.

  “Our mission is to make certain everyone has a wonderful holiday season, no matter what their economic status is, no matter what their religion is, and no matter where they live. Obviously, we miss as much as we succeed, but in the last thirty years, we have greatly improved the health and happiness of millions over the holidays.”

  Now, Raine was frowning. Much as she complained about holiday-only charities, holiday help was often all the help families in need got, particularly the working poor. She waited for the other shoe—boot—to drop.

  “I believe we need to maintain that mission and add to it,” Niko said. “We shouldn’t start the charitable giving anew each November. We should be helping those in need year-round.”

  Some of the print reporters started to shift in their seats. She could see hands preparing to shoot up.

  “Now, granted,” Niko said, “many of our partner organizations already help year-round. But they don’t have as much success fundraising for other times of the year as they do during the winter holidays.”

  He leaned into the mike. The expression on his face was intense.

  “I want to put Claus & Company’s muscle behind the fundraising in Chicago year-round. I also want to raise money to set up housing for the poor and co-op grocery shopping in areas without large supermarkets. I have a plan that will begin this year, and will continue throughout the next five years. We need to take our vast resources and—”

  “Do you really think it’s wise, Mr. North, to funnel money away from the existing charities?” asked Richard Rancone, one of the TV reporters who specialized in confrontational shows.

  “I never said we would funnel money away,” Niko said. “I hadn’t gotten to the funding yet—”

  “Because a lot of people rely on those charities,” said Gerda van Halstad, another one of the confrontational reporters. “If you take money out of their mouths—”

  “I’m not,” Niko said. “I’m proposing an increase in funding. We’re going to—”

  “It sounds like you’re breaking a system that already works,” said another TV reporter, clearly not wanting to be left behind. “You’re—”

  “I have materials,” Niko said. “I’ll have one of my assistants pass them out now. I—”

  Reporters stood, shouting questions, and Niko’s face turned red. Raine was used the feeding frenzy. She also knew that the misunderstandings often led to better TV and better ratings than accurately covering the news conference.

  She also knew that Niko had given the reporters enough to destroy him. If they judiciously cut the speech he’d been giving, it would sound like he was actively taking food out of the mouths of children.

  She shot to her feet before she even realized what she was doing.

  “Mr. North,” she said in her loudest voice. It cut through the noise. “How much will your new project cost?”

  He looked at her with such disappointment that she almost sat down. She wasn’t sure what the cause of the disappointment was. The fact that she had asked that question? The fact that she was a reporter? The fact that it seemed like she had become part of the feeding frenzy? Or all of the above?

  “It will cost an extra one hundred million dollars to start,” he said.

  “An extra one hundred million dollars,” she said, just so the confrontational TV reporters got the point. “Who is providing the start-up money?”

  His features relaxed visibly. He realized she was helping him.

  “Claus & Company,” he said. “We have a general charitable giving fund. I received permission to start my visio
n with a donation from that fund—”

  And there he was, getting lost in the details again, details that never made for good sound bites.

  “So, Mr. North, you’re telling me that you will not be using any of the money collected for holiday charities to fund the start-up charity, is that correct?”

  He swallowed hard. “Yes, Ms. Wilkins.”

  She wished he hadn’t said her name. Now she looked like a shill.

  “Can you guarantee that, Mr. North?” she asked. “And before you answer, realize that my paper, the Chicago Courier, has a one-hundred-year history of going after fraudulent charitable claims. Our investigative journalism department is the best in the city.”

  That last wasn’t for him. It was for everyone else. I might look like a know-nothing reporter, she was telling her colleagues, but I work for the biggest newspaper in Chicago, and they don’t hire slackers.

  “I can guarantee that,” Niko said quietly. “My work on this plan predates my family’s new edict. I have hated the holiday-only nature of our charities for years. Children don’t get enough food year-round. They don’t have a place to put their heads in summer as well as in winter. In fact, more children starve in the summer than they do in the winter, because they lose the opportunity to have one good meal per day—lunch at school.”

  “I see you’ve done your homework, Mr. North,” Raine said. “But homework is different than a plan.”

  He gave her a sideways smile, one she recognized as genuine. “It is indeed, Ms. Wilkins. As you can probably tell, I am not the best spokesman for all of this, and when I went off script, I probably blew any opportunity to sell this to the people of Chicago correctly. So let me be really clear.”

  He paused. The other reporters remained quiet, waiting. Raine prayed he would speak in a single sound bite, because if he got too complicated, he would blow his final chance with these people.

  “Claus & Company is proud to continue the charitable work we have done every holiday season with our local partners. In addition, we are adding a new year-round charitable arm, which we shall fund-raise for separately. We have chosen the great city of Chicago to begin our year-round pilot program because we believe we can do a tremendous amount of good here.”

  Someone had clearly written that. Niko had finally used the script. He had barely stayed within the thirty-second sound bite, but he had managed it.

  “If I give one hundred dollars to your charities,” the radio reporter one row up shouted, “how much of that will go this new program?”

  Niko stared at Raine for just a moment, as if she could help him answer, then he looked at the radio reporter. “You will be able to designate which charity your hundred dollars goes to. Claus & Company’s Holiday Fund will exist as it always has. To support Claus & Company’s Uplift Fund, you would need to specify that your money goes there.”

  Uplift Fund. He hadn’t even mentioned the name until now. No wonder the marketing people in the back were going nuts.

  “I get to choose?” Gerda van Halstad asked. She sounded confused.

  “What if I want fifty dollars to go to one fund and fifty dollars to go to another?” asked another reporter almost at the same time.

  “Isn’t that needlessly complicated?” asked Richard Rancone.

  “I’ll answer you first,” Niko said to Rancone. “We need to keep the charitable arms separate because their missions are separate.”

  “And you don’t believe in the Holiday Fund’s mission, do you?” asked Rancone.

  “I do believe in it,” Niko said with great exasperation. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I just want to add to it. I want us to help people year-round. What’s so hard to understand about that? It’s part of Claus & Company’s mission, and we need to do it right. It’s a pilot program, something that will benefit Chicago.”

  “You sound defensive, Mr. North,” said Rancone. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  Niko looked at Raine again, as if she were behind the questions. Or maybe because he needed a friendly face.

  She shrugged slightly. Niko’s lips tightened in obvious frustration.

  “What am I supposed to say to that?” Niko said to the reporter. “You’re trying to create a crisis where there is none. I’m here to help—”

  “So you think Chicago can’t handle its own problems?” Van Halstad asked.

  A chubby man in a coal-black suit came out of the back. He headed toward the podium.

  “I didn’t say that,” Niko said, moving his hands in a what-in-the-world gesture. “I said that we’re starting a new charitable arm—”

  The man in the coal-black suit actively pushed Niko aside.

  “Thank you, Mr. North,” said the man in the suit. He had the same odd accent Niko had. “I’m Jørgen. I handle North American marketing for Claus & Company. Let me explain what we’re doing here. We let Mr. North handle this press conference because he will be running the charities—”

  “Better than he ran the press conference, I hope,” said Rancone with a grin.

  Niko put up a finger, as if he wanted Jørgen the marketing director to shut up. Niko leaned toward the mike, but Jørgen blocked him again.

  The pretty elf-like woman came up to Niko’s side and tugged on his sleeve. He shook his head. Then she grabbed his arm hard, and pulled him away from the podium.

  The TV reporters were gesturing toward their camera operators, making sure that they got this.

  Jørgen was trying hard to pretend nothing was happening around him. He smiled sadly, and said, “We wanted you to know that the North family is one hundred percent behind this. As you can tell, Mr. North is not a practiced speaker. He is the most honest man we know. He’s perfect to run the Uplift Fund, because he will deal directly with everyone, just as he has here.”

  A group of well-dressed young people appeared. Raine had no idea where they had come from. Maybe they had been waiting in the back. They moved to the edges of the aisles, handing out folders.

  Jørgen was speaking loudly. “We are passing out materials on the Uplift Fund. We’re pleased to start this new charitable organization. It’s going to make a large difference here in Chicago, and, after a trial run here, throughout the world.”

  Raine took one of the folders and passed the others to the reporter next to her. The folder was green, with a red label marked Uplift Fund. She sighed. Someone should have handed this out with the first folder.

  Whoops.

  Raine let out another small sigh. This press conference was a disaster. Normally, she would have chuckled, and then turned it into a big joke when she got back to the news room, but she didn’t feel like it this time.

  Niko had been unprepared—or unwilling—to do what most PR flaks did, and it had hurt him. It might have hurt his dreams.

  She felt bad about that.

  She also wasn’t sure what she would do next, either. She had the ability to make the situation worse, score a big coup for her paper, and launch her career out of the Life and Style section.

  But Niko’s dream, the ability to put a lot of money behind a year-round charity that might do something for the city, was also important to her.

  She slid the new folder behind the other folder. She would spend a little time in the afternoon investigating the plans, and then she would consult with some of the people she knew who advised charitable start-ups and see if they would comment on the record.

  That was something she could do that the TV people couldn’t. She could do an in-depth piece. She would hand the in-depth piece to her editor at the same time as the straight coverage of the disaster press conference.

  She took more notes and waited for the marketing director to get done so she could retrieve her microcassette recorder.

  She realized, as she waited, she already knew what she was going to write.

  And it wasn’t going to include yesterday’s adventure.

  As handsome as he was, as smooth as he seemed, Niko North lacked social skills. That had been appa
rent yesterday when he had given her the boots, and it had become even more apparent at the press conference.

  She found that a bit more endearing than she wanted to.

  She didn’t want to think that she owed him, even as her feet were snug in those boots. And she also didn’t want to derail something that might help thousands of people in her city.

  She hadn’t expected the ethical dilemma. She hadn’t expected it to twist her stomach up as much as it had.

  And she hadn’t expected it to make her reporter self examine whether or not her childhood circumstances were getting in the way of her objectivity.

  She could hand off the story to someone else. That would take care of the ethical issues—kinda.

  Because she would have to explain to her editor why she was taking herself off the story, and putting herself in the position of researcher instead of writer. And if she did that, then the story of Niko North’s attempted escape from his obligations would hit the press and have an impact she couldn’t control.

  Withholding that information, though, might get her fired.

  She clutched the files.

  She had some thinking to do.

  5

  WHEN THE PRESS conference officially ended, Raine grabbed her microcassette recorder, and started to leave with the other reporters. The TV reporters had cleared out long ago to prepare their stories, while someone from their organization remained behind to retrieve the mike and the other equipment. Some of the print reporters were gone too—the older ones who never used recorders but took copious notes, mostly in some kind of personal, indecipherable squiggles.

  She made it to the door before she stopped. She had an idea.

  She doubled back to find two of the young people who’d been handing out folders picking up the debris on the floor. She was about to ask them to find Niko North for her when Jørgen the marketing director came out of the back, talking with the pretty elf-like woman about contacting Claus & Company.

  “Excuse me,” Raine said. “I’d like to speak to Niko North.”

  Jørgen gave her a withering glance. “I’m sure you know, miss, that we’re not going to let any of you speak to him today.”