All He Wants for Christmas

by Lisa Plumley

  “Oh, so now you want to see him? Now you like him?” Exasperated, Danielle flung up her hands. Where had this reciprocal interest been when Jason was trying so hard with Karlie? She rounded on her daughter. “Now? After everything?”

  “After . . . what everything?” Karlie looked confused. “I just thought it might be funny to hear his big, dumb voice singing, that’s all. So far, I’ve been gypped of that, so . . . I think we need five puppies, too.” She crossed her wiry arms. “Like, today.”

  “Yeah.” Zach matched Karlie’s obstinate look. “Me too.”

  Inwardly, Danielle groaned. She knew darn well Zach wasn’t that into the idea of getting a puppy (or five). He liked cats. But when the three of them ganged up on her, it was so much more difficult to stand her ground. Especially when she didn’t have another parent or authority figure on hand to back her up.

  With a glimmer of hope, she glanced at Gigi and Henry.

  “Do not look at me, g-friend. French people love les chiens.”

  “Those puppies aren’t what you’re mad about, boss.”

  All right then. There’d be no help from that quarter.

  Oddly enough, in that moment, as Danielle looked at Karlie’s defiant little face, she realized that her daughter did like Jason. She’d been hazing him all this time—testing him to make sure he was good enough for her, her brothers, and her mom.

  Unfortunately, he’d failed.

  But Danielle hadn’t wanted to admit that when she’d rejoined everyone for the carol crawl. She still didn’t.

  “So, where is J?” Zach persisted, looking around without budging. “You said he’d probably catch up to us after a while.”

  “‘Probably.’ Probably is what I said.” She’d said it because when she’d started to explain that Jason had gone back to California—forever—she’d almost bawled. She’d settled on a tiny fib to stop the waterworks. “We should just keep going with the Christmas Carol Crawl. There are lots of stops left.” She attempted a smile. “Isn’t this fun? Come on!”

  Determinedly, Danielle started walking. Her fuzzy orange jacket fluffed along dramatically with her movements. She envisioned herself being tough. Being strong. Being alone.

  Gah. Her shoulders crumpled. She almost tripped.

  “Mommy, you’re going the wrong way. And you almost ran into that big pile of dog food, too.” Aiden laughed. “Silly.”

  He hadn’t budged from the puppy zone. In fact, other interested potential pet adopters were starting to sling her son dirty looks. Danielle hurried back to him. She swallowed hard.

  It was time to go big or go home.

  She turned to the shelter volunteer. “We’ll take all five.”

  Gigi’s mouth dropped. Henry looked troubled.

  Aiden whooped with joy. Zach had fashioned a hat out of his Christmas carol songbook and was balancing it on his head.

  Karlie lowered her arms-akimbo pose. She frowned. “Jason is gone, isn’t he?” she said. “He isn’t ever coming back.”

  Nope. He isn’t. At the thought, Danielle swallowed past a lump in her throat. In the midst of accepting some clip-boarded puppy-adoption paperwork from the shelter volunteer, she felt her hands quiver. But, bravely, she said, “This has nothing to do with him. This is about us.” Here we go. “And my new job.”

  Gigi eyed her. “That toad you were talking to earlier was Chip Larsen?” She shuddered with distaste. “I hope you washed the hand he shook. There is not enough soap in the universe.”

  Henry agreed. “That guy’s a creeper.” He gave a dismal headshake. “I hope you won’t have to work closely with him.”

  Privately, Danielle did, too. She still had doubts about accepting the executive position Chip had offered her. What if Moosby’s HQ expected bigger, nastier rules-defying from her? What if they wanted her to compromise constantly? Lie regularly?

  On the other hand, she was doing a bang-up job of fibbing right now by pretending she was all right with Jason’s leaving.

  Maybe, as Chip thought, she was a natural at this stuff.

  That idea was almost as disheartening as the day she’d had so far. She didn’t want to live down to Chip’s expectations.

  “New job?” Finally, her promotion news penetrated Zach’s consciousness. He scowled from beneath his homemade hat. “The job in L.A.? The job we all hated? That job?”

  “This isn’t about any job,” Karlie butted in knowingly. She nodded at the paperwork in Danielle’s hands. “It’s about Jason. She’s trying to bribe us to make us forget he was ever here.”

  “Hey!” Danielle protested. “Everybody loves puppies!”

  “Not bribery puppies.” With clear concern, Gigi laid her hand on Danielle’s arm. “Is this true, what Karlie says?”

  “Of course not!” Danielle lied, lied, lied. Why wouldn’t they all just leave her alone to forget her heartbreak?

  She was trying to appear A-OK with all this. Couldn’t anyone see how hard it was to be betrayed? Twice? Publicly?

  “My mom did this last time, too. With Dad,” Karlie informed everyone. “We scored big on toys and treats after Dad left.”

  Appalled to hear her daughter’s take on her parents’ broken marriage, Danielle turned to Karlie. “That’s not . . . entirely . . . true.”

  “She really liked big, goofy Jason, too,” Karlie announced in a nonchalant tone. “I could probably get a pony this time.”

  Aiden’s eyes brightened even more. “Puppies? And a pony? Yippee!” He grinned. “I like your new job already, Mommy.”

  Oh God. She was trying to bribe them.

  Worse, she was a little bit glad it was working.

  “We really don’t have room for a pony,” Danielle told her children, just to keep their payola expectations reasonable.

  “J has room for a pony,” Zach piped up. “He has a huge house in California. In L.A. I think it’s near the beach. Plus another place in New York, and I think one in London, too.”

  Unhappily reminded of her ex fake boyfriend’s status as a megamillionaire, Danielle frowned. Wasn’t that just like her, to stick a big lump of coal into her own stocking this year?

  If she’d been a little less wounded by Jason’s betrayal—a little less heartbroken by the way he’d used her and her kids—she was the one who could have scored big. Who didn’t want a handsome, wealthy, brilliant, famous, generous boyfriend?

  Jason was so down-to-earth most of the time, she’d forgotten all those adjectives applied to him. To her, he’d just been Jason. The man who made her giddy with a single smile.

  Humph. No wonder she’d been so damn gullible.

  Although she couldn’t help wondering . . . What would Jason have said if she’d let him explain? What would he have done if she’d given him the benefit of the doubt? She’d been so shocked, so caught off guard, so (admittedly) defensive about the secrets she’d been keeping (hello, inventory shenanigans) that she’d been 100 percent ready to believe the worst about Jason.

  Maybe that hadn’t been entirely fair.

  But who needed fair when you could have puppies?

  Determinedly, Danielle picked up a pen. Attentively, she started writing. “There are six of us, so we can each think up a name—if you and Henry will collaborate, that is, Gigi.”

  The name-choosing clamor she expected didn’t kick off.

  She glanced up to find everyone staring at her dubiously—and, in the case of her three children—worriedly.

  “Aren’t you going to warn us not to overfeed them first?”

  “Aren’t you going to assign a poop-scooping schedule?”

  “Aren’t you going to make sure they don’t have rabies or something?” Karlie looked baffled. “Mom, you’ve cracked.”

  They were right. Ordinarily, Danielle realized belatedly, she would have carefully weighed the decision to get a quintet of puppies at Christmastime, when her house was full of gifts, poinsettias, and shiny things that attracted teething puppies.

  “Don’t crush my
groove,” she complained. “This is fun.”

  They still looked apprehensive. All five of them.

  “I have a bottle of good wine chez moi,” Gigi said in a carefully nonchalant tone. “We could drink it and talk? Now?”

  “Nope.” Manfully, Henry stepped up. “It’s gone beyond that now, Gigi.” He tossed her a heartfelt look. “I’ll handle this.”

  Gigi gave him an admiring smile. “Ah, bon. Merci beaucoup .”

  Danielle guffawed. “You? Be serious, Henry.”

  “I’m dead serious, boss.” Mano-a-mano style, he pointed from himself to her. “You and me—let’s take this outside.”

  The hellish thing about the Riverside Hotel in downtown Kismet was that it was so damn friendly.

  The last thing in the world that Jason felt like doing after lugging his belongings there from Danielle’s cozy house was being friendly. To anyone. But the die had been cast. He’d been doing so many meet-and-greets and other appearances (in person and online, Jason cringed to recall), that there wasn’t a soul in town who didn’t know him . . . or feel they ought to.

  The bellman who opened the front door talked to him in gregarious tones about the Lions’ latest Thanksgiving Day game. The desk clerk who cheerfully handed him his key card—thereby inadvertently confirming Chip’s allegation that Danielle had lied about all the local rooms being full—filled up the check-in process with chitchat about the Christmas Carol Crawl. The bartender offered up free beers from the adjacent bar. The housekeepers made excuses to visit the lobby and flirt with him.

  Finally, Jason had almost made his getaway—or at least made it to the gleaming, old-fashioned elevator bank—when the concierge left his holly-wreathed and lighted lectern to shake Jason’s hand and inquire about how the toy business was.

  Before Jason could formulate an answer that didn’t involve his own voluntary (but unintentional) resignation, someone else strode over from the hotel’s bar, moving at a pace clearly designed to catch up to Jason. He must have been spotted while the bartender was waggling those free beers in his direction.

  “The toy business is just as cutthroat as it ever was,” a man said, striding closer. “That’s how the toy business is!”

  Upon hearing that unmistakably jocular voice, Jason started. He turned. It couldn’t be . . . “Mr. Moosby?”

  “In the flesh.” His white-haired mentor grinned broadly at him. His eyes twinkled, just as blue as they’d ever been. Alfred Moosby had become, in his golden years, a dead ringer for Santa Claus, it occurred to Jason. “Or, you know, in the jeans, long underwear, three pairs of socks, T-shirt, sweatshirt, boots, coat, earmuffs, scarf, gloves—”

  “Don’t be such a baby, Golden State.” At the sight of his longtime friend and partner—who really was kitted out in all the cold-weather gear he’d just mentioned—Jason nearly bawled like a baby himself. “It’s barely below freezing out.”

  The words were already out before he realized he’d repeated what Danielle had teasingly said to him some time ago.

  Damn it. When was she going to get out of his head?

  “Hey, it’s your fault I’m here making like Nanook of the North.” Mr. Moosby raised his duffel bag. “Guess what I’ve got in here? Those prototypes you asked for. All ready to go.”

  “Oh. New toys?” the concierge asked interestedly.

  “New hope!” Mr. Moosby told him. “That’s what I’ve got.”

  His delighted laughter made Jason’s heart sink. It was apparent that when he’d asked for Mr. Moosby’s help with having those prototypes made—without involving anyone from Moosby’s corporate—his mentor had gotten the idea they were kicking off a new venture together. All Jason had been trying to do was make those few toys. As one-offs. He’d expected to be starting a new future with Danielle, not rewinding his life to the days when he’d created new toys and Mr. Moosby had produced them.

  “Those soulless suits at HQ will be sorry they pissed you off. On the trip here, I had four separate offers to buy the contents of this duffel bag sight unseen.” Mr. Moosby winked at the concierge. He nodded at Jason. “My boy’s got magic in him.”

  His tone was proud, his bearing dignified, his manner full of love and camaraderie. Just being near him made Jason choke up all over again. Hell. He was a real crybaby today.

  “Thanks, Mr. Moosby.” Sucking back the sobs that threatened to unman him right there in the lobby of the Riverside Hotel, Jason extended his hand. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.”

  Appallingly, his voice broke on the words.

  Inwardly, Jason swore. The last last thing he needed today was to start going soft. But there was something about seeing his familiar, cheerful, frankly beloved mentor that untied all his damn defenses. With a single look, Mr. Moosby had hurtled him backward into his clueless, vulnerable, desperate-for-validation, gangly fifteen-year-old’s body. The same kid who had strived so hard to be tough strived now to be even tougher.

  “A handshake?” Mr. Moosby guffawed. “Keep that pansy-ass fancy stuff for those chumps on the board! C’mere, son!”

  With a roar of welcome, Mr. Moosby drew Jason into a huge, backslapping hug—the kind of hug that men gave each other after going into battle. In response, Jason’s eyeballs burned.

  He would not cry. He wouldn’t. He hugged back, then quit.

  As he withdrew, Mr. Moosby gave him a concerned frown—an astute one. “Hey, why the long face? Did something happen?”

  Everything happened. He’d lost his job. He’d lost control of Moosby’s. He’d lost Danielle. He’d lost hope.

  But Jason couldn’t admit any of that. Not yet. Not until he’d had a chance to refocus and figure out a fix for all of it.

  Well . . . at least a fix for all of it that pertained to Moosby’s. Because he’d be damned if he’d disappoint his mentor.

  “Nah. I just realized I refused a free beer, that’s all,” Jason cracked as he angled his head toward the decorated bar just off the hotel’s lobby. Inside, multicolored Christmas lights twinkled. “Let me buy you a free beer, too.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Mr. Moosby hefted his duffel bag in one hand. He slapped Jason on the back with the other, then led the way to the bar. “Don’t wait up for us, Dante!”

  The concierge tipped his hat. “Have a good time, sir!”

  Evidently, the two of them had already met—and become fast friends. Jason wasn’t the only one, he remembered, who had a knack for charming people. Mr. Moosby did, too. Even if he—like Jason—didn’t much care for employing that particular skill with the “chumps” on the board.

  Loping to catch up with his energetic seventyish mentor, Jason dropped his gaze to that duffel bag. The items inside were the first new toys he’d created in years. It sounded as though Mr. Moosby had done his share of talking them up with people, too. That was just like his mentor. He liked to brag about Jason—about the excellent partnership they’d always shared.

  These days, in an era of superstar CEOs, fast-flying tech rumors, and rampant boom-and-bust speculation fueled by those very same rumors, Mr. Moosby’s idle conversations could spark bidding wars, ignite IPOs, and generate invaluable publicity.

  After all, if news had leaked about Steve Jobs developing a new tech invention or Mark Zuckerberg creating a new online venture, the business world would have gone crazy. Similarly, gossip about a new project between Jason Hamilton and Alfred Moosby could leave a lot of people wanting a piece of the action. Maybe that, Jason considered, was the edge he needed.

  Maybe the way to avoid letting down Mr. Moosby wasn’t to focus on fixing Moosby’s HQ. Maybe it was to let go altogether.

  “Come on, slowpoke!” Mr. Moosby waved. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.” He raised two fingers to the bartender. “Your best two free beers, Genevieve,” he said, “for me and my partner.”

  Jason couldn’t help noticing the way heads turned, even in rustic Kismet, at Mr. Moosby’s use of the word “partner.”

  There were probably seve
ral things he could do to make sure Mr. Moosby was all right, Jason realized—starting with making their “new venture” a real fresh start . . . now that he was free to do so. Unfortunately, Danielle was a thornier problem.

  He couldn’t dazzle her with creativity or wow her with wealth. He couldn’t impress her with his resilience or amaze her with his business acumen. He couldn’t win her back.

  All he could do was do his utmost to forget her.

  There wasn’t enough beer in the world to accomplish that feat. But, just then, Jason decided to try drowning his sorrows anyway. His hopes had been dashed. His future had been irrevocably altered. He was on his own for Christmas, too.

  Because, just then, he didn’t much care about jetting to Antigua to have a beachside Christmas. His family would only push and pry and fuss over him the way they did, wanting to know all the details and then help him over his heartache. He didn’t want to rehash all of it. It was just too raw. Too painful.

  At the end of the bar, Mr. Moosby ignored the pint glass that Genevieve had offered. Instead, he raised his beer bottle in a toast. “To you!” he told Jason. “To new beginnings.”

  “To you,” Jason returned, sliding onto a barstool and then lifting his own bottle of beer. “To making those jerks who took over your company regret forcing you out.”

  Mr. Moosby stopped with the bottle halfway to his lips. He lowered it a fraction. His eyebrows rose. “Ah. This ought to be interesting. They finally pushed you to the breaking point, eh?”

  Jason only grunted, then swallowed some beer. “Let’s do this.” He clinked his bottle with Mr. Moosby’s. “You in?”

  “I was in from the moment you called.” Mr. Moosby drank.

  Then, offering Jason an excited grin, he got down to work.

  “What’s this all about, Henry?” Danielle rounded on her longtime employee the moment they reached the sidewalk outside. “I don’t know why you think we need to talk, because—”

  “Because I’ve been where you are,” Henry interrupted, not wasting any time getting down to the heart of things. “Because I know what it’s like to be scared, like you. Because even though I’m a dude, I had my heart broken, and it took a long time to get over it. But now I am over it, and you can be, too.”