A Little Christmas Pretense

by Rachel A Andersen

  She must have ignored that little voice because she heard herself say something that the little voice would never approve in a million years. “If lunch goes well, I have every intention of accepting your invitation.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I love that there’s a skybridge connecting the office to Crown Center!” Richard said with a clap of enthusiasm as they exited the bridge into the Westin hotel. “Someone was a genius to have it lead right into this gorgeous view of an indoor waterfall!”

  Cindy couldn’t help but smile herself. It was one of her favorite perks of working where she did, and the sound of the rushing water did so much to calm her nerves on days when Margaret was particularly irritating.

  The weight of her workday melted off her shoulders in an instant. “And you haven’t even seen the mall yet.”

  “Let me guess, it’s decked out for the holidays.”

  She nodded. “It is. There’s a Santa station with elves and pictures with Santa, there are high school choirs singing Christmas carols, there are holiday coffees and teas and ciders and cocoas, what’s not to love?”

  “When I was a kid, there was a whole Christmas store in Crown Center year round,” he said, acting more like he was five years old than like a man who had proposed a professional lunch. “Is that still here?”

  She nodded as a familiar fondness for the holiday store stirred in her. “Not too far from the Hallmark store.”

  He scurried ahead to the entrance of the mall. “And there was a fudge shop. Tell me that they didn’t get rid of that.”

  She puzzled as she watched him. “It’s a different fudge and candy shop than it used to be, but it’s still there. You weren’t kidding when you said you used to live here.”

  “When my mom and I lived here, Dad’s office was in pretty much the same spot as it is now. We’d spend a lot of time here and at Union Station waiting for him to show up for whatever lunch or dinner plans we’d made.”

  His eyes darted around the mall to capture as many of the changes which had come with time as he could.

  Cindy’s eyebrows knitted together. His reference to the office building seemed to indicate that she knew where it was...which could only mean...

  “Your dad used to work for Fortescue Publishing?”

  He hesitated for a moment before he nodded slowly. Cindy watched him, surprised by just how much he apparently had to think about his answer. “Yeah. My dad and the Fortescues go way back. I guess I could thank Fortescue Publishing for the number of times my dad decided to cancel our meal plans or when he would forget that I had a soccer game or what have you.”

  His face was hard as he said it like it didn’t bother him. She knew that look far too well to let him get away with it.

  “That must have been challenging.”

  She didn’t look at him because she didn’t want to chicken out of saying what she really felt she needed to say. “Ever since my father died, I’ve known what it is like to miss a parent. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to feel like my father chose not to see me.”

  “Some people might say that it feels worse to lose someone who never wanted to spend time with you. Sometimes, you can’t get rid of them fast enough.”

  She heard the hurt that betrayed his words. He didn’t believe them nearly as much as he wanted to.

  “Did your dad know Mr. Fortescue well?”

  His eyes stayed forward. “Better than most, but maybe not as well as others.”

  “How did you feel when you heard about Mr. Fortescue’s heart attack?”

  A curious smile creeped onto his lips. That’s an odd question, don’t you think?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, but I imagine that given how much you hated your father’s work and what it kept him from, that you might have conflicted feelings.”

  He scoffed as he nodded. “You have no idea...”

  “I know I’ve had some less than complimentary things to say about Fortescue Publishing, but the truth is that I respect it. It takes a lot of gumption to be a small-to-middle-sized full service publisher these days.”

  Richard nodded in her direction as if to say, you can say that again.

  “Charlotte used to tell me about when Mr. Fortescue invited her to be one of his partners.” They stopped near the center of the food court near the giant bank of crystal clear windows which let the sparkling Midwestern light in.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah?”

  She nodded with a smile growing on her lips. “She used to say that he used to barge into her office with a manuscript in one hand insisting that this was going to be the next masterpiece.”

  He seemed amused as if he’d never heard the story before. “Did she agree?”

  “Almost never,” Cindy said with a chuckle and a shake of her head. “But what I loved about her stories was just how much he loved the work he was doing.”

  Richard was quiet, his green eyes stormy as they processed her words.

  She felt a small blush creep over her cheeks as she revealed that token of sentimentality in her heart. “I guess that’s really why I want to work here. Even with all of Margaret’s abuse. I want to work here because I love the passion that this place was built on. I think everyone could use a little more passion in their lives. Especially in their professions.”

  Richard caught her gaze in his direction and offered her an appreciative smile though it was clear that his mind was elsewhere.

  “Where did you want to eat?”

  He seemed to shake himself mentally before he shrugged. “What’s good?”

  They looked past the ice cream parlor, the coffee shop, the pizza place, as well as the Mexican and Chinese restaurants. “My favorite little place is tucked away in the back. It can be a bit of a wait, and you have to get through all these people, but it’s hands-down my favorite place here.”

  He gestured forward. “By all means, lead the way.”

  “YOU ONLY EAT HERE ONCE in a while, and you’re going to get the salad?” Richard asked with a raised eyebrow as they filled up their glasses and waited for their meals.

  Cindy giggled. “Believe it or not, I like their salads. I wish they added a little of the gyro meat to the top, but a girl’s not about to complain.”

  Richard smiled though his eyes held a bit of the tension from earlier. “You can have some of mine.”

  She turned a teasing smile to him. “I’ve never had a working lunch where anyone offered me part of their meal.”

  When had their roles reversed? When had she started flirting and he started pulling away?

  “While I love gyro sandwiches, my family has a history of heart disease. For my mother’s sake, I’ve started erring on the side of caution.”

  “That’s fair.” She watched him with new eyes. She’d heard once that one should always watch how a prospective partner treated their mother. If that advice held true, she felt she was quite safe with Richard Prince.

  He offered her a distracted smile. “She’d prefer it if I ate vegan, so we’ll call this a compromise.”

  She nodded as he pumped a couple of tiny condiment cups with ketchup. “Tell me about her.”

  “My mother?” he asked as he looked over at her in surprise.

  “She seems to be on your mind. I don’t want to pry, but it’s okay if you want to talk.”

  Richard grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser. “Actually, she’s not on my mind.”

  He grimaced before he amended. “Well, not as much as it might seem.”

  Her name was called from the grill, and she reached over for her meal. “Then, what is it?”

  He walked her over to the table. “It’s a lot of things. It’s seeing how Margaret treats you, it’s this darn company audit and the stupid interviews.”

  “Hey, I never said they were stupid.” Her heart sank into her stomach. He was troubled because of all of the stupid things she’d vented to him as her stress mounted.

  “No, but it’s true. They’re to
o formal. There’s no way to make an accurate assessment with them.”

  “That’s why Fortescue has you, isn’t it?”

  His look was quick and surprised, almost alarmed as he processed what she’d said. “What?”

  She licked a little of the salad dressing off her thumb as she chuckled. “I’m not stupid.”

  “I didn’t think you were. What do you mean that’s why Fortescue has me?”

  “Tell me that you didn’t expect the senior management to be up in your boss’s face when you announced the surprise visit.” A challenge danced in her eyes as she added salt and pepper to her salad.

  “Of course we expected that.”

  “And your boss’s business experience tells him that the upper management tells the whole story?”

  The woman at the grill called his name.

  He looked conflicted as he looked from her to cashier. “No,” he finally said with a sigh of resignation. “There’s a lot more to a company than just their spreadsheets and bottom lines.”

  “Then it’s a good thing your boss has you.” She winked as she waved him away to get his food.

  Feeling satisfied that her salad would be just the way she liked it when they got to the office, she closed the box and met him at the grill. “We should get back.”

  “But you were going to tell me how we can improve.” He blinked as if he didn’t realize this had been her plan all along.

  “Yes, and we still have a ten minute walk back to the office to talk about it.” She led the way back into the crowd of holiday shoppers.

  He jogged to catch up with her. “Admit it, you’re more passionate about your job than Margaret Stone could ever be.”

  She turned a secret smile to him as she wound her way around a stroller. “Am I?”

  A similar playfulness lit up his eyes. “Aren’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure I could ever be as passionate about anything as Margaret is about winning.”

  She pointed to the restaurant Fritz’s, hoping to change the subject. “When I was a kid, we came here whenever someone had to go Children’s Mercy. We’d grab grilled cheese sandwiches and milkshakes, and the world would be better for a minute. Especially when the order was brought out on little toy train engines.”

  “You had to go to Children’s Mercy often?” Then, he stopped. “Wait. Train engines delivered your food?”

  She chuckled at his double-take before she nodded. “Uh huh, and as for going to the hospital, we hardly ever did that. Just the occasional sprained ankle, broken arm, normal childhood stuff, you know.”

  “Sounds like you had a more intense childhood than me.”

  They walked out of the narrow winding corridor and to the bank of windows again. “What was that about Margaret being passionate about winning?”

  Cindy looked at him for a moment. She didn’t want to open up about her suspicions, but if she didn’t say it now, she might single-handedly allow Margaret to hurt more people. She stopped outside the Starbucks she went to everyday. She pointed toward it with her finger for Richard’s benefit. “I stop by this coffee shop every single day.”

  He nodded as if he didn’t see how unusual that was.

  “Actually, I would go nearly three times every day if Margaret had her way. Not because she drinks a lot of coffee, not because they make her drinks poorly, not for any reason other than the fact that Margaret likes to refuse perfectly good things.”

  His brow scrunched up in confusion. “What?”

  “She likes soy lattes with extra whipped cream. She says she likes the taste, and honestly, who am I to argue? I just think she’s being a little pretentious.”

  “Some people really are allergic.”

  “Yes. but someone who’s allergic to milk would also be unable to have whipped cream which is how I know it’s more likely pretense than an allergy. Besides, she almost always takes a sip and then tells me it’s too cold or it’s not soy. How does she know it’s not soy if she’s got whipped cream on the top? It just feels like a power struggle. And it’s every day. I mean, if it was once every couple of weeks, it would be one thing. This feels excessive.”

  He nodded as if he had to acknowledge her sound logic. “So, if you had to choose someone to run the company, who would you choose?”

  Cindy shook her head. “No one in that office.”

  His eyes widened. “No one?”

  “Margaret’s the only one with enough corporate experience to even make any sense, but I think she’s an atrocious manager and employer. I just told you how she wastes my time. Any good manager would know better on both a fiscal and an emotional level.”

  Though he didn’t look at her, Cindy could tell that Richard was agreeing with her assessment. It made her feel good to know that her opinions were more than just baseless bias if he agreed with her after so short a time.

  “Some of them could do a good job if they had more experience, but they’d need a lot of guidance and mentoring to be able to do it now.”

  “So, you would suggest that Mr. Fortescue come in and take over?” he asked, glancing over at her.

  When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I only ask because I got the impression yesterday that you didn’t want that.”

  She took a moment to respond before she nodded. “You’re right. I don’t think Mr. Fortescue knows enough about the publishing business, this publishing business in particular, to be able to really come in and make this run as smoothly as they need to in order for us to meet our deadlines.”

  “So?”

  She inhaled sharply. She had promised she wouldn’t do this, but she didn’t see any other way out. It would reveal far too much about the past, and it would look more like nepotism than she would have otherwise wanted. Still, he’d asked her opinion, and this was the honest reality of it. “I think Charlotte LaRoche is the best candidate for the job.”

  He stared at her. “Charlotte LaRoche,” he repeated. “A woman you already told me doesn’t work here anymore.”

  She nodded.

  “A woman who, if I understand my facts right, was accused of having an affair with one of the senior partners.”

  Cindy swallowed down bile. So he wasn’t just asking her for her opinion. He really was the person with his ear to the ground while Mr. Fortescue did the formal interviews. And he knew. “The key word there is accused.”

  “She resigned because of the accusation.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  Her skin grew hot with the fury of her emotion. “Everyone here made it sound like she’d slept her way to becoming an executive. All of her hard work and her reputation as an editor was on the line.”

  Richard’s eye hinted at a wellspring of disbelief. “And you think that after all that history, she would waltz back in and take over?”

  Cindy looked down at her shoes. “I believe she would.”

  She almost had to remind herself not to flinch or back down. “That is, if a certain employee was put in her place.”

  “You mean Margaret.”

  He pursed his lips, clearly angry, and she didn’t blame him. Not with the way it had come out. Even to Cindy, it sounded like she had a grudge against Margaret and wanted her out of the way so that her mentor and friend, Charlotte, could come back.

  She nodded. “I told you. She likes to win at all costs.”

  He studied her closely as if he was trying to read between the lines of her comment.

  She raised her arms in surrender. “You asked my opinion, and I gave it to you.”

  His face sagged into discouragement. “Yes, you did.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The rest of the walk to the office was strained with Richard walking two or three steps ahead of her.

  Don’t ask me my opinion and then punish me for it.

  Cindy wished she knew him better so she could tell if he was angry with her specifically or if he was just processing what she had said. Unfortunately, asking for that kind of clarification at this point
in time seemed like it would be more aggravating than helpful, so she hung back and gave him some space.

  As they entered the office, Margaret’s toe tapped on the tile.

  Cindy grimaced. When would Margaret realize that it didn’t look good to have the senior manager waiting at the elevator as if she had nothing better to do?

  Margaret’s stance told her that she’d noticed that Cindy had left. There was no doubt about it, Cindy was going to pay for the absence.

  She squared her shoulders. She’d expected this, Cindy reminded herself.

  She rolled her eyes as Richard Prince had ducked out of sight before he could stand up with her shoulder-to-shoulder to try and defend their lunch. That stung.

  Cindy turned her attention from Richard and back to Margaret. Whatever. She’d take Margaret’s temper like she usually did.

  “Enjoy your lunch?” Margaret looked as if her only reason for standing in this particular corridor was so that she could ask this question.

  Cindy dropped her salad into the top drawer of her desk like a box of leftovers. “It was fine. Did you need something?”

  Margaret perused the mail which had been left on Cindy’s desk during her absence, then dropped it back down. “Tickets to the Nutcracker. Dinner and drinks some place on the Plaza afterward.”

  Cindy nodded. “I’ll call the Ballet.”

  Margaret stopped outside her office door. “And Cindy?”

  “Yes?”

  Margaret’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Keep an eye on your watch next time.”

  AS SHE RETURNED TO her responsibilities, Cindy savored the bite of salad in her mouth for a moment before she looked down at it forlornly. Hadn’t Richard as good as promised that he would share his gyro with her? She felt cheated now, cheated of both the savory Greek meat and of Richard’s company.

  She let her fingertips fly over the keyboard to make arrangements for Margaret’s evening out. “It’s my own fault. I had to go and tell him how I really felt.”