Snowman

by AC Netzel

  Snowman

  AC Netzel

  Snowman

  Copyright 2020 © AC Netzel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  To the hopeless romantics who unapologetically binge-watch cable TV Christmas movies, want the kiss before the last minute of the story, and crave a little more… heat.

  This book is for you.

  And me.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Find Me Here

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  “Kit Kat?” I hold out a handful of snack-size candy bars to the silver-haired gentleman in a black three-piece suit sitting on the floor across from me.

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Are you sure? We could be stranded here for days. You need to keep up your strength in case we have to climb through the ceiling hatch to escape. Take one.”

  “We won’t be here for days,” he says with humor in his tone. “And I’m in no condition to climb through anything.” He points his chin toward his wooden walking cane lying on the elevator floor.

  “How long have we been stuck in here?”

  He looks down at his gold Rolex watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Ugh. That’s almost two hours in dog years.”

  He chuckles, deep laugh lines crease at the corners of his eyes. “Who am I to argue with dog years? Hand one over.” He extends his arm out, palm side up.

  “There you go.” I place a bar in his hand.

  “Thank you, Miss…”

  “Oh, sorry. I’m Summer Sloane.”

  “Chase Harrison. Nice to meet you, Summer.”

  “You too, Chase.”

  He unfolds the red wrapper, snaps off a bar, and takes a bite.

  “Good, huh?” I ask.

  He nods. “Best meal I’ve had all day.”

  “So, Chase, other than sitting on the floor of a stuck elevator, what are you doing here?”

  “Completing a real estate transaction. You?”

  “I work here.”

  “What do you do?” he asks.

  “Sales. Small stuff now. But one day, I hope to make an appearance on the big boss’s radar and get more challenging assignments.”

  “There’s no shame in the small stuff.”

  “I know. But my first shot at a career was a bust. I can’t fail at this too. I don’t think I could face my father if I did.”

  “Hard to please?”

  “Impossible sometimes. He worries about me too much.”

  “That’s what fathers do. Family is a complicated concept.”

  “It sure is.” I toss him another Kit Kat. “Yours too?”

  “Mine are spread out all over the East Coast. I miss them terribly.” He unwraps the candy and snaps off a piece. “It can get pretty lonely. I don’t see them nearly enough.”

  “So, it’s just you and your wife in Manhattan?”

  “She passed away three years ago. It’s just my children and me.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss. How many kids do you have?”

  “Five. Two girls, three boys, and thirteen grandchildren. In fact, you remind me of my youngest granddaughter, Victoria.”

  “She must be fabulous,” I tease, fluttering my lashes dramatically.

  Laughing, he nods. “All my grandchildren are fabulous. But she’s a little extra fabulous.” He winks slyly. “Of course, I’ll never admit that outside of this elevator.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me. We fabulous people know elevator confessions are strictly confidential.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  “How long is it now?”

  He glances down at his Rolex again. “Twenty minutes.”

  “A day and a half in dog years,” I sigh.

  “You may want to double-check your dog math.”

  “Want another?” I dig into my handbag and pull out another snack-sized bar.

  “How many do you have in there?”

  “Too many. I bought ten bags of snack-sized Kit Kat bars the day after Halloween. I couldn’t pass it up at seventy-five percent off. It’ll probably last me another six months.”

  “Good plan.”

  “Besides, I like the song.”

  “What song?”

  “You know, the commercial jingle about a break… or was it getting a big break… whatever… It’s catchy.”

  “I don’t know it.”

  “If you did, it’ll stay in your head all day.”

  He holds up a hand. “Please spare me. I have enough on my mind today.”

  “So… What kind of real estate transaction are you here for?” I ask.

  “After a great deal of reflection, I’ve decided to sell my brownstone.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Central Park South.”

  “Central Park South! Holy crap, you’re loaded.” Oh God, did I just say that out loud? “Did I just say that out loud?”

  “Yes,” he answers with a chuckle.

  “Sorry. Give me a minute to take my foot out of my mouth.”

  “Don’t apologize for saying what you’re thinking. I find it refreshing.”

  “Where are you moving?”

  “I own a studio apartment in Soho. I’ll go there until I decide.”

  “With the size of your family, you’ll need a compound to fit them all for the holidays.”

  He stares at me thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

  “You’ll have a boatload of cash once you unload that brownstone. You should go to Hyannis Port and buy out the Kennedy compound,” I joke.

  “You know what? You’re right.”

  “And I’m fabulous,” I say coyly, wiggling my brows.

  “And you’re fabulous.” With an amused smile, he nods in agreement.

  “Tell it to my boss.”

  “Who’s your boss?”

  “Miranda Page.”

  “Done.”

  Our bodies jerk back against the wall as the elevator suddenly moves.
>
  “Whoa. It’s about freaking time,” I complain as the elevator moves up until it stops on the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and we’re greeted by two navy-blue uniformed mechanics.

  “Is everyone okay?” one of the mechanics asks.

  “We’re fabulous,” Chase answers, grabbing his wooden cane off the floor, then looks toward me. “Aren’t we, Summer?”

  “That’s our signature move, Chase.” I stand, holding out my hand. He grabs it and I help pull him up.

  “Well, thanks for the company,” I tell him as we exit our temporary holding cell.

  “Thank you for the conversation and chocolate.” He extends his hand out, and we shake. “It was truly a pleasure.”

  “Likewise. I better get going. My office is on the sixteenth floor.” I glance back at the empty elevator. “Think I’ll take the stairs.”

  “Good call.”

  “Good luck with your sale—and your family.”

  He smiles—a kind, warm smile. “Bigger opportunities are in your future, Summer. Your break will come.”

  “Just like the candy bar.”

  He laughs. “I suppose so.”

  Chapter 1

  “You wanted to see me?” I ask, standing in the doorway of my boss’s office.

  “Yes, Summer. Come in and take a seat. I’ll be right with you.” Never taking her eyes off her two computer screens, she extends her arm toward the leather chairs in front of her desk, gesturing me to sit.

  Nervously clearing my throat, I give her a quick nod and hide my trembling hands behind my back. Miranda Page rarely calls me for a one on one. Most, if not all, of our interactions have been in boardroom meetings where there were strength and confidence in numbers.

  I smooth out my black pencil skirt and sit, unsure of exactly what it is I should do while she does whatever it is she’s doing. I’d love to gawk and absorb anything I can learn from her. But it’s too stalkerish. With a shortlist of choices, I opt for looking down at my shoe as I tap my foot anxiously in the air while I wait.

  The silence in the room is painfully awkward. Searching for another place to focus, I stare at the ceiling then redirect my gaze to the sharp corner of her mahogany desk. Finally, I rest my vision out the windows of her corner office. She has one hell of a view. Midtown Manhattan. Twenty stories high and stunning.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” she asks.

  I snap out of my near-catatonic high-rise lusting and readjust my attention to the person in front of me. “Excuse me?”

  “The view. It took me a long time to get it. Too long.” Casually, she points her finger toward the window. “You’re due a view like this. Sooner rather than later.”

  “That would be,” I sigh, “incredible.”

  Miranda steeples her fingers in front of her mouth, hiding a smile. I’m not sure what it is she’s smiling about, but experience tells me if the boss smiles at you, you better smile the hell back.

  The sides of my mouth curl up with a measured amount of polite, respectful, and friendliness. In business, every move must be calculated, even the small ones.

  “Do you know why I called you here?” she asks, tucking a lock of her jet-black hair behind her ear. Her blunt cut hairstyle may look a little harsh, but she isn’t.

  Usually.

  “No, not really,” I tell her.

  “You have an instinctive grasp on the workings of real estate development. We can’t achieve land acquisitions or build new communities without the right formula in place. We have visionary thinking, smart planning, and exceptional designs covered. But we need to complete our first step. That’s going to take some charm, skill, and good old-fashioned dumb luck. That’s where you come in.”

  “Do you think what I’ve achieved is because of luck?” I ask, pretending I’m offended. “I worked hard to sit in this chair across from you.”

  I do work hard, but the truth is dumb luck has been my friend more often than I care to admit. Most of the time, I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread.

  She chuckles, dismissing my last statement. “Of course not. You’re exceptionally bright with a disciplined work ethic. Persuasive and charismatic—It’s a valuable combination, especially in our field. And that, Miss Sloane, is exactly why you’re sitting in that chair.”

  My brow furrows. “I’m not following.”

  “Do you recall the Arid Falls project?”

  “That’s the lakefront land we’re acquiring for a new condominium community. Right?”

  “That’s the one. We’ve hit a snag. A few locals are holding us back. They’re small business owners whose properties are crucial for our plans to come to fruition. That’s where you come in.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Convince them to sell their land to us.”

  “Me?” I lean back in my chair, wide-eyed.

  She smiles and nods. “Yes, you. I’ve watched you operate, Summer. Clients respond positively to you. You have a natural talent for sales. Persistent and passionate but not overly pushy. Your attention to detail and approachable personality help buyers and sellers connect with you.

  “Simply put, people like you. That’s imperative in our line of work. You managed to sway Chase Harrison to sell his Central Park brownstone. That rich old bastard was holding on tight. Even I couldn’t change his mind. But he has one conversation with you, and he’s singing your praises, signing on the dotted line, and inviting you over for dinner. It was skillful and organic.”

  There was nothing skillful about it. It was all due to a mechanical malfunction. Chase Harrison was a sweet, lonely man who took a liking to me when we got stuck in an elevator together. I was in the right place, at the right time, with the right person. He told Miranda I swayed him to sell his brownstone, but I know he made up his mind before we met. He did me a favor because in the twenty minutes we were stuck between floors, we bonded over a couple of Kit Kat bars and small talk about family.

  And he never invited me to dinner.

  I’m a fraud. That sale wasn’t earned. It was handed to me like a wrapped gift with a big ass bow. Chase gave me credit I didn’t deserve. That lie got me noticed at work, so I ran with it.

  “But I don’t know anything about Arid Falls,” I tell her. “I don’t know where it is. Or what it is. Or who the people are. I know New York like the back of my hand. But Arid Falls? I’m not sure what angle to approach them with.”

  “Then I suggest you figure it out quickly,” Miranda instructs. “There are three hold-outs. Mom and Pop stores. The ringleader is a man named Nicholas Snow.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He owns a bait and tackle shop on the lake. Lives above it, I believe. Honestly, I don’t know what the hold is. How much money can you make selling hooks and worms? Our offer far exceeds anything he’d make in profit for years. But he’s dug his mucks deep in the mud. If… when you convince him to sell, I’m confident the others will follow.”

  “Okay. So I get this Snow guy to sell, and we get our project.”

  “You get those signatures, and you’ll be on the fast track to a promotion.” She juts her chin toward the window. “And a view like this when you get back.”

  I steal a quick glance out the window, hoping Miranda doesn’t see me salivating. After three long years of small accounts, I’m finally getting my shot at the big league. I can prove to myself that I’m not a fake and make my father proud. That’d be a first. An opportunity like this doesn’t come along every day.

  “I’m counting on you to use your people skills,” she continues. “Take a few days, a week if necessary. Do your homework, learn about the community, and make them trust you. Influence those property owners to settle, any way you have to, and close this deal. This is a big step, Summer. I personally vouched for you. What do you say? Are you in?”

  I nod enthusiastically. “Absolutely.”

  “Excellent.” She raises a brow. “Don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t.”

  Chapter 2


  “I’m totally going to let her down,” I tell my best friend, Valerie.

  “You worry too much,” she dismisses as she adjusts the speed on her treadmill. “Up your speed if you want to keep that ass firm. Lift that booty. Blast off the fat.” She ties her shoulder-length auburn hair into a messy bun, never missing a step.

  “Okay, fine. I’m blasting.” I adjust my treadmill setting from a comfortable two miles per hour to three. Not fast by any stretch of the imagination, but brisk enough to catch up with Val while I burn a few calories and not die doing it.

  My long blonde ponytail swings side to side like a horse’s tail swatting a fly away, and a few beads of sweat form at my hairline. Breaking into a sweat at three miles-per-hour is pretty pathetic. The silver lining to all this exercising is one day it’s going to kill me and I can stop.

  “So, what exactly is this project Miranda assigned?” she asks between breaths.

  “Only the most important project of my career.”

  “That tells me nothing.”

  “My company invested in some huge plots of lakefront land for a condo complex in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere.” I take a quick swig from my water bottle and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “A few local business owners are holding out. We need their land for the project, but they won’t sell. We’re offering them far above market value. I did some research. Typical small town, blah, blah, blah.” I wave my hand dismissively.

  “Why won’t they sell?”

  “Angling for more money? Stuck in their ways? Your guess is as good as mine. My goal is to go there, dazzle them with my natural charm and persuasive prowess,” I bat my eyelashes in jest, “to get them to sign over their land.” I lower the treadmill speed down to two again. “I’m cooling down.”