by Tarr, Hope
“Makeovers, that’s a great idea!” Nancy assured her almost as soon as the suggestion was out.
Within twenty minutes, Starr found herself amidst nearly fifty women of all ages, shapes, and ethnicities lined up. The room buzzed with excitement. Santa Jimmie led the kids off to the dining hall to learn to make a gingerbread house. Starr set to work, quickly transforming the event room into a makeshift day spa. At the end of the afternoon, each woman left to sit down to Christmas dinner with a bright, smiling face and a goody bag of beauty samples.
Watching them go off, heads held high and shoulders pulled back, Starr had a sense of satisfaction beyond anything she’d felt from putting out a year of magazines. Pleasantly weary, she briefly considered calling it a day and going home. But spending yet another Christmas evening home alone seemed both anticlimactic and a serious step back. After the previous night’s “dream,” she knew the grim end to which that led.
Brooklyn Heights was something of a trek, especially as the subway was running on a delayed holiday schedule, but the extended travel gave her a chance to collect her courage. By the time she made it to Terri’s building—a turn-of-the-century brownstone subdivided into apartments—her main anxiety was that everyone might have left. Chatter and music from within set that fear to rest. Standing outside in the hallway, she pulled off her snow-dampened boots, set them beside the welcome mat, and took out the box of what she’d come to think of as her Cinderella slippers. Holding one hand against the wall to balance herself, she slipped on the heels.
Excited and nervous, she put the shoebox back in her bag and reached out to ring the buzzer. The door opened. Matt stood framed within. Her heart somersaulted. She’d supposed—okay, hoped—he’d be here and yet…
Stunned, she blurted out the first stupid thought that sprang to mind. “I didn’t know you were Jewish.” The annual holiday dinner for Jewish singles was typically held on Christmas Eve, not Christmas, but of course she’d kept everyone working too late the night before for that.
“I’m not,” he admitted. “I just thought it sounded like something fun to do, since I don’t have time to fly home to my folks.”
He said the latter as a straightforward statement-of-fact, no barbed look or tone of recrimination, but still she winced, remembering the bar scene from her “dream.”
“About that—”
“Whoa, you’ve got some serious footwear going on.” His gaze glided over her, a big grin breaking over his face as he settled on her feet. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything other than boots.”
Starr flexed her foot, the motion showing off the shoes’ twinkling. “They’re vintage Saks. They were a gift from a friend. A female friend,” she added, wanting to be broadcast clear about her status as single and available. “Actually, Macie mailed them.”
Was it her imagination or did his shoulders relax? “That’s great you two are mending fences. Anyway, come in.”
Peering around him, she saw the party was in full force with about a dozen guests packed into the slender space, including everyone who’d appeared in her “dream’s” Christmas Present at Central Bar. Talk about stepping inside a lions’ den. Courage waning, she held back.
“Matt, who is it?” Terri called from inside.
“It’s Starr,” he answered.
Shit, no turning back now. Crossing the threshold, Starr didn’t miss how conversations suddenly ceased as she entered.
“Happy Hanukkah,” she called out to the quieting room.
Her assistant editor approached carrying a cake platter. “Thanks,” Terri said, expression uncertain. “Glad you could make it.”
Starr girded herself to get the tough stuff out of the way first. “Listen up, people. About the holiday leave, I’ve decided the all-hands meeting can wait until Monday morning. I’m giving you the rest of the week off—with pay.”
Gazes widened and jaws fell, Matt’s included. “Seriously? That’s really generous of you.”
“But what about the print production deadline?” someone asked.
Starr didn’t flinch. The word—deadline—had controlled her for far too long as it was. “At least half of our subscribers read us digitally anyway. Maybe being late going to the stands will encourage more people to go green.”
Hand fisted about a beer, Kent shouldered his way toward her. “What’s the catch?”
Starr didn’t miss how Matt moved closer. Warmed by the protective gesture, she shook her head. “No catch,” she confirmed, keeping her cool. “Consider it my way, my new way, of saying happy holidays.”
“So what do you think of Terri’s cake?” Matt prompted.
For the first time since arriving, Starr took an actual look at the platter Terri held. A star-shaped sheet cake sat atop it. Frosted in Christmas red and green, it read, “May All Your Christmas Birthdays be Starr Bright.”
Starr’s gaze flew from the cake to Terri and finally to Matt. “How did you—”
“Happy Christmas Birthday!”
Matt, Terri, indeed everyone looked to Starr as though expecting her to shove the cake in Terri’s face, storm out, or something equally shitty. Instead she did something guaranteed to floor them all. She smiled.
“Butter cream—my favorite!” she exclaimed, daring to dip a finger into the cake’s side. Tasting her frosting-covered fingertip, she said, “God, that’s good.” She turned back to Terri. “You…made this?”
Terri nodded. “I have a cake-baking business on the side—nothing that interferes with my work at the magazine,” she added quickly. “I just bake for a few events a month—bar mitzvahs, anniversaries, and um…birthdays.”
“You’re really talented,” Starr said sincerely, recalling the spirit’s advice on giving compliments. In the past, both her management and personal style had been based on breaking people down. Going forward, she would focus on lifting them up. “Any chance you do Valentine’s Day cakes as well?”
Terri hesitated. “Sure, I mean, I could.”
“Perfect. Why don’t you bake another cake, think Cupid and hearts and flowers, and bring it into work on Monday. We’ll run it in February’s Sweet Treats sidebar.”
Terri’s gaze looked poised to pop. “You’d actually promote my baking business in the magazine?”
Starr shrugged. “You’ll be doing me a favor. We’re short on copy for the food column. I guess being behind schedule has perks after all.” She turned back to a beaming Matt. “You know a food photographer who’s good with cakes?”
“My food guy’s still on vacation, but I’ll shoot it myself.”
“Great.” She dragged her gaze away and turned back to Terri, whose mouth was hanging at half-mast. “That work for you?”
“That sounds…awesome.”
Feeling what might just be tears forming, Starr summoned her usual briskness. “It’s settled then. Now, let’s get this birthday party started.”
A chorus of “Happy Birthday” threatened to rock the roof, followed by a toast in her honor. Tears welled and this time there was no mistaking the sensation. Dashing them away, Starr traveled her gaze along the table. Saving the best for last, she lingered on Matt. He’d kept to her side since she’d arrived.
“Speech, speech!” someone, and then everyone, chanted.
Starr took a moment to clear the knot of emotion from her throat before beginning. “I don’t know what to say other than thank you from the bottom of my heart—and yes, I do have one.” There was a pause and then nervous laughter followed. “I’m not exactly sure how to put this, but let’s just say things at the magazine are going to start changing in a big way—for the better.”
A hush descended. Faces fell. A groan could be heard from the room’s back. God, did they think she meant layoffs? Even Matt tensed beside her as though bracing for bad news.
She raced on to reassure them. “That memo about no holiday bonuses this year, well that was just a corporate screw up.” She reached into her shoulder bag for the stack of rubber-banded gift cards. “
It’s not as much as I’d like it to be, for sure it’s not as much as you all deserve, but I hope you’ll accept it in the spirit in which it’s given—in the spirit of…Christmas.”
She’d deposit her bonus check from the magazine tomorrow, but fortunately she’d had sufficient funds in her account to cover getting the gift cards in advance. It didn’t feel fair to keep the money, not while all the people on her team who’d made her look good—who’d made her successful—did without. Two hundred dollars per person wouldn’t change anyone’s life, but if it bought someone and their spouse a lovely New Year’s Eve out or helped buy a coveted toy for their kid, then it was…something.
She handed the stack to Terri to hand out and headed into the hallway under the pretense of needing some air. Screw pretense, her face felt warm and her limbs shaky. Being the focus for curses and glares was one thing. Being center stage in bringing joy—in making people smile—was unchartered territory.
Footsteps followed her out. The door creaked closed and Matt stepped into the hallway. “That was your bonus money, wasn’t it?” He held out the white gift card envelope on which his name was scrawled in her less than neat handwriting.
She answered with a shrug. “Me give away money? What have you been smoking, Landry?”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t smoke weed or cigarettes, and I’m pretty sure you know that. And stop calling me Landry. I really hate it.”
Spirit Matt had said the same last night. “Fair enough…Matt.”
“Better, thanks. By the way, how was your Christmas Eve?”
Starr hesitated. “It was… good. I picked up some Thai food and fell asleep on the couch watching an old black-and-white version of…A Christmas Carol. You know, just a nice quiet holiday at home,” she added, hiding a smile.
“Sounds nice,” he said. “Maybe I should have come over instead of going to the bar,” he added, gaze holding hers.
Starr hesitated, moistening her suddenly dry lips. “Maybe I should have invited you.”
“Maybe you should have,” he said, taking a step closer. “I might have slept better.”
Startled, she asked, “You didn’t sleep?”
He shrugged. “I did, but I had weird dreams.”
Fishing, she asked, “What about?”
He looked away, but not before she caught the color climbing his neck. “I don’t know, like I said, it was messed up. Mostly it was about Christmas, not this Christmas, but other Christmases in the past and…future. I was me but not really me, and you were there and we were doing a lot of flying around the city and other crazy crap.”
Recalling the vivid scene of them together in the future—the carpet picnic beneath the Christmas tree, his poignant proposal, and last but not least, how amazing he’d looked shirtless—sent her temperature spiking and her heart hammering. Had they met up in some alternate universe and shared the same Christmas Eve “dream”? Was that even possible? What was for sure possible was they were together here and now.
“Crazy crap, huh?” she said, feeling a no doubt silly grin spreading over her face. All this smiling was making the muscles in her face hurt…not that she was planning on stopping.
“And flying,” he reminded her, grinning back.
He shoved the gift card in his jeans’ front pocket, and for the first time she spotted his swollen knuckles. Defending her honor by clocking Kent, had that actually…happened? She opened her mouth to ask but before she could, he cut her off.
“So now that Christmas is just about over, I guess the next big holiday to gear up for is New Year’s.”
Wondering where he might be leading, she nodded. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
He closed the space between them with a single stride. “I was hoping you’d be my date for New Year’s Eve.” His big, warm hands took gentle hold of her shoulders.
She felt her mouth fall open. He wasn’t only asking her out. He was asking her out for freakin’ New Year’s Eve!
What to Wear (and NOT to Wear) to Sleigh Him on New Year’s Eve. She’d written off the copy as a typical holiday fluff piece, but now she had to fight the urge to race home and read every word.
He stroked her arms, raising a trail of delicious shivers there and everywhere else. “You still haven’t answered me.”
“It’s uh…really hard to…think with you doing that.”
He stood his ground. “Good. You think too much as it is.”
“I do?”
He nodded. “You talk a lot too, not that I mind—usually.” He flashed a smile. “But back to our New Year’s date—I’m thinking we’ll start with dinner, some place intimate and kind of quiet, at least as quiet as it gets on New Year’s Eve, and then afterward some friends of mine are having a party at their place. Not a party really, just a few couples over to drink champagne and watch the ball drop on TV. But if you already have plans, I’ll—”
“I’d love to,” she blurted out, heart pounding.
“Great, I’ll swing by your building and pick you up. Eight o’clock, okay?”
“Perfect,” she said. “I’ll text you my address.”
He hesitated, a sheepish look taking over his face. “I, uh…already have it?”
“You do?”
He hesitated. “The first rule of any new job: make friends with someone in HR.”
“You have a mole in Human Resources!” Giving out confidential employee information to another employee was so against the rules! She should go ballistic, demand he give up his source, but before she could do either, it struck her. “That’s how everyone knew Christmas was my birthday. You told them!”
He didn’t deny it. “I’ve been at On Top for six months now and it seems like there’s a birthday celebrated about once a week, but so far not yours. I figured it had to be coming around soon. I never figured you for a Christmas baby, though. Saint Patrick’s Day maybe, but not Christmas.” He reached out and fingered one copper-colored curl.
Shivering, she managed a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I look like my mother screwed one of the Keebler elves or Chuckie.”
He shook his head, looking at her as though she was a lost cause he was determined to redeem. “You’re beautiful.” He cradled her face gently between his two hands, as if her pale skin were made of porcelain indeed. “You’re more than beautiful. You’re perfect.”
The dream scene from Christmas Future flashed through her thoughts and she felt herself blushing. “I guess having an HR mole means you know my birth year, too?” It wasn’t really a question, but she braced for his answer anyway.
“Yeah, I guess I do…Cynthia—or do you prefer Cindy?” He grinned wickedly.
“Let’s just stick to Starr, okay? You don’t mind…about the age difference, I mean?” She bit her lower lip, belatedly remembering she wore lipstick—oops!
He looked at her incredulously. “If anything, it makes you even sexier to me.”
“You think I’m…sexy?” It might sound like she was fishing for compliments, but she wasn’t. She’d thought of herself as cute, mildly attractive even, but sexy? Really, this was news.
His gaze turned steamy, the irises huge and black. “Oh, yeah, I do. Not just sexy—hot. I’ll show you sometime soon, but for right now, take a step back.”
“Step back?” Wondering what he had in mind, she let him back them to the doorway.
He smiled. “Great, stop. Perfect. Now look up.”
Starr did—and suddenly she got it. Lowering her gaze to his face, melting in the heat burning from his eyes, she asked, “Is that what I think it is?”
“If you’re thinking mistletoe, then yes.”
She laughed. “Who hangs mistletoe at a Matzo Ball supper?”
“New York’s a melting pot, so deal with it.” Leaning closer, he reached out and lifted her chin on the edge of his hand. “For now, just kiss me.”
He lowered his head and matched his mouth to hers. Starr sighed and sank against him. He tasted of butter cream and peppermint schnapps—the perfect Christmas co
nfection. The touch of his tongue to hers shot an arrow of warmth straight down her spine. Inside her Cinderella slippers, her toes tingled.
He broke the kiss and drew back to look at her, his eyes twinkling like the stars she and the spirit had sped past in her “dream.” “Merry Christmas Birthday, Starr.”
“Merry Christmas, Matt.”
He leaned in and Starr tipped her face up to meet him. This time when his mouth met hers, his kiss held the promise of all the many merry Christmas birthdays yet to come.
Acknowledgments
My heartfelt thanks and warm holiday wishes to my editors, Stacy Abrams and Alycia Tornetta, to my agent Louise Fury, and to Danielle, Jessica, Barbara, Sara, and everyone on my Entangled publicity team who’ve contributed their tremendous time, talent, and energy to making my Suddenly Cinderella Series such a success.
Last but never least, to the real Molly Jane AKA Jane for filling my days with braying meows, drooling kitty kisses and unconditional love for these past twelve years—and counting. Thanks for letting me “rescue” you, sweetie!
About the Author
Award-winning author Hope Tarr earned a Master’s Degree in Psychology and a PhD in Education before facing the hard truth: she wasn’t interested in analyzing people or teaching them. What she really wanted was to write about them! To date, Hope has written twenty historical and contemporary romance novels for multiple publishers including Operation Cinderella, the launch of her Suddenly Cinderella contemporary series for Entangled Publishing and A Cinderella Christmas Carol, the series’ only novella. Hope is also a co-founder and current principal of Lady Jane’s Salon™, New York City’s first and only monthly romance reading series, now in its fourth year with satellite salons nationwide. Look for additional Suddenly Cinderella books continuing with Francesca’s story in Project Cinderella and find Hope online at her websites at www.HopeTarr.com and www.LadyJaneSalonNYC.com as well as on Twitter (@HopeTarr) and Facebook.
Find out where the Suddenly Cinderella series started with Macie’s story!
Read on for a sneak peek at Hope Tarr’s Operation Cinderella: