All I Want for Christmas

by Denise A. Agnew

  “But you’re not my boss yet.”

  “And you’re not worried I won’t hire you because you’re flirting?”

  He considered his words carefully. “Inappropriate behavior between an employer and employee.” He clasped his fingers together and twiddled his thumbs. “Sexual harassment. But it’s only sexual harassment if you don’t want it. If you ask me to stop, I will.”

  “That’s very commendable, but I wasn’t thinking of sexual harassment.”

  Nick’s hopes went up.

  Abby pursed her lips slightly as if in thought, and then gave him a covert glance. “Though that is a thought.”

  His hopes went down.

  He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “So you don’t like it when I flirt with you?”

  She held eye contact. “Are you flirting because you think it will influence me to hire you?”

  “No. I have my resume in the car and you can look it over. You’ll see I’m not an ogre.”

  “I never said you were an ogre. You could be a perfectly normal man using flirting to influence me to hire you.”

  Nick admired her quick comebacks, and obviously she didn’t sway easily. He could simply give up and forget about the job at the bookstore. He could try and forget how attracted he was to her. Nick couldn’t deny he wanted the job in part because he wanted to know her better. And if she didn’t want to be known, well...

  Nick swallowed hard. He knew when he’d lost the battle, but her incisive interrogation stimulated him. The conversation reminded him of swinging a deal in the boardroom.

  “I’m hoping you’ll hire me on merit and merit alone,” he said.

  Abby inspected her hands folded in her lap. Pale and small, her hands were nicely manicured, with long, shapely nails painted a subdued pink. Nick sucked in a breath as he imagined those nails running through the hair on his chest or digging into his back as he made love to her.

  “Merit is the only way you’ll get the job,” she said, her eyes narrowing into a skeptical gleam. “And it’s the only way you’d keep it.”

  He smiled and shifted slightly in her direction. “Is that why you didn’t want to sit next to me, Abby?”

  “Actually, no." She arched one brow. "My butt hurts.”

  “What?”

  “When I fell on the ice, I hit my tailbone. It’s a little sore.”

  He would have replied, but Mark came in, wiping his dirty hands on a cloth. “All done.”

  As Abby pulled her car into the driveway of her modest Victorian home, she felt infinite relief. Situated in a quiet neighborhood populated more by old people than young, her house was guarded by a weeping willow near the sidewalk. Other ancient trees, mostly pine, rose like sentinels around her abode. She loved this haven, her sanctuary from a world that didn’t always live up to expectations.

  She climbed from the car and glanced with paranoia at the ice around her. Nick pulled his BMW 540i up to the curb. As he climbed out of the car, he flashed another devil-may-care smile that translated into pure male magnetism. As he approached her, Abby’s breath accelerated. She hated it. She didn’t want to feel intrigued with this man in any way. She didn’t want to think that his stride was sexy, or the curve of his lips enticing.

  “Thanks again for helping me.” She reached out to shake his hand. A handshake lent formality to the situation, like closing a satisfactory business deal. “It was kind of you.”

  When Abby would have pulled away instantly, Nick held her hand a tad longer than necessary. “You’re welcome.”

  Heat flooded her stomach. Did he expect her to invite him in? The idea was tempting. She had hot tea, coffee, and cocoa. Perfect for a freezing evening.

  No.

  She didn’t know him. Abby removed her hand from his. “Goodnight, Nick. Have a nice evening.”

  He started back to his car. “Take care, Abby. And I will see you tomorrow.”

  Relief immersed her as she turned and entered the house. The man was entirely too audacious for his own good. She peeked through the curtains next to the door and watched him drive the upscale car away from the curb. Abby wondered again why a man with enough money to buy a luxury car would be playing Santa in a mall and wanting to work in a bookstore part time. Go figure.

  Stifling a yawn, she headed into the kitchen to make tea. Once she’d settled in bed, warm in a pair of flannel pajamas, with tea and a paperback, she found she couldn’t relax. After reading the same page over ten times, she put the book down.

  Nick. His face kept popping into her mind.

  His reaction when he’d seen her on the ground in the parking lot. The way he’d acted when she’d challenged him about his flirting.

  Abby grinned. He hadn’t expected The Challenge. She’d given this strategy a name because she’d used it so often with other men. Oh, she’d learned long ago that most men were out to get something from her. Her time, her money, her admiration. Sex. They were out to take and didn’t plan on giving anything in return.

  Nick as companionable Santa with no agenda hadn’t bothered Abby. As the virile man with mischief in his eyes, he threatened her. Especially, when instead of disdain for his tactics, she found him attractive.

  Maybe it would help her ignore him if she made a list of things she needed to decorate her house for Christmas. Something to turn vague plans into action. Yes, a list would be the ticket.

  What she did know was that she didn’t want another Christmas season feeling left behind, as if she’d missed the party once again.

  Before Abby could plan for Christmas, though, she had one unpleasant task. Not usually one to procrastinate, she glanced at the letter on her bed stand. She retrieved the letter, fingering the ivory note card’s expensive parchment. The communication had been sitting on the table for a day, and she’d ignored it for as long as possible. Her uncle and aunt refused to own a computer or do email, so any communication that wasn’t a phone call came in a letter like this. Reading anything from her aunt and uncle resulted in an urge to call them and ask them who the hell they thought they were. She was an adult, damn it.

  Mentally slamming a gate shut on her internal rant, Abby let the letter fall from the note card onto the coverlet. She unfolded the pages.

  Dear Abby,

  It’s been such a long time since we heard from you. Your uncle and I hope that you’ll find time to visit us this Christmas. We realize that last year you had so much to do with the store that you couldn’t be bothered. But now that you’re more established, perhaps you can spare the time? You’ve been on your own for such a long time, but it has been forever since we’ve seen you. We thought we’d go out to dinner at that new restaurant down the street...the foreign one...you know, to try something different. You always were saying we should try something new for Christmas.

  People are always asking for you in the neighborhood, and I think they believe it’s pretty strange that you haven’t been to see us in so long. Your Uncle Dick is worried about you living in that town in the mountains all by yourself.

  Abby tossed the paper away and crossed her arms.

  Uncle Dick. Dick-head. Yeah, he was worried about her all right. Gawd.

  She shivered. Her aunt still refused to believe what Abby had told her about Uncle Dick. What she’d seen with her own eyes.

  Then again, Aunt Cassandra was such a prig. Damn her. Damn her for always managing to make Abby feel the one in the wrong.

  Abby could hear her voice. Don’t be so selfish, Abby. Think of what people will say. Think of how it looks to other people. If this gets out, it’ll destroy us all.

  Abby shuddered and unbidden tears surged into her eyes. Destroy us all. Huh.

  Aunt Cassandra had perfected the art of pointing out other’s faults when she’d always been a dried-up worrywart of a woman who hated showing physical affection. Maybe that was why Dick went to other women for attention and why Abby’s aunt looked the other way.

  Her uncle was sick. Perverted. He’d turned to a little gir
l to fulfill his twisted pleasures.

  Abby sighed and slunk lower down in the bed, pulling the covers to her chin. For a moment she thought she’d regressed to her teen years. To the time she’d lie in bed each night and pray her uncle wouldn’t—

  No.

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what going back for Christmas in Upstate New York would be like. The thought of visiting Pohasette made her stomach dip.

  No way. No way would she endure another Christmas with her aunt and uncle and their idea of a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. They had no freaking clue.

  She’d broken away from their influence long ago, and her life was now her own. No one dictated where, why, when, or with whom she did anything. No one commented on whether what she did constituted something seemly, dignified or otherwise stodgy enough.

  Abby turned on her side. Who was she kidding? Her aunt and uncle still had the power to influence her. She was lying here thinking about them, wasn’t she?

  After ruminating over how to answer her aunt’s letter, Abby realized she’d managed to upset herself. She had to generate happier thoughts or she’d never sleep.

  She knew just the thing.

  Tomorrow she’d splurge and purchase everything she needed to make her house the merriest and the most wonderfully decorated home on the block. Even if no one else saw the inside, she’d see it every day.

  Snatching up her note pad, Abby went downstairs, stood in the foyer, and took inventory. She scribbled on the pad furiously. Excitement lent speed to her pen as she added garlands for the banister, ribbons, and mistletoe to her list. A wreath, of course, would be needed for the front door.

  She moved to the kitchen and opened her cabinets. The chipped, plain white plates looked beyond dull. She’d had them forever. No, they wouldn’t do. She’d buy those beautiful Christmas place settings she’d seen in the department store in the mall...and the champagne and wine glasses. A beautiful tablecloth for the dining room table would work, and she’d drag out the old silver she’d inherited from her grandmother.

  It would cost a fortune. Her shoulders slumped.

  She trailed into the living room and stared at the fireplace. Stockings to hang from the mantle. A centerpiece for the coffee table. That wonderful lighted miniature village set would be great. Yes.

  To hell with saving money, she needed this. She wanted this.

  Obviously she’d need a lovely golden angel for the topper.

  The tree. She hadn’t even bought a tree yet. Not a real tree anyway. That tiny, foot-tall artificial job gathering dust in the attic didn’t count. Yes, this year called for something brazen.

  In fact, in her bedroom she had extra space by the window. What the hell. She’d buy two trees.

  4

  As Abby looked at the rotunda that morning, the glitter of Christmas came back in force. Sweet strains of O Holy Night! came over the mall speaker system, and unlike last night, the sparkle on the reindeer and the lights on the tree heralded a cheerful season. The stuffed Santa’s plastic grin showed no signs of sinister intentions.

  She shivered. Thinking about the creepy encounter with the mysterious man last night made her look around, half expecting him to appear.

  Abby glanced at her watch and wondered if Nick would be late this morning. There were no kids lined up, but give them time. The closer to Christmas, the more children would arrive at the mall to visit Santa.

  As she stood by Santa’s throne twenty minutes to opening time, Abby’s mind swirled with ideas. Despite the lack of sleep that made her eyes gritty, she itched to start her decorating ideas. She also wanted to see if Santa’s charm would confound her as easily today as it had yesterday. Surely it was an anomaly. Now that Abby knew Santa had a penchant for wiseacre remarks, she guessed that his effect on her would dissipate.

  “Morning,” a deep voice said close to her ear.

  She whirled and stepped smack into Nick’s arms.

  “Whoa, Pixie. You going somewhere?”

  She’d never believed in the old adage about time standing still. In that moment she discovered the truth. His hands clasped her shoulders gently, and her body just touched his pillow-stuffed paunch, but his proximity took her breath and held it suspended.

  Nick smelled delicious. Something spicy, musky and masculine. The brilliance in his gaze warmed her, the curve of his lips rakish and amused. And he was so damned tall. At five ten she saw eye to eye with most men, but with Nick she had to look up. Abby felt as small as her nickname implied. Tiny. Overwhelmed.

  As his fingers caressed her shoulders, their heat translated to pleasant shivers in her body. She stepped away and looked around to see if anyone noticed. She could see the mall newsletter now.

  Abby kisses Santa Claus. Elf does the tango with Father Christmas.

  “You’re early,” she said.

  He grinned again and lumbered to his chair. “I’m always early. Hate to be late.”

  Nick sighed as he sank into his throne. He grimaced.

  “What’s that look for?” she asked.

  “Should have brought a pillow to sit on. Let me tell you, my butt was killing me last night.” He crossed his eyes.

  Abby laughed.

  A mock frown plastered what she could see of his face. “What’s so funny?”

  “I brought a pillow with me this morning. If I sit down in the store today, I know my tailbone is going to appreciate it.”

  “Clever lady.” He shifted in the chair and groaned.

  “I can get the pillow if you want to use it.”

  Suddenly, Nick stood and walked toward her. Abby wanted to back away, but she didn’t want him to think he could intimate her so she didn’t move.

  When he was close, he said, “Would you really loan me the pillow?”

  “Really.”

  Before she could dash off, he said, “Oh, I stopped by the store this morning and Becca took my application. She looked over my resume and said I had a great chance at getting the job.”

  She sobered. “Becca and I make those decisions together.”

  With that parting shot, Abby dashed to the store to retrieve the pillow. When Abby entered the store, Becca glanced up from the counter in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Getting a pillow for Santa’s butt.”

  Becca laughed. “What happened? Nick forget his padding?”

  “No. He’s sore from sitting in the throne for hours yesterday. Guess it’s sort of like riding a horse.”

  “He can’t take the pillow away from his belly and change places?”

  Abby sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Becca, have you ever seen a Santa with a small tummy and a big ass?”

  Becca nodded. “You’ve never met my Uncle Dranvers.”

  Uncle Dranvers.

  Uncle Dick. Her uncle had never played Santa for children to make them happy. Thinking about her uncle’s Christmas activities made her stomach roll, then pitch to the side.

  No. She wouldn’t...couldn’t think about him now.

  As Abby started to leave the store with the pillow, Becca said, “Hey. You aren’t going to let him cover up his wonderful butt with that pillow—”

  “Becca!”

  Becca chuckled and leaned on the counter. “You have to admit, Nick Claussen is one hunk.”

  “You are incorrigible.” Abby started to turn away, but then she remembered that Nick had given Becca the application and resume. “Can I see Nick’s resume?”

  Grabbing a file folder, Becca extracted Nick’s resume and application. Abby scanned the resume. Her mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

  Becca leaned forward, as if she could see from that angle. “Amazing, isn’t it? A man with his credentials and his background working as a Santa and a clerk.”

  “You’re not planning on hiring him?” Abby glanced at her friend sharply.

  “None of the resumes turned in so far stand up to his.”

  “He’s way overqualified.”


  “Granted, but I think in this case he’s a perfect match. He’s had plenty of experience with inventory, stocking, business practices, organization, typing, computer work...you name it. Maybe he just needs something low pressure.”

  When Abby continued to peruse the resume, Becca cleared her throat. “What are you thinking?”

  Abby shook her head and handed the resume and application back to Becca. “He’s a bad fit for the job. We can’t have a man like him working in this store.”

  “A man like him? Abby—”

  “We shouldn’t hire him.” With that parting shot, Abby walked away.

  When she got back to the rotunda, she handed Nick the pillow. He settled into his throne again.

  Since no children had appeared yet, she launched into him. “Why didn’t you tell me who you really are?”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Who I really am?”

  She looked around the rotunda. “Is there an echo in here? I saw your resume.”

  Nick held up both hands as if in surrender. “You’re right. I give up. You’ve found me out. My real name is...” He leaned forward. “James Bond.”

  “Cut the bull hockey, Claussen.”

  “Ouch. I’m assuming that since you used my last name, that I’m in big trouble?”

  Abby crossed her arms. “You’re one cocky son-of—”

  “Does that mean you’re hiring me?”

  “Huh!”

  A frown drew his carved lips into a thin line. “Why not?”

  “Because you’re not the kind of man I want working in my store.”

  “I thought you said Becca had equal say.”

  This threw her, but Abby inhaled a deep breath and continued. “She does.”

  Nick stared back until the silence yawned like a vacuum. “What kind of man do you think I am, Abby? A serial killer? A rapist?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then I don’t understand the problem. If it’s something to do with my qualifications, I’d understand.”

  Flustered, she paced a short line. “Something is wrong with a grown man who is an executive for a chain of exclusive resorts and is willing to be paid a paltry sum to work as a mall Santa and a bookstore clerk. What are you hiding from?”