by Ember Flint
Eve laughs. “And your lips! She’s going to turn your hair grey by the time she’s eighteen!”
I groan, making her laugh more. “Don’t you ruin this for me, Eve!”
She giggles, stroking my hair away from my forehead.
We hear fireworks going off in the sky, their lights raining down on us and casting colorful shadows over the room.
I kiss my wife, our little daughter comfortably snuggled between us.
“Happy New Year, Seth.”
I smile so big, my face hurts. “Happy New Year, love.”
I kiss my baby’s little cheek. “Happy New Year, Amity.”
THE END
Deck me up
By EMBER FLINT
Holly Hart is a sweet and unassuming woman, lover of all things Christmas.
She has always been sure of two facts since she got old enough to understand life: it was scientifically impossible she could meet someone who could make her sick of the Season to be Jolly and most of all, she was never ever going to meet a man who would make her wish to change her permanent status from nice to naughty, but this Christmas is about to prove her wrong, because she is going to meet both in the huge, hunky and sexy person of Xander Halls, billionaire CEO of Halls Tech.
Xander is currently her major client and the absolute bane of her existence. Apparently, he doesn’t know the meaning of the word “no” even though he is so fond of barking it in her face. She is pretty sure he could make Santa’s elves cry with a single well-placed glare and yet she can’t stop from gaping at him.
Throwing a Christmas party is Holly’s ultimate vocation, but Xander is arrogant, brooding, unsociable and bossy and he is making things impossible for her. The stubborn bastard hasn’t got a single ounce of peace on Earth and good will to men to spare for her!
It seems no matter what Holly does or says, Xander has to contradict her. Veto should be his freaking middle name or Grinch, maybe —yes, that would work too.
All he wants for Christmas seems to be driving Holly nuts. She should hate the sight of him, but boy, the man can kiss and looks like sex on a stick or better yet: a candy cane she can’t stop herself from drooling over!
The more Xander bosses her around, pissing her off and looking at her with those killer baby blues that could incinerate mistletoe and melt snow —if Phoenix would be blessed with any, that is—, the more she wants him hanging his stocking all over her and trimming her Christmas tree with his own hot brand of decorations, way better than those bought at Tiffany’s!
Dear Reader:
This is a standalone, no cheating and HEA-guaranteed holiday marshmallowy-sweet novella with a secret punch, where NAUGHTY might even be wrapped-up in NICE, but it’s still definitely there.
Bad things are about to be flagged on Santa’s list around here, ‘cause it looks like this kindle-melting alpha is one Halls this Holly will have some trouble decking!
Get tangled in this intricate mess more than you do when attempting to unravel strings of twinkling lights. You won’t regret it and your Christmas this year will not only be more bright, but tropical hot too!
*ahem* sweetie, either you’re naughty or nice, you’ll still get a super cute —and downright dirty— Christmassy surprise at the end of the book in just a couple of clicks, don’t miss out!
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 Ember Flint
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. To request permission, contact the author.
Note from the Author: this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over. Also, in real life, remember: always safety first.
Cover design by: Pink Diamonds Waterfall
Edited by: New Wave Romance
To those of you who always go teary-eyed and get all mushy at the thought of falling in love at Christmas. Don’t ever stop looking: your Mr. Right might be already out there, dreaming of you under the mistletoe.
Excerpt of Deck me up
I hit the steering wheel with the palms of my hands furiously and then I drop my head on it, huffing. My mane of black waves falls on my face, shielding my eyes from the glare of the too bright —not to mention too freaking hot for December— sun.
I mean, I’m always on the brink of being late, that’s just the way I am and I’m reconciled with that, but I can’t take it easy in this particular occasion.
Of all the days in which my damn car could break, it had to happen today, of course.
Today that the traffic is insane, that people are already starting to run around like crazy headless chickens in a frenzy of Christmas shopping.
Today that I have an unmissable meeting with my bitchy boss —and then a second one with a super-important client.
And because when it rains, it pours: not only I have no wheels, I’ve also been trying to get in touch with Sylvie Cole to no avail since yesterday night.
She is my mentor at Winsome Events & Design, the party-planning and interior decor firm in which I’ve been working as an assistant planner and decorator for the last eleven months. Our company is a must in this city when it comes to events planning and home design and working for it was my dream even before I started college.
Sylvie is great, both as a supervisor and as a friend. She is twenty-two years older than me, but we get along pretty well. She has been teaching me a lot of cool stuff about our line of work, stuff I could not learn in college. Her guidance has been invaluable till now, but today she is MIA.
This is very unlike her. Even in her off-days —the very few and far she treats herself to— I always manage to reach her if I need her.
Most of the time, I don’t even have to call her, because she is checking up on me and on the progress of the projects we follow together quite constantly on her own.
And yet today that we have a meeting with the president and sole owner of our firm, Caroline Winsome, Sylvie is nowhere to be found.
Usually we don’t need to run the details of our projects by her, but the client is very important and so Miss Winsome wanted to pre-approve everything before we showcase the plan to him.
We are in the initial creative phase of a party-plan we are putting together for one of the richest man in the country, Xander Halls —the billionaire founder and president of Halls Tech.
In ten days he will give a Christmas Eve party for his shareholders that will also double as a fundraiser and as a surprise birthday party for his younger sister, Natalie, who is going to turn fifteen that night.
My mentor has already planned events for Mr. Halls in the past and has also decorated one of his houses here in town, but I’ve never even spoken to him once, not even on the phone and today if I can’t get a hold of Sylvie, I’ll have to meet him alone.
I’m freaking out like never before, I’ve never conducted such a meeting on my own, not even for smaller events, let alone for a billionaire that is on a league of his own.
I pick up my cell again and call Sylvie one more time, hoping for a miracle —after all ’tis the season and all of that, right?
The phone rings just once and then goes to voicemail. Great! Fucking great!
No point in leaving her a message, I’ve already tried that. Like I tried calling her neighbor, her personal assistant, her freaking doorman, without getting any closer to understanding why t
he hell has she not been in touch.
All I got was a lousy and cryptic text about an hour ago from one of the other senior designers, Andrew Matthews. It said: ‘Don’t worry. You’ll do just fine.’
I tried to get more answers from him, but the jerk dropped the bomb and then probably turned-off his stupid cell or something just to drive me even crazier. The fact that Andy was the only one to get in touch with me about whatever it is that is going on, makes me worry even more, the guy can’t stand me; not since he asked me out and I refused him. Like he could blame me: besides not being my type at all, the bastard is freaking married for God’s sake!
Sylvie would never leave me to stew like this with no reason, so not only I’m very anxious for the presentation at this point: I’m also getting really worried for her. She is not the type of person that would just up and disappear. Something must have happened to her, I just hope she is fine, wherever she is.
No way I’ll get a taxi on time and I can’t be late. If Ryan can’t give me a ride, I’ll have to spend twenty-eight minutes pressed up against a bunch of strangers —possible psychos— on a Valley Light Rail train in the middle of a fucking winter heatwave that has been rendering the usual December balmy air of Phoenix, scalding and unbreathable and that is going to keep us sticky, sweaty company until Christmas. From mild everybody-envy-us-this-kind-of-temperature 70°F to insane oh-my-God-please-just-kill-me-now 86°F.
With my luck, on the train the air-conditioning system will be shot, I know it already.
Just perfect.
I sigh and get out of the car. I got to get moving or I’ll be late. Today is definitely not my day.
I trudge back inside, the sun burning my skin even through my work-clothes. I’m only wearing a light and simple black pencil skirt with a dark green, sleeveless shirt, but they feel like a lead armor in this heat.
I’m one of those girls who really is madly in love with Christmas and every year I can’t wait for December to come around so that I can decorate the shit out of my flat, drive my BFF crazy with my off-key carol-singing, watch way too many holiday movies —seriously, Hallmark and ABC Family could practically live off of me— and of course last but not least: pretend it’s colder than it is so I can wear winter Christmassy stuff, but right now the mere thought of a festive Christmas sweater it’s making me feel faint and nauseous.
I try to picture white, fluffy, cold snow falling around me —not that I have ever really seen or felt such a thing here—, but my mind immediately switches to visions of tall glasses of lemon tea, filled to the brim with ice cubes.
I get inside, making the door thump behind me when I close it and my roommate and bestie since we were toddlers looks up from his laptop’s screen.
“Don’t tell me: your car died on you.”
He has a little grin on his face and I narrow my eyes at him, making him laugh.
“Don’t be an ass, Ryan… today it’s not a good day for that.”
He stands up. “Oh, you mean there are days good enough for me to be one? Could you circle them on the calendar for me?”
I shake my head. “You’re hilarious, really…”
He smiles even bigger. “I know, hon. It’s part of my appeal.”
“Yeah, right: the part that made your last boyfriend leave you so fast your head was spinning.”
“Ouch, sister… low blow,” he says putting on his jacket.
“You’re going to the clinic?”
“Yup…”
“And is there a chance you could drop me at Winsome E & D on your way?”
He chuckles. “Drop you on my way to the other part of the city while I have Irma, that poor chubby bitch, waiting for a C-section on my table for an emergency delivery that has to be performed in a window of less than forty minutes? Not in this life time, darling.”
I scoff at him, but I don’t really blame him: he’ll do anything for his patients; he truly loves being a vet. “Sometimes, I really think you love that bulldog above all, even more than you love me.”
He comes closer to me and pinches my cheek. “Never, cupcake. I love all my furry and not furry patients the same way, but you always come first in my heart: you know you are my favorite bitch.”
I laugh and punch him on the arm. “What am I going to do, Ryan? It’s going to be a disaster!”
He kisses my forehead. “Holly, you need to relax a little. Everything is going to be alright. You just have to be positive, okay, babycakes?”
“I’ll try…” I grumble, looking down.
He picks up his medical bag from our sofa and turns toward me again, he takes a long breath and then he starts speaking fast and without pause as we walk out of our flat. “Now mentally repeat after me, hon: you’ll get yourself to your office and you’ll be on time, because public transportation won’t fail you.
“On the train, you’ll meet a super-hot, greatly-endowed slice of man meat. He will be the perfect man for you and since he won’t be meeting my sexy ass before yours, he’ll totally fall in love with you and convince you to give up that cherry you’ve been holding on so damn tight for the last twenty-four years. Sylvie will be waiting for you there, because we both know she really is an android and not human at all and therefore she isn’t programmed to ever be late. Your bony-assed, dried-up bitch of a boss will just come from the mother of all fucks with some hunk and so she’ll be in a tremendous good mood and she’ll fucking love all the work you and Sylvie put in this event, because you guys are awesome party-planners.”
I laugh. “Keep on dreaming, sweetie. You should change your surname from Goodwill to Sugarcoating. That kind of stuff never happens to me and you know it.”
Ryan clears his throat. “Rude much, girl? You interrupted me before I got to the last part. The best part.”
“The best part?” I ask as we stop in front of his red SUV.
He nods solemnly. “Yep… the part that is not filtered through positive-thinking and it’s like totally true and totally going to happen…”
He opens the door and sits behind the wheel, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners as he flashes me a big smile and starts to fan himself. “Holly, in about three hours you are going to be in the presence of the biggest piece of candy you’ll ever see in your life.”
I roll my eyes. “So this Mr. Halls is cute?”
Ryan puts a hand on his sculpted chest looking affronted. “Cute? Holly, you need to get out more, girl.”
—*—
Peggy, my boss’s secretary doesn’t even look up from her screen as she mumbles a stilted hello to me, pointing to the door that is currently separating me from Caroline Winsome.
Bad sign. She is usual very chirpy and friendly.
I fight the need to ask her if Sylvie is already in there because Ryan’s rose-colored predictions as I expected didn’t come true and I am slightly late already. It’s only five minutes or so, but my boss is not the kind of woman that takes nicely the possibility of losing time, no matter how little of it.
I take a big breath and I step inside the white-and-glass-all-around, pristine office. At least in here I don’t feel faint anymore, the air-conditioner is blasting a cool breeze against my hot skin.
Caroline is standing in front of a large window, hands behind her back. She is a little turned to the side and I can see a deep frown darkening her china-doll-like features
—suspiciously too well-preserved and a little frozen for a forty-something— , her eyes are reduced to two such small slits that I can’t really see the brown of her irises.
“Holly, here you are. You are late.”
“Hi, Caroline. Yes, I know I’m late: my car gave up on me today.”
She nods, her back straight, her face cold. We call each other by first name around the office, no matter your position in the firm, but it’s mostly for show, especially with Miss Winsome.
She decided on this policy to give the clients the impression they’d be working with a tight-knit
group of friends, but things don’t exactly stand like that. No one, aside from Sylvie and a few others top-planners, can really consider Caroline a friend.
When I see that she isn’t going to add anything to that, I realize there’s no point in trying to justify my actions any further. “I’m sorry, Caroline.”
She turns around fixing the tailored cream-colored jacket of her suit and takes the seat behind her desk, pushing the chair slightly back. She sighs heavily and looks at her cell then back at me.
I gulp. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of Sylvie for the last twenty-four hours or so, but I can’t reach her and—”
“Yes I know,” she interrupts me abruptly, her tone clipped; her expression is getting darker by the second. “We have much to discuss.”
“But Sylvie should—”
“Sylvie is not coming. Sit down, Holly,” Caroline cuts me off again, pointing at one of the white leather armchairs stationed in front of her desk.
“There has been an accident. Sylvie is in the hospital.”
I feel tears prickle my eyes and I let myself drop on the armchair. “Oh my God. What happened? Is she okay?”
My boss dismisses my worries with a sharp gesture of her hand. “A minor car crash…”
How can a car crash be minor? It’s a car crash for fuck’s sake! “When did—?”
Caroline speaks over me again. “Last night. Around seven o’clock, while she was leaving the office and before you ask: she is fine. A concussion, a couple of fissured ribs and a broken leg. The hospital called at ten p.m. to inform me of her prognosis. She’ll bounce back by February, I’m sure.”
I feel my eyes widen. This is her definition of fine? I grip the arms of the chair, willing myself to stay composed and calm. “Why was I not called yesterday as well?”
