by Ginny Frost
Christmas Affair
Book Two of the Stonewater Stories
By
Ginny Frost
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Christmas Affair
COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Ginny Frost
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Ginny Frost
PO Box 4686
Halfmoon, NY 12065-9211
Visit me at www.ginnyfrost.com
Published in the United States of America
Edited by Sandra Nguyen of Untangled Yarns: Fiction and Nonfiction
Cover design by Kathryn R. Biel
Cover Image via depositphotos.com by clementetinin
Table of Contents:
Title
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Check out Ginny’s Other Books
About the Author
Dedication
For Katie and Lizzie
And all that sibling stuff
Acknowledgements
A huge thank you to both Grace and Jenna for their help in my research about celiac disease. Nothing like getting data from people who’ve had to deal with the real thing. Thank you.
Thank you to my editor, Sandra, for working so quickly and efficiently to help me get the book ready in time. Thank you also to my cover artist—Kathryn, you are a true inspiration.
Thank you to my beta readers: Kari, Lisa, and Jen. You all made the story so much better.
Chapter One
Josephine Lockwood placed her computer bag by the reception desk of the Excelsior Hotel. The rest of her luggage sat piled at the curb with a struggling bellboy. The bizarre gothic-deco design of the hotel baffled her. But Mom insisted the Excelsior was the place to be in Iverton.
Whatever.
Jo could endure a weekend full of winter sports and a large Christmas party Saturday night. It was the same every year, but this time Mom insisted she bring a week’s worth of clothes.
Why?
It didn’t matter. Her computer bag with all its tiny devices tucked around her laptop contained everything she needed.
The machine was her life, and Mom didn’t have a clue. Jo wondered if customized makeup bags were available to hide all her techno goodies. Then she wouldn’t have to explain about the computer bag every single time she slung it over her shoulder.
A project for another day.
This weekend epitomized downtime. Jo wanted nothing more than to curl up in front of a roaring fire while the rest of the party skied, skated, and celebrated the holidays.
Mom refused to allow Jo to participate in outdoor activities. According to Mom, the Upstate New York cold would be too much for her lungs. Sometimes Jo protested, but since she hated skiing anyway… She’d tried it once, behind Mom’s back. It was cold, and awkward, and she fell off the chairlift. She’d sworn off the sport forever.
Since she detested winter sports, a large fireplace with a cup of cocoa constituted the perfect setting for fixing last-minute tweaks in her sample program. And Mom would let her sit and surf if she thought Jo was perusing dating sites.
At the front desk, the two young ladies working hardly noticed her. They twittered to each other, their gaze caught by something off to the side. Jo leaned over the counter to see the distraction. Her breath caught in her throat before she composed herself.
The human equivalent of a Norse god stood speaking with a man of color in a suit in the office. The earthbound deity wore a simple t-shirt and jeans with a tool belt across his hips like a gunslinger. Jo’s skin tingled at the sight of him—all blonde, tall, and muscular. His crossed arms highlighted his muscular biceps and triceps. Even his forearms said he worked out every day, all day.
The other man barely hit her radar, though he was well-dressed and sharply handsome. But between the two of them, no wonder the women were distracted. Jo cleared her throat, hoping to rip their gaze away from the men.
A loud snicker caught the men’s attention. They both eyed the desk.
The girls blushed as if they’d been staring at the sun too long. One, whose nametag read Tiffany, finally noticed Jo waiting. She scanned Jo up and down, her nose wrinkling slightly, the air heavy with disdain.
“I’m so sorry. How can I help you?” Her grin looked painted on. Jo wished people could just be themselves.
“Good afternoon,” she answered, smiling. “I’m Josephine Lockwood.” As soon as her name dropped, the girls’ demeanor changed. Judgy and condescending morphed into polite and butt-kissing.
“Oh, Ms. Lockwood. You’re here!” Tiffany practically squeed.
The other clerk, Arabella by her nametag, hopped up and down. “We’re so glad you’ve finally arrived.”
Finally here? Jo was early, but… Mom must have sent her demands ahead for the “special care” Jo required. She sighed, hating the fuss. But she was used to it.
Mom always made a huge deal about Jo, never letting her lift a finger for anything. Hell, carrying in her own computer bag today felt like a treat. Usually, someone snatched whatever she carried out of her hands before she knew what was happening.
“Everything is set. We’re all so excited. It’s going to be a fantastic visit,” Arabella said. Tiffany gave the girl a hard look and a harder elbow to the ribs. The two women exchanged glances and Arabella added, “For the Christmas party.” She raised her hands above her head in triumph. “Just don’t use the escalator.”
Jo stared at her quizzically. Mom’s party was a bigger deal than she thought—either that or Arabella must be starved for fun.
“Uh, sounds good.” Jo glanced behind her as the bellboy puffed in with a cart full of her luggage. “I’d like to check in now.”
Tiffany’s plastic grin grew wider. She spoke, hardly moving her lips. “Great. We have you in the Presidential Suite. Here are your keys. Zed will accompany you upstairs. Please call the desk if you need anything.” She cocked her head toward the elevator, her smile as fake as ever.
“Don’t you want my ID or credit card, or…”
Arabella cut her off. “It’s already taken care of, Ms. Lockwood. Enjoy your stay.”
Mom, of course.
With an eyeroll, Jo headed to the indicated hallway, the bellboy close behind. As the doors closed, a burst of laughter escaped the girls again. A conversation in high-pitched squeals followed.
Jo looked at Zed, who shrugged.
“They’re overexcited about everything. They aren’t supposed to work the same shift anymore, but we’ve got all hands on deck for the weekend. Plus the renovations.” He passed a shy grin Jo’s way before exiting the car onto
her floor.
The tension in the air hinted that many more activities were in store besides Mom’s Christmas party. She’d have to look up the hotel events.
The hope of something more interesting than dry chicken and septuagenarians stirred her heart. Something new, something exciting, something out of the ordinary—an adventure.
Or if she hid in her room, she could skip the entire affair.
That sounded like heaven.
***
Brett Kramer raised his eyebrows at the ruckus emanating from the front desk. The Excelsior was a classy place, not usually filled with the giggling cadence of young women losing their minds. The two girls at the desk had been eye-fucking him since he entered the office. He shook his head, done with immature women.
His gaze returned to Stanley, who sat on the edge of a desk in the sizeable office space.
“You were saying…” Stanley pursed his lips, seeming to hide a grin.
Brett narrowed his eyes at Stanley’s sarcasm. “Why do you put those two tweens out on the desk together? Geez, what a racket. Do they give you the ‘come-hither’ look, too?”
The manager grinned. “They’re new. I rarely have them on together, but we have a couple events this week. I booked every room not under construction. So, if you finish the west wing, I can fill the space. Hint hint.”
Brett shook his head. “Sure, if your guests won’t mind sharing the can with the room next door. The tiling is almost done. I have four of the seven new toilets installed. The last three are in those creepy little rooms in the back. Do you rent those?”
The job at the Excelsior was a godsend. Kramer and Sons Contracting of Stonewater always had a great run from spring through fall. But come winter, the work dried up. He and his family were used to the ebb and wane of the business, but this year had been tight. They’d gotten fired from a job last winter. For the rest of the year, people seemed a little leery to hire them—well, townies anyway, not the summer people.
Stonewater was a great town, but not big enough to support all the carpenters. Dad’s marketing plan comprised nothing but word of mouth. The business never expanded beyond himself, Dad, and Ted. Not to mention, they’d missed the bid on the new kitchen in the Greenview Inn a while back. It didn’t look great when the biggest makeover in town went elsewhere. Hell, even little brother Ryan had left for larger fields.
Now that Dad was older, Brett planned to take over the business and turn it into a real money maker. He’d hire more guys with him and Ted supervising bigger jobs. They'd run real advertising, not a note in the local paper. A string of jobs at ski lodges meant steady work year-round.
But Brett and Stanley Frasier, the current manager at the Excelsior in Iverton, were tight from way back. When the renovation deal came up at the hotel, Stan arranged the subcontract with Drake Incorporated. Brett snagged the contract before the words died on Stanley’s lips.
The work moved quickly when Ted helped. With only sinks, toilets, and a few tiles left to install, Ted returned home to help with a local job. Brett stayed to finish and grab a few more trips down the slopes for free—another great perk.
Hell, if Spencer Drake liked the result, he might hire the Kramers for more jobs. Most of the time, only Ted and Brett worked, and Mr. Drake hedged at contracting them for a larger project. They’d compromised with renovating one of the older sections. The rooms were pure seventies with avocado tubs and orange wallpaper.
Stanley broke into his thoughts. “If you’d hurry and finish, I could rent those units. Call them econo-rooms and charge a little less.” He grinned, ever the salesman. “How much longer?”
Brett shrugged, hooking his thumbs in his tool belt. “Not more than two days. By Sunday, for sure. But I bet I can wrap by Saturday afternoon.” The two men exchanged a fist bump in agreement.
“Good, then I’ll steal your room for Saturday night. There’s a crazy wedding asking for more and more rooms. Don’t they realize it’s the holiday season? I told the woman we were booked, but she doesn’t like ‘no’ for an answer. I’m not bumping paying guests for her people. They can stay at the Charles or Greenview in Stonewater. Decent places, but not the Excelsior.” Stanley winked.
One of the desk-twins stuck her head in the office. “Mr. Frasier?” Stanley lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “A guest needs help in the Presidential Suite. Something about a stuck door.”
Stanley waved her off. “Call Ernie. He’s on for the weekend.”
“I did.” She paused for a moment to flutter her eyelashes at Brett, who looked at her blankly.
Jailbait had no place on his menu.
“He’s dealing with the escalator… again.” She put a finger to her lips, letting the edge of the nail slip inside. “Can he go?”
Slowly, she removed her finger to point at Brett.
He assumed the act was supposed to be erotic, but his gut churned. He glanced at Stanley, who shrugged.
“Unless you’re pressed, can you handle this? I’ll throw more hours on your timecard.”
Brett shrugged. “Sure, no problem. Stuck door?” The clerk nodded. “Got it.” He headed toward the exit, but the girl didn’t move out of his way. She stared at him, starry-eyed, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. With a smile, he put one hand on each of her shoulders and rotated her to the side so he could pass.
Women.
He was done with immature twenty-somethings chasing him down. He had plenty of luck in the lady department, but lately, everyone pursuing him fell way out of his age range. Where were the women in their early thirties with an education, a job, and no kids? Nonplussed, he headed to the elevators. “What room?” he called without looking over his shoulder.
“The Presidential Suite,” one girl called with a snigger.
As he entered the car, the girl added, “I bet she’ll think he’s a stripper.” A tumult of giggles erupted from the desk area.
“Wait. What?” Brett asked as the door shut.
Chapter Two
Upstairs, Brett knocked on the Presidential Suite’s door. No answer. He rattled the handle. He waited a beat and knocked again. No answer. With Stanley’s passkey, Brett opened the door a crack.
“Hello?” he called.
Silence.
Maybe the patron was stuck behind a door inside the room.
Crap.
He didn’t want to walk into a bizarre situation. The word “stripper” echoed in his head.
Please God, don’t let me step into a bachelorette party.
He did not sign up for that. Checking the nameplate on the door again—yep, the Presidential Suite—he stepped into the room.
A few suitcases stood stacked by the closet. The seating area by the television looked fresh and untouched. Through the doorway, he could see the bedroom, the bed made, everything pristine.
“Hello?” he called again. “Maintenance.” It worked for the maids.
“Thank God,” a muffled voice sounded from somewhere in the huge space. “Please hurry.”
“Uh, sure. Be right there.” He moved further inside, still not spotting the resident. “Where are you?”
“I’m out here,” came the muted reply.
He headed for the bedroom, praying there weren’t a dozen drunk and horny women behind the bed. He found no one lurking inside the lavish and elegant space. Relief rushed over him.
The bathroom door stood open, so no one was locked in there. He scratched his head as he rotated in a circle when a booming knock caught him off guard. He finally saw her.
A pale face peeked through the break in the curtain covering the windows of the balcony. She's outside?
Brett hurried over and scooted the curtain aside. A young woman stood on the room’s tiny balcony, wearing nothing but a silk bathrobe. Anxiety and anger marred her pretty face. Her lips looked blue. In one hand, she held a cell phone.
Ah, that’s how she contacted the desk.
Instead of a slider, the balcony had a large glass door that opened into the ro
om. Good. Hinges on the inside helped.
His gaze slid over the little brunette in the robe. He’d seen a glimpse of her in the lobby but had not registered how adorable she was. Her round face was delicate. Her skin looked porcelain. Everything about her seemed elfin, fine, rich, and breakable. Would a girl like that last a round with a man like him, tall and hung? Half a grin formed on his lips.
As he studied the door, she knocked again. “I’m freezing here.”
Brett snapped back to reality.
Door. Fix. Now.
He tried the handle. The thing came off in his hand. On the other side, the young woman held up the other half.
Well, crap. But fixable.
Brett knelt and examined the mechanism. With a screwdriver from his belt, he removed the plate over the lock. Still using the same tool, he threaded it through the spindle hole left by the missing handles. Carefully, he drew the latch back.
“Push it open.”
Brett scooted back to give the door room to swing. When he moved, the screwdriver slipped just as she smacked the glass.
“Seriously? My toes are falling off!” She appeared rather icy, and not just by her expression.
“Hold on. It slipped.”
“It slipped?” she asked, incredulous.
He said nothing as he pressed the latch again with the tool. “Push.”
This time the door swung in. She squeezed through the opening and dashed into the suite, exclaiming the entire way, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
Brett refrained from watching her run in the little silk robe. The poor woman looked half frozen. Warming her could be fun. Eyes closed, he shut his brain down. Sex while on a job had ruined more than one contract.
***
Jo scrambled into the bedroom, every inch of her pure ice. She grabbed the spread off the bed and wrapped it around herself. What had she been thinking, going out on the balcony? Yes—the beautiful view of the cliff side, frozen waterfalls, and the ice-covered pines. And then the door shut. No biggie until the handle came off in her hand. Thank God, the maintenance guy had been close by, though he took his time getting the thing open.
