by Olivia Miles
Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
Preview of Mistletoe on Main Street
Also by Olivia Miles
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
Lila Harris glanced at the antique cuckoo clock on the wall one last time, waiting for the little wooden door to open and the carved bluebird to appear. Tense seconds chipped away, until—Lila jumped, as she always did when the chimes went off, and laughed softly. Taking a deep breath, she slid her chair back and stood to smooth her skirt. The tote on her desk was packed and ready. Nails painted. Shoes, new.
She acknowledged her assistant’s thumbs-up with a nervous smile, and pushed out the front door, her hand grazing the railing as she ran down the stairs of the building, her eyes darting for a cab. The sun was beating down on the pavement, showing promise of another warm day. Lila held a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and fixed her stare in the distance.
“Good afternoon, Lila!” called Jim Watson, whose law office was on the second floor of the Lincoln Park brownstone, just above hers. He grinned as he approached. “It’s beginning to feel like summer!”
“Finally,” she agreed, lifting her hand to flag a driver scouting for fares. The cabbie flashed its signal, and she felt a little skip in her pulse. “Enjoy your lunch!”
Jim held up his brown bag as he climbed the stairs to the building’s front door. “You, too!”
Inside the cab, the air was thick with heat, but if she closed her eyes, Lila could almost imagine she was at the beach, with the sand in her toes and the breeze in her hair. This weekend she had a date with the lake. But today . . . She pressed her hand to her stomach. Today she was on a mission.
The cab rolled through the neighborhood, winding down sleepy residential streets where mothers pushed baby carriages and neighbors stopped to chat on the stoop, their toddlers licking melting popsicles or drawing with chalk, and eventually turned down Lake Shore Drive, where it picked up speed. Lila tried to focus on the buildings, the architecture she’d never stopped appreciating, the view of the lake, and then the river. Finally, the cab rolled to a stop, and Lila handed over a twenty, not bothering to ask for change, even though the tip was generous and a few extra bucks could go a long way right now. If she stalled, she might lose her nerve, and confidence was key.
Stepping out into the sunshine, Lila bit her lip against the searing pain of the blister that was starting to form on her left heel, and steered her way through the sidewalk traffic. The doors to the restaurant were big. Looming and dark and far too mysterious. What was on the other side? Were they already waiting for her?
Maybe they were. That wouldn’t be so bad, she told herself, shaking her shoulders back. So her knees were wobbling and her stomach was twisting so tightly she could barely breathe—they wouldn’t notice. What they would notice was how prepared she was. How eager—no, not eager, she thought, as a familiar wave of nausea took over. She definitely didn’t want to appear eager, even if she was.
Honestly, she was being ridiculous. She had been to dozens of meetings like this. So what if Reed Sugar was . . . There was that flutter again. There was no fighting it. A meeting with a major household brand was a very big deal.
The door handle was warm under her palm, and she knew she was pausing for an unnatural amount of time. A middle-aged man came up behind her, frowning with impatience, looking at her like she was half-crazy, and Lila blew out a breath. This was it.
“May I help you?” A smiling hostess stopped her as she entered the dimly restaurant.
“I’m meeting with Jeremy Reed,” Lila explained, glancing around the lobby for a glimpse of her high school classmate. The warm lead was half the battle; the rest was up to her.
The woman checked the reservation book. “You’re the first to arrive. Would you like to wait over in the bar area?”
Lila crossed the room and perched on the edge of a free chair, ready to jump up at a moment’s notice. She pressed her palms firmly on her knees, feeling the slick sweat of her skin, and pushed down until her nerves had subsided.
Not wanting to look stalkerish or eager or anything, she trained her attention on the reservation desk, where the hostess was giggling at something a man was saying. Lila leaned in, happy for the distraction, the excuse to drown out her surroundings, and the gut-churning anticipation that grew with each second that ticked by.
The man’s suit was dark and well cut, and two polished cufflinks adorned a crisp white dress shirt. The hostess said something as she reached for the phone and the man laughed. It was a deep laugh: warm, rich, and sincere. And oddly familiar.
Lila felt a twitch of panic as a disturbing thought took hold. It couldn’t be. Not him. Okay, so his hair was brown and he was sort of the same height, and the laugh was familiar, but then how many men over the years had drummed up a memory she’d rather forget? Chances were he’d turn around and remind her of how silly she was being. He probably had freckles and brown eyes and—Oh, no.
A cold knot formed deep in her stomach and her heart began to pound so loudly she could feel the rush in her ears. Lila looked away slowly, careful to keep her expression neutral so he might think she hadn’t even seen him, and shifted in her chair, her back firmly to the bar.
God help her. It was Sam.
***
He would have recognized her anywhere.
Sam Crawford gripped the strap of his briefcase and stared at the back of Lila’s head, wondering what the hell he should do, what he should say to her. If he should say anything at all. He knew that she had moved home after leaving New York, but he hadn’t counted on running into her like this. He’d been to Chicago a few times since their last bitter conversation all those years ago, and he’d kept an eye out, hoping for a chance meeting, an excuse to talk, a casual reason to reconnect that didn’t involve drudging up the dirty past.
Today of all days. The timing couldn’t have been worse.
He turned his attention back to the hostess, forcing a grin. “I spot a friend over there, actually. If you’ll just notify me when the rest of my party arrives, I’d appreciate it.”
Friend was a stretch. It had been years since he and Lila had spoken, and their parting had been far from amicable. With his briefcase tight in his fist, Sam walked to the bar and ordered a scotch, the corner of his eye firmly centered on Lila. She hadn’t seen him, or if she had, she was doing a damn good job of pretending she hadn’t. The thought of it bothered him. More than it should.
She was still pretty, he noticed, both pleased and annoyed by his observation. If anything, she had only changed for the better over time, growing from a wide-eyed, slightly overwhelmed girl into a graceful young woman. Her oval face was pale but proud; her chestnut-colored hair was pulled back, revealing the long sweep of her neck. From the way she dressed, Sam could only assume she was waiting for a coworker or other professional acquaintance, and he felt a twinge of relief to know that she wasn’t on a date.
Like it mattered.
Taking a long swig of his drink, his eyes remained fixed on her over the rim of his glass. The bar was filling quickly with the lunch crowd, and his own appointment would start at any moment. He had a decision to make and he couldn’t stand here debating it much longer. He could cross the room and say hello, or he could leave the past i
n the past.
Lila’s eyes shifted, just enough that he had to think fast, and before she could look away he held up a hand. No going back now. He grinned, finding it much easier than he wanted it to be. In return, Lila offered him a small, tentative smile.
Sam set his drink down and loosened his tie. She’d given him all the encouragement he needed.
***
Lila watched helplessly as Sam approached her, one hand thrust casually in his pocket, the other carrying his briefcase. His face was so familiar, but even more handsome than she’d dared to remember, as luck would have it. Time had been good to him; the six years since she’d last seen him had brought a few more lines around his eyes, but only she would have noticed. She’d memorized his face. The lift of his mouth when he smiled, the tousle of his hair when he slept . . .
“Lila Harris,” Sam said quietly, offering her a friendly smile. Standing to meet him, Lila straightened her shoulders in a failed attempt to regain her composure. Her head slightly inclined, they stood face to face. Those blue eyes had always been her undoing.
“Sam.” Her voice was hoarse. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat, feeling a heat rise in her cheeks as he continued to stare at her. “What a surprise.” She forced a tight smile.
“A pleasant one, I hope?”
She struggled to make out his expression. Happiness? Fear? Remorse? But then, perhaps he felt nothing. Perhaps to him, she was just a thing of the past, someone he had forgotten a long time ago.
She waited for the burn to leave her face and hoped the room was dark enough that he wouldn’t notice.
“What brings you to Chicago?” Lila managed. One question at a time. A few minutes of small talk. Then it would be over. Again. She could do this. “I thought you were still in New York.”
“I’m in town for a meeting,” Sam said mildly, his eyes never straying from hers. “I just flew in this morning.”
Lila glanced at the door, happy for the excuse to look away. Still no sign of Jeremy, but that might be a good thing. What would she say when he walked in and saw her flustered and red-faced? Oh, God, a trickle of sweat was now dripping down the back of her neck. She pulled in a breath and turned back to Sam. “What a small world,” she said.
“That it is,” he said smoothly, flashing that irresistible smile.
She narrowed her gaze. It was so easy for him. Too easy for him.
“Still in advertising?” Boy, that was lame. Sam wasn’t just in advertising. Sam was advertising.
An amused flicker caught Sam’s eyes, but he replied with a simple, “Yep.”
“Business going well?” she asked, a little more pertly than she’d wished. For years after he’d so ceremoniously dumped her, she’d fantasized about this exact situation. What she’d be wearing. How her hair would be parted. What she’d say. She’d hoped to have a big rock on her finger by then, given to her by someone who actually cared. She’d laugh away his concerns over how things had ended, flit her wrist when he showed some remorse, and make it damn clear she was over him, when in fact, she still wasn’t.
“Very well.” Sam gave a lopsided smile and motioned to her attire. “And yourself?”
Lila felt an old wound begin to tear open. “I’m doing quite well. I’m a freelance copywriter now, actually.”
“For agencies or directly with clients?”
“A little of both.” She was proud of her work, proud of how far she’d come since that little blip in New York.
“Better than working for a boss?” Sam’s smile turned rueful.
Better than working for you, she thought. “I enjoy it. In fact, I have a meeting shortly with Reed Sugar. I’m sure you’ve heard of them,” she added with a faint smile.
Her eyes flitted once more to the door, just in time to see Jeremy Reed walk up to the hostess. In tow was an older man with Jeremy’s same features, presumably his father, as well as two other well-suited executives. Her stomach tensed. What now?
She looked at Sam, ready to make her excuse, to say good-bye for good this time. To forget this little run-in had never occurred. To get back to her life and the people that mattered. “Sam, I—”
“Sam Crawford!” Jeremy boomed, bypassing her completely. His stride was long, the smile on his face genuine, and he took Sam’s hand in a firm shake. “Jeremy Reed.”
Lila blinked rapidly, noticing that Sam didn’t seem at all surprised by the introduction. Before she could wrap her head around what was happening, she was shaking hands and making small talk with some other men, all the while smiling as if nothing was amiss.
“All here?” The hostess grinned over Jeremy’s shoulder.
Lila fell back behind the Reed team, her mind racing as her feet wove a path through the tables. Stealing her chance before they were seated, she hissed over her shoulder to Sam, “Did you—”
“I had no idea,” he whispered back, and something in the urgency of his tone told her he was just as unhappy about the situation as she was.
***
Jeremy settled back in his chair and glanced from Lila to Sam. “Do you two already know each other?”
Was it that obvious? Lila inwardly groaned, and forced a brighter smile.
“Lila and I used to work together, actually,” Sam said tightly as he scanned the menu.
“What a small world,” Jeremy chuckled.
A small world, indeed. Lila twisted the heavy cloth napkin in her lap, wishing it was paper, so she could rip it into shreds instead. When she’d started her day she could never have known that a few hours later she would be sitting next to her ex-boyfriend, of all people. Every day she made a conscious effort not to think about him. To look forward. Not back. And here he was. On her turf. In her city. In her big meeting.
The past six years had come undone in the five minutes since he’d walked in that door.
“I imagine you’re wondering why I brought you both in for this,” Jeremy began.
You could say that again. Lila leaned across the table, noting with a slight frown that Sam was casually sitting back in his chair, a smug smile playing at his lips. This was just another day at the office for him, another client to land amongst his many others. He didn’t care as much as she did. He didn’t need this as badly as she did. Sam was raised with a silver spoon; he couldn’t begin to imagine what it felt like to work for something out of necessity, not greed.
The knot in her stomach tensed when she thought of what was riding on her winning this account. She couldn’t let them see how much she needed this. Not with Sam sitting there looking like he could take it or leave it.
“Everyone who is anyone knows the name Crawford and advertising go hand in hand,” said Jeremy’s father, Mitch Reed, and Lila squeezed the napkin a little harder. This wasn’t looking good. “But I’m a traditionalist. I like to keep business here in Chicago where Reed Sugar was founded.”
Lila’s pulse skipped with interest. She slanted a glance at Sam as she wiggled her back straighter against her chair.
“Lila, we like your portfolio, and Jeremy speaks very highly of you.”
Lila slid her old friend a grateful smile.
“Which is why we’d like you to team up on this,” Mitch finished.
Lila sat in silence. Work with Sam? No way, never again. She’d been down that road and look where it had landed her. Broke and heartbroken. A miserable combination.
“So what do you think?” Jeremy asked expectantly. All eyes from the Reed Sugar team were on them. “I’m sure PC Advertising uses freelancers.”
“Occasionally,” Sam said diplomatically, “but we prefer to keep things in house. And without any offense to Lila . . .” He flashed her an apologetic shrug before returning his focus to Mitch Reed. “This is the big leagues, gentlemen.”
“No offense taken, Sam.” Lila gave a cool smile, but narrowed her eyes just enough to make sure he saw the fury glistening in her pupils. She paused, stifling a wince at what she was about to say as she turned back to Mitch. “Having had the . .
. honor of working with Sam in the past, I must tell you that my creative vision differs slightly from his.”
Jeremy cut his hand through the air dismissively. “I’m sure you’ll put your heads together and come up with something brilliant.”
“PC Advertising has excellent copywriters on staff,” Sam stated bluntly.
Lila felt her brow pinch. If he was trying to steal this opportunity from her, then she was prepared to put up a fight. She gave him a long, hard look. She wouldn’t put it past him.
“If you’re worried about the financial breakdown, we have that covered,” Jeremy said. “It’s competitive and fair and not something I can imagine either of you turning down.”
Sam held up a hand politely, about to protest again, no doubt, when he was cut off by Mitch Reed. “I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors about your agency recently. Something to do with a certain chain?”
Lila frowned in confusion. Beside her, Sam froze in his chair. Loosening his silk tie, he released a deep, low chuckle.
“You’re good,” Sam admitted with a knowing smile.
“We know we’re good,” Jeremy said. “And that’s why we want the best. You are still the best, aren’t you, Mr. Crawford?”
“What exactly are you proposing?” Sam asked crisply.
“Show us what you can come up with and let’s meet again in two weeks,” Mitch replied.
A tense pause ensued. Eventually, Sam tossed up his hands and turned to Lila. “What do you say?” he asked, throwing her a casual wink that caused her heart to reflexively lurch. “For old times?”
All eyes bored into her, waiting for her response. She stared at Sam, wide-eyed, searching his gaze for a hint of mockery and startling at the uncertainty she saw briefly shadow his face. Was he seriously agreeing to this ludicrous proposition? Because he needed it or because he’d rather work with her than walk away and let her have it? She couldn’t be sure, but the flicker that passed through his gaze only confirmed her suspicion. Something was up, and Sam wasn’t going to turn away this chance.
Well, neither was she.
