“No.”
His lips thinned, and he turned back toward the car.
“Bryce.”
“I asked. You answered. We’re done here. I’d say no hard feelings, but I’m just not that nice of a guy.”
My hands were shaking as I handed him the Range Rover’s key.
He pushed the key—and my hand away. “It was a Christmas present, not an engagement ring.”
“I can’t.”
“I heard you the first time.” His voice broke. “Keep the fucking car, Mel.”
He yanked open the door, stepped up and slammed the door behind him. The truck bounced away.
Bal and Allie flew home on the twenty-eighth. On New Year’s Eve, the ball dropped while I fed and boozed Campion Gas workers at Skipper’s. Cas was still up when I got home. It felt as if more than a year had passed since I’d left for work, and I wanted more than anything to go to bed. Well, not anything. But since I’d fucked up so epically, at least asleep there was a fifty-percent chance of a sweet dream.
But Cas hauled me into the living room and sat me on the couch.
“You have to do something, Mel. I cannot spend the rest of the winter like this, with you moping around and checking the Campion Gas website all the time.”
“I called him. Twice. I got his voice mail.”
“What did you say?”
“Sorry. Call me. Please.” There’d been a lot more pleading. More than a few self-deprecating remarks. But still, silence.
“Then you’re going to have to go after him.”
“But—”
“Don’t you dare give me shit about the farm. Who the hell do you think did all the work while you were running around with him last week? And don’t tell me you haven’t been poking into my stuff on the computer, either.”
I jumped in. “They’re good ideas.”
“Yeah, they are.” She grinned at me. “I’m not going to fall apart, bro.”
“But you know the farm doesn’t pay enough to—”
“I got a job at Save-a-Lot.”
I stared.
She shoved me. “Well, I don’t think the pharmacy was going to take me back. Mr. Buchman put in a good word. If you’re here because of me or the farm, you don’t have to be. Where do you want to be, Mel?”
This time I was ready with the answer.
January 6 seemed like an auspicious enough date to find the familiar trailer next to a test drill on a field outside of Fairpoint, West Virginia.
I wiped my hands on my slacks and checked my tie in the mirror as a guy in a hard hat came over and rapped on my window.
“Can I help you?” he asked when I opened the door of the Range Rover.
“I’m here about a job.” Since pleading and groveling hadn’t worked, I thought Bryce might at least listen to more of a business proposal.
The guy stared at me as if he didn’t think I could possibly be serious, then pointed at the trailer. “Boss is in there.”
“Thanks.”
I had to stop to wipe the sweat off my hands again before I could manage to knock on the trailer door.
“Come in.”
That was his voice all right. As if there was another boss for Campion Gas with this trailer.
He glanced up and froze, wearing same thin-lipped smile I remembered from those fifty-percent of the dreams that weren’t so sweet.
“What do you want?”
“I’m here about a job.”
“What kind of job?” He swung his boots up onto the desk and leaned back, looking me over as if the only kind of answer could possibly be a blow job.
“The Environmental Health and Safety Coordinator.” I took the resume out of my portfolio and placed it on his desk.
“Requires a four year degree. And experience.”
“But that doesn’t stack up to a full working knowledge of the area. You need the help in Clinton County. I know every trout run in that county. I know who lives on what farm. I know the best spots for waste containment.”
He slid the paper back to me. “The job also requires superior interpersonal communications skills. Which we’ll both agree you lack.”
“And team building. I’m good in a team.”
“And travel.” He sat up abruptly, leaning across the desk. “I need someone who can be available anywhere, anytime, not tied down to one county.”
I met his gaze steadily. “I can do that. I’m ready to do that. Right now, in fact.”
He turned and grabbed a folder. “Excuse me for a minute.” He left the trailer.
It was a very long minute. Maybe this would go better if I stripped and waited for him in his bed. I fiddled with my tie.
He came back in, picked up my resume and handed it to me. “I’m sorry. But the position you were looking for is no longer available.” He opened the door. “Thanks for coming in, Mr. Halner.”
I wasn’t sure my legs were going to hold me up, but I managed to get to my feet. “Bryce.” My voice shook. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Mr. Campion, won’t you consider a second chance?”
“I can appreciate the risk you took in coming down here, but I’m sorry.” He stood by the door.
Somehow I got down the stairs and into the Range Rover. I’d optimistically checked out of my motel. I could make it back to Epiphany by dark. I turned the stereo up full blast so when it happened, I wouldn’t have to hear myself cry.
A swirling, synthetic thump of disco poured out of the speakers, before the singer began crooning, “Never Can Say Goodbye.”
I pulled off the road into a gas station, and popped the CD out. It was blank, except for one word written on it. “Mel.”
I knew I’d left a Slipknot CD in. No way was this an accident.
I spun the car around and sped back out of Fairpoint, the promise in the syrupy lyrics driving my foot harder on the accelerator.
As soon as the car stopped, I jumped down and slammed into the trailer. “You asshole. I can’t believe you let me leave.”
Bryce laughed as I barreled into him, then wrapped me in his arms. “You let me, first.”
“I’m sorry, okay? You didn’t have to do that. I’ve been sorry for two weeks in case you didn’t hear me.”
Bryce kissed me, smiling into my lips. “You turn down a public declaration of love but I land you with a diva of disco.”
I tugged on his belt. “You cocky son of a bitch. I can’t believe you weren’t waiting in bed for me.”
“I thought about it, but I figured I’d get through all the paperwork I could.” He walked over and locked the door.
“Here? Now?”
“There goes that thought bubble. You going to freak out again?” He waited, inches away from me, but not touching.
I grabbed his shirt and hauled him close.”Thought you knew how to pop it.”
“I do.”
I dragged him into his bedroom, but stopped just inside the door. “Does this mean I get the job?”
“I’ll take you on a probationary basis. Reevaluate your performance at six months. Or—”
I waited. My whole body hummed with how good it felt to be near him again. “Anything,” I found myself admitting.
“You could convince me of your commitment.”
I swallowed, but when I said it, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be, even though I’d never really understood before how big a risk it was. “I love you.”
He watched me for a second, as if he thought I’d take it back. “Well, look at that. Your thought bubble popped all on its own.”
About the Author
K.A. Mitchell discovered the magic of writing at an early age when she learned that a carefully crayoned note of apology sent to the kitchen in a toy truck would earn her a reprieve from banishment to her room. Her career as a spin-control artist was cut short when her family moved to a two-story house, and her trucks would not roll safely down the stairs. Around the same time, she decided that Chip and Ken made a much cuter couple than Ken and Barbi
e and was perplexed when invitations to play Barbie dropped off. She never stopped making stuff up, though, and was surprised to find out that people would pay her to do it. Although the men in her stories usually carry more emotional baggage than even LAX can lose in a year, she guarantees they always find their sexy way to a happy ending.
Baby, it’s cold outside…
A man receives the gift of pleasure at the hands of two expert lovers. Boyhood sweethearts get a second chance at romance. Two very proper gentlemen indulge their forbidden desires. A Christmas tree farmer has an epiphany. It may be cold outside, but these four holiday novellas will warm you up. Anthology includes:
My True Love Gave to Me by Ava March
Winter Knights by Harper Fox
Lone Star by Josh Lanyon
The Christmas Proposition by K.A. Mitchell
Stories also available for purchase separately.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9283-7
Copyright © 2011 by K.A. Mitchell
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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The Christmas Proposition Page 9
