Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss

by Barbara Wallace

  A warm hand settled on her shoulder. “I wish things could stay the same too,” Belinda said, “but time marches on no matter how hard we try to stop it. Ned’s gone, Kevin’s gone, and I just don’t have the energy to run this place by myself anymore.

  “Besides, a chain like Hammond’s can invest capital in this place that I don’t have.”

  Capital, sure, but what about heart? Compassion was part of the Fryberg DNA. Noelle still remembered that day in sixth grade when Kevin invited her to his house and she felt the family’s infectious warmth for the very first time.

  “I don’t fault you for wanting to retire,” she said, leaning ever so slightly into the older woman’s touch. “I just wish you hadn’t sold to such a Grinch.”

  “He is serious, isn’t he?” Belinda chuckled. “Must be all that dour Yankee heritage.”

  “Dour? Try frozen. The guy has about as much Christmas spirit as a block of ice.”

  Her mother-in-law squeezed her shoulder. “Fortunately for us, you have enough Christmas spirit for a dozen people. You’ll keep the spirit alive. Unless you decide to move on, that is.”

  Noelle tried for tongue biting again and failed. They’d had this conversation before. It was another one of the reasons Belinda sold the business instead of simply retiring. She insisted Noelle not be tied down by the family business. A reason Noelle found utterly silly.

  “You know I have zero intention of ever leaving Fryberg,” she said.

  “Oh, I know you think that now. But you’re young. You’re smart. There’s an entire world out there beyond Fryberg’s Toys.”

  Noelle shook her head. Not for her there wasn’t. The store was too big a part of her.

  It was all of her, really.

  Her mother-in-law squeezed her shoulder again. “Kevin and Ned wouldn’t want you to shortchange your future any more than I do.”

  At the mention of her late husband’s wishes, Noelle bit back a familiar swell of guilt.

  “Besides,” Belinda continued, heading toward her desk. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll impress Mr. Hammond so much, he’ll promote you up the corporate ladder.”

  “Him firing me is more likely,” Noelle replied. She recalled how sharp Hammond’s gaze had become when she dared to challenge him. Oh, yeah, she could picture him promoting her, all right.

  “You never know” was all Belinda said. “I better go get ready for lunch. Don’t want to keep our Mr. Hammond waiting. Are you joining us?”

  And continue bonding with Mr. Hammond over a bowl of gingerbread soup? Thanks, but no thanks. “I think Mr. Hammond and I have had enough contact for the day. Better I save my tongue and let you and Todd fill me in on the visit later.”

  “That reminds me. On your way out, can you stop by Todd’s office and let his secretary know that if he calls in after the funeral, I’d like to talk with him?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Her answer was buried by the sound of the phone ringing.

  “Oh, dear,” Belinda said upon answering. “This is Dick Greenwood. I’d better take it. Hopefully, he won’t chat my ear off. Will you do me another favor and give Mr. Hammond a tour of the floor while I’m tied up?”

  So much for being done with the man. “Of course.” She’d donate a kidney if Belinda asked.

  “And be nice.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The kidney would have been easier.

  * * *

  “You’re not going to have an insubordination problem, are you?”

  On the other end of the line, Jackson Hammond’s voice sounded far away. James might have blamed the overseas connection except he knew better. Jackson Hammond always sounded distant.

  Struggling to keep the phone tucked under his ear, he reached for the paper towels. “Problem?” he repeated. “Hardly.”

  With her short black hair and red sweater dress, Noelle Fryberg was more of an attack elf. Too small and precious to do any real damage.

  “Only reason she was in the meeting was because the new general manager had to attend a funeral, and she’s the assistant GM.” And because she was family. Apparently, the concept mattered to some people.

  He shrugged and tossed his wadded towel into the basket. “Her objections were more entertaining than anything.”

  He’d already come to the same conclusion regarding the Fryberg name, but it was fun seeing her try to stare him into capitulation. She had very large, very soulful eyes. Her glaring at him was like being glared at by a kitten. He had to admire the effort though. It was more than a lot of—hell, most—people.

  “All in all, the transition is going smooth as silk. I’m going to tour the warehouse this afternoon.” And then hightail it back to the airstrip as soon as possible. With any luck, he’d be in Boston by eight that evening. Noelle Fryberg’s verve might be entertaining, but not so much that he wanted to stick around Christmas Land a moment longer than necessary.

  “Christmas is only four weeks away. You’re going to need that distribution center linked into ours as soon as possible.”

  “It’ll get done,” James replied. The reassurance was automatic. James learned a long time ago that his father preferred his world run as smoothly as possible. Complications and problems were things you dealt with on your own.

  “If you need anything from my end, talk with Carli. I’ve asked her to be my point person while I’m in Vienna.”

  “Thank you.” But James wouldn’t need anything from his father’s end. He’d been running the corporation for several years now while his father concentrated on overseas and other pet projects—like his new protégé, Carli, for example.

  Then again, he hadn’t needed his father since his parents’ divorce. About the time his father made it clear he didn’t want James underfoot. Not wanting their eldest son around was the one thing Jackson Hammond and his ex-wife had in common.

  “How is the trip going?” James asked, turning to other, less bitter topics.

  “Well enough. I’m meeting with Herr Burns in the morning...” There was a muffled sound in the background. “Someone’s knocking at the door. I have to go. We’ll talk tomorrow, when you’re back in the office.”

  The line disconnected before James had a chance to remind him tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Not that it mattered. He’d still be in the office.

  He was always in the office. Wasn’t like he had a family.

  * * *

  Belinda was nowhere in sight when James stepped into the hallway. Instead, he found the daughter-in-law waiting by the elevator, arms again hugging her chest. “Belinda had to take a call with Dick Greenwood,” she told him.

  “I’m sorry” was his automatic reply. Greenwood was a great vendor, but he was notorious for his chattiness. James made a point of avoiding direct conversations if he could.

  Apparently, the daughter-in-law knew what he meant, because the corners of her mouth twitched. About as close to a smile as he’d seen out of her. “She said she’ll join you as soon as she can. In the meantime, she thought you’d like a tour of the retail store.”

  “She did, did she?” More likely, she thought it would distract him while she was stuck on the phone.

  Noelle shrugged. “She thought it would give you an idea of the foot traffic we handle on a day-to-day basis.”

  He’d seen the sales reports; he knew what kind of traffic they handled. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check out the store. Hammond’s was always on the lookout for new ways to engage their customers. “Are you going to be my guide?” he asked, reaching across to hit the elevator button.

  “Yes, I am.” If she thought he missed the soft sigh she let out before speaking, she was mistaken.

  All the more reason to take the tour.

  The doors opened, and James motioned for her to step in first. Partly to be a ge
ntleman, but mostly because holding back gave him an opportunity to steal a surreptitious look at her figure. The woman might be tiny, but she was perfectly proportioned. Make that normally proportioned, he amended. Too many of the women he met had try-hard figures. Worked out and enhanced to artificial perfection. Noelle looked fit, but she still carried a little more below than she did on top, which he appreciated.

  “We bill ourselves as the country’s largest toy store,” Noelle said once the elevator doors shut. “The claim is based on square footage. We are the largest retail space in the continental US. This weekend alone we’ll attract thousands of customers.”

  “Black Friday weekend. The retailers’ best friend,” he replied. Then, because he couldn’t resist poking the bee’s nest a little, he added, “That is, until Cyber Monday came along. These days we move almost as much inventory online. Pretty soon people won’t come out for Black Friday at all. They’ll do their shopping Thanksgiving afternoon while watching TV.”

  “Hammond’s customers might, but you can’t visit a Christmas wonderland via a computer.”

  That again. He turned to look at her. “Do you really think kids five or six years from now are going to care about visiting Santa Claus?”

  “Of course they are. It’s Santa.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but kids are a little more realistic these days. They grow fast. Our greeting card fantasy holiday is going to get harder and harder to sell.”

  “Especially if you insist on calling it a fantasy.”

  What should he call it? Fact? “Belinda wasn’t kidding when she said you were loyal, was she?”

  “The Frybergs are family. Of course I would be loyal.”

  Not necessarily, but James didn’t feel like arguing the point.

  “Even if I weren’t—related that is—I’d respect what Ned and Belinda created.” She crossed her arms. Again. “They understood that retail is about more than moving inventory.”

  Her implication was clear: she considered him a corporate autocrat who was concerned solely with the bottom line. While she might be correct, he didn’t intend to let her get away with the comment unchallenged.

  Mirroring her posture, he tilted his head and looked straight at her. “Is that so? What exactly is it about then?”

  “People, of course.”

  “Of course.” She was not only loyal, but naive. Retail was all about moving product. All the fancy window dressing she specialized in was to convince people to buy the latest and greatest, and then to buy the next latest and greatest the following year. And so on and so forth.

  At that moment, the elevator opened and before them lay Fryberg’s Toys in all its glory. Aisle upon aisle of toys, spread out like a multicolored promised land. There were giant stuffed animals arranged by environment, lions and tigers in the jungle, cows and horses by the farm. Construction toys were spread around a jobsite, around which cars zipped on a multilevel racetrack. There was even a wall of televisions blasting the latest video games. A special display for every interest, each one overflowing with products for sale.

  “Oh, yeah,” he murmured, “it’s totally about the people.”

  A remote-control drone zipped past their heads as they walked toward the center aisle. A giant teddy bear made of plastic building bricks marked the entrance like the Colossus of Rhodes.

  “It’s like Christmas morning on steroids,” he remarked as they passed under the bear’s legs.

  “This is the Christmas Castle, after all. Everything should look larger-than-life and magical. To stir the imagination.”

  Not to mention the desire for plastic bricks and stuffed animals, thought James.

  “Santa’s workshop and the Candy Cane Forest are located at the rear of the building,” she said pointing to an archway bedecked with painted holly and poinsettia. “That’s also where Ned’s model train layout is located. It used to be a much larger section, but now it’s limited to one room-size museum.”

  Yet something else lost to the march of time, James refrained from saying. The atmosphere was chilly enough. Looking around he noticed their aisle led straight toward the archway, and that the only way to avoid Santa was to go to the end, turn and head back up a different aisle.

  He nodded at the arch. “What’s on the other side?” he asked.

  “Other side of what?”

  “Santa’s woods or whatever it is.”

  “Santa’s workshop and Candy Cane Forest,” she corrected. “There’s a door that leads back into the store, or they can continue on to see the reindeer.”

  “Meaning they go home to purchase their child’s wish item online from who-knows-what site.”

  “Or come back another day. Most people don’t do their Christmas shopping with the kids in tow.”

  “How about in April, when they aren’t Christmas shopping? They walk outside to see the reindeer and poof! There goes your potential sale.”

  That wouldn’t do at all. “After the kids visit Santa, the traffic should be rerouted back into the store so the parents can buy whatever it is Little Susie or Johnny wished for.”

  “You want to close off access to the reindeer?”

  She needn’t look so horrified. It wasn’t as though he’d suggested euthanizing the creatures. “I want customers to buy toys. And they aren’t going to if they are busy looking at reindeer. What’s that?”

  He pointed to a giant moose-like creature wearing a Santa’s hat and wreath and standing to the right of the archway. It took up most of the wall space, forcing the crowd to congregate toward the middle. As a result, customers looking to walk past the archway to another aisle had to battle a throng of children.

  “Oh, that’s Fryer Elk, the store mascot,” Noelle replied. “Ned created him when he opened the store. Back in the day, he appeared in the ads. They retired him in the eighties and he’s been here ever since.”

  “He’s blocking the flow of traffic. He should be somewhere else.”

  For a third time, James got the folded arm treatment. “He’s an institution,” she replied, as if that was reason enough for his existence.

  He could be Ned Fryberg standing there stuffed himself, and he would still be hindering traffic. Letting out a long breath, James reached into his breast pocket for his notebook. Once the sale was finalized, he would send his operations manager out here to evaluate the layout.

  “You really don’t have any respect for tradition, do you?” Noelle asked.

  He peered over his pen at her. Just figuring this out, was she? That’s what happened when you spent a fortune crafting a corporate image. People started believing the image was real.

  “No,” he replied. “I don’t. In fact...” He put his notebook away. “We might as well get something straight right now. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing that matters is making sure Hammond’s stays profitable for the next fifty years. Everything else can go to blazes.”

  “Everything,” she repeated. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Everything, and that includes elks, tradition and especially Chris—”

  He never got a chance to finish.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FOUR STITCHES AND a concussion. That’s what the emergency room doctor told Noelle. “He’s fortunate. Those props can do far worse,” she added. “Your associates really shouldn’t be flying remote-control drones inside.”

  “So they’ve been told,” Noelle replied. In no uncertain terms by James Hammond once he could speak.

  The drone had slammed into the back of his head, knocking him face-first into a pile of model racecar kits. The sight of the man sprawled on the floor might have been funny if not for the blood running down the back of his skull. Until that minute, she’d been annoyed as hell at the man for his obvious lack of respect toward Fryberg tradition. Seeing the blood darkening his hair qui
ckly checked her annoyance. As blood was wont to do.

  That was until she turned him over and he started snarling about careless associates and customer safety. Then she went back to being annoyed. Only this time, it was because the man had a point. What if the drone had struck a customer—a child? Things could have been even worse. As it was, half of Miss Speroni’s first grade class was probably going to have nightmares from witnessing the accident.

  Then there was the damage to James Hammond himself. Much as she disliked the man, stitches and a concussion were nothing to sneeze at.

  “How long before he’s ready for discharge?” she asked.

  “My nurse is bandaging the stitches right now,” the doctor replied. “Soon as I get his paperwork written up, he’ll be all yours.”

  Oh, goodie. Noelle didn’t realize she’d gotten custody. She went back to the waiting room where Belinda was finishing up a phone call.

  “Bob is working on a statement for the press,” her mother-in-law told her. “And we’re pulling the product off the shelves per advice from the lawyers. Thankfully, the incident didn’t get caught on camera so we won’t have to deal with that. I doubt Mr. Hammond would like being a social media sensation.”

  “I’m not sure Mr. Hammond likes much of anything,” Noelle replied. She was thinking of the remark he made right before the drone struck him. “Did you know, he actually said he doesn’t like Christmas? How can the man think that and run a store like Hammond’s?” Or Fryberg’s.

  “Obviously, his disdain hasn’t stopped him from doubling Hammond’s profits over the past two years,” Belinda replied. “What matters isn’t that he like Christmas, but that he keeps the people in Fryberg employed, which he will.”

  “Hope they like working for Mr. Frosty. Did you know he wants to get rid of Fryer?”