Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss

by Barbara Wallace

  “Shouldn’t it be black? Being Black Friday and all.”

  “Technically, maybe, but red is far more festive.” They were stuck behind a returning trolley. Flicking her turn signal, she eased into the left lane to pass. A little boy with his face pressed to the window saw the car and waved. “I’m not sure a bunch of people running around in black would inspire Christmas spirit,” she continued.

  “Good point. All that really matters is that the red color stays on the people and not on my balance sheet.”

  “Said every retailer everywhere today.”

  “No one said we weren’t predictable,” he observed with a laugh.

  “You can say that again,” Noelle replied. Bad Black Friday jokes were as much a tradition as Santa in her office. Hardly surprising that a man raised in the retail industry knew his share of them. “Although not every retailer was born into a retail dynasty.”

  On his side of the car, James made what sounded like a snort. “Lucky me,” he replied.

  “I’m sure some people would think so. Ned used to tell me about the early days, when his parents weren’t sure the store would survive. He considered it a point of pride that Kevin would inherit a thriving business. I know we’re not talking the same thing as a multimillion-dollar national chain...”

  “Yeah,” James said, reaching back to rub his neck, “if there’s one thing my father knows how to do, it’s make money.”

  “As do you. According to Belinda anyway. It’s one of the reasons she chose to sell to Hammond’s in the first place. Because she liked the idea that you would be stepping into your father’s shoes. As she put it, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “That isn’t necessarily a compliment,” James replied.

  No, thought Noelle. She supposed it wasn’t. Especially if his father was like the man who’d arrived at their store two days ago. She thought him brusque and unsentimental. Absolutely hated the way he’d been focused solely on product and profit.

  Oddly enough, James’s comments today didn’t upset her. Oh, sure, he was just as focused on profit and efficiency, but rather than annoy her, James’s suggestions this time around had sounded incredibly astute. Probably because this time around, she liked him better.

  Which might also explain why she detected a bitter edge to James’s voice when she compared him to his father. “Don’t you and your father get along?” she asked.

  “Let’s say my father does his thing, and I do mine,” he said when she cast him a look. “It’s a system that’s worked quite well for us for a number of years.”

  Work or not, it sounded lacking. “I can’t help but wonder,” she said, “if some of these cynicisms of yours are exaggerated.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, you can’t hate your family too much if you work for the family business.”

  He stiffened. “I work for the family business because I’m good at it. Like you said, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Not to mention that if I didn’t, Hammond’s wouldn’t be a family business anymore,” he added in a softer voice.

  “There aren’t any other family members?”

  “None that are around,” he said in a chilly voice. Clearly, it was a touchy subject.

  Figuring it best to move on, Noelle focused on the rhythm of her windshield wipers going back and forth in the snow. Too bad the wipers couldn’t swipe away the awkwardness that had overtaken the car.

  As they got closer to downtown Fryberg, the road narrowed to one lane. Thanks to the snow, the already slower than normal traffic was reduced to a crawl. Only the castle trolley, which traveled in the bus lane, made any progress. Looking to the passenger seat, James was attempting to lean against the headrest without pressing on his stitches and not having much luck. His brow was furrowed and his mouth drawn into a tense line. Was he agitated because he was uncomfortable or from her uncomfortable question? Either way, it made Noelle anxious to see.

  The sign for Bloomberg’s Pharmacy caught her eye, giving her an idea. “Think your head can handle the snow?” she asked.

  “It won’t melt, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied.

  “Good.” With a flick of her directional handle, she eased the car to the right.

  “From here until the central parking lot, traffic’s going to be slower than molasses. I’ll park at the drugstore and we can walk.”

  James’s frown deepened. “Walk where?”

  “To the Christmas market, remember?”

  “Hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies. How could I forget?”

  “You left out Christmas spirit,” she said. “I thought maybe we could find you some. That way you don’t have to rely on your marketing department to give your business heart.”

  “I told you yesterday, it’s going to take a lot more than some midwestern Christmas craft fair.”

  Maybe, but a day at the market might make him smile. And for some reason, that was suddenly important to her.

  * * *

  Noelle swore the Christmas Kickoff got larger every year. At least the crowds did. Seemed to her that in middle school, she and Kevin darted from booth to booth without having to fight the flow of traffic.

  James cut through the crowd like it was human butter. Hands in his coat pockets, he walked past the various stalls and vendors with such authority, the people naturally parted upon his approach. Noelle walked beside him and marveled.

  Part of the deference had to be caused by his looks. He was, by far, the most handsome man there. The wind had burned his cheekbones pink while his hair and coat were dappled with snowy droplets. Dark and bright at the same time.

  He looked over at her with eyes that refracted the light. “Where is this chocolate maker of yours?” he asked.

  “I’m not quite sure.” Rising on tiptoe, she tried to scan the aisle, but there were too many people taller than her. “In the past, Mr. Heineman liked to take a stall toward the rear.”

  “Then to the rear we go,” he replied. “Like salmon heading upstream. This cocoa better be everything you claim it to be.”

  “Better. I promise, you’ll be addicted.” Mr. Heineman had a secret recipe that made the cocoa smooth and spicy at the same time.

  “Addicted, huh? You’re setting a pretty high bar, Mrs. Fryberg.”

  “It’s not high if it’s true,” she told him with a grin.

  And there it was. The start of a smile. Like a lot of his smiles, it didn’t reach his eyes, but they had all afternoon. After the way he’d closed off in the car, she was determined to pull a bona fide grin out of him before they were finished.

  She’d contemplate why the mission mattered so much later.

  “Coming through!” Four teenage boys wearing matching school jackets were pushing their way through the crowd with the obnoxious aggression of teenage boys. The tallest of the four crashed his shoulder into Noelle. As she pitched sideways, an arm grabbed her waist. Instead of taking a face full of snow, she found herself pressed against cashmere-covered warmth.

  “Looks like it’s your turn to get knocked over,” James said, his chest vibrating against her cheek as he spoke. “You all right?”

  “Right as rain.” His coat smelled faintly of expensive aftershave while his shirt smelled of her orange body wash. A subtle combination that tempted a woman to rest her head. Okay, tempted her. Instead, she pressed a palm to his shoulder to steady herself. “We do have a habit of falling around each other,” she said. “Thank you for catching me. In this crowd, I might have gotten trampled.”

  “That would definitely kill your Christmas spirit.” Among other things. “Maybe you should hold on in case you get jostled again.”

  Noelle stared at the arm he was holding out for a moment, then wrapped a hand around his biceps. The curve of his muscles was evident ev
en through the coat, reminding her that his vulnerability over the past few days was an exception. All of a sudden she felt decidedly dainty and very female. Her insides quivered. To steady herself, she gripped his arm tighter.

  “Hey? Everything all right?”

  He was looking down at her with concern, his eyes again bending the light like a pair of brown-and-green prisms.

  “F-f-fine,” she replied, blinking the vision away.

  “You sure? You seemed a little unsteady for a moment.”

  “Must be your imagination. I’m steady as can be,” she told him. Or would be, so long as she didn’t meet his gaze.

  She met his gaze.

  “Are you sure? Because we could...”

  It had to be a trick of the light because his pupils looked very large all of a sudden.

  “Could what?” she managed to ask.

  “Go...” His gaze dropped to her lips.

  Noelle’s mouth ran dry.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “GO,” JAMES REPEATED. “I mean... Back to the sidewalk. Where it’s not as crowded.” He shook the cotton from his brain. Was that what he meant? He’d lost his train of thought when she looked up at him, distracted by the sheen left by the snow on her dampened skin. Satiny smooth, it put tempting ideas in his head.

  Like kissing her.

  “Don’t be silly,” she replied. For a second, James thought she’d read his mind and meant the kiss, especially after she pulled her arm free from his. “It’s a few inches of snow, not the frozen tundra. I think I can handle walking, crowd or no crowd. Now, I don’t know about you, but I want my hot cocoa.”

  She marched toward the end of the aisle, the pom-pom on her hat bobbing in time with her steps. James stood and watched until the crowd threatened to swallow her up before following.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Since when did he think about kissing the people he did business with? Worse, Noelle was an employee. Granted, a very attractive, enticing one, but there were a lot of beautiful women working in the Boston office and never once had he contemplated pulling one of them against him and kissing her senseless.

  Then again, none of them ever challenged him either. Nor did they walk like the majorette in a fairy band.

  It had to be the drone. He’d read that concussions could cause personality changes. Lord knows, he’d been acting out of character for days now, starting with agreeing to stay for Thanksgiving.

  It certainly explained why he was standing in the middle of this oversize flea market when he could—should—be working. Honestly, did the people in this town ever do anything at a normal scale? Everywhere he looked, someone was pushing Christmas. Holiday sweaters. Gingerbread cookies. One vendor was literally making hand-blown Christmas ornaments on the spot. Further proof he wasn’t himself, James almost paused because there was one particularly incandescent blue ornament that was a similar shade to Noelle’s eyes.

  The lady herself had stopped at a booth selling scented lotions and soaps wrapped in green-and-gold cellophane. “Smell this,” she said, when he caught up with her. She held an open bottle of skin cream under his nose, and he caught the sweet smell of vanilla.

  “It’s supposed to smell like a Christmas cookie,” she said. “What do you think?”

  “I like the way your skin smells better.” He spoke automatically. It wasn’t until her eyes looked down and away that he realized how his answer sounded.

  “I’m not a huge fan of vanilla,” he quickly amended. “I prefer citrus smells.”

  “We have a holly berry scent which is fruity,” the vendor said, reaching for a different sample. “Maybe you’ll like this one better.”

  “I don’t think...” Before Noelle could finish, the saleswoman grabbed her hand and squirted a circle of pale pink cream on her exposed wrist. “Scents smell different on than they do in the bottle,” she said as she massaged the lotion into Noelle’s skin. “That’s why it’s always best to try the sample out before you buy. What do you think? Fruity, eh?”

  She started to lift Noelle’s wrist, but James intercepted. Keeping his eyes on hers, he raised her wrist to his nose and inhaled. Traces of berry mingled with the orange blossom. “Better,” he said.

  Noelle was staring at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth, and he instantly thought about nibbling her lip himself. “But you don’t need it,” he finished. The scent and/or the nibbling.

  He, on the other hand, was definitely going to see a neurologist when he got back to Boston.

  For the second time, she slipped free of his touch. “I—I’ll have to think about it,” she told the saleswoman.

  “Don’t think too long,” the woman replied. “I sell out every year.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” James replied. Noelle had already moved along.

  “Sorry about that,” he said when he caught up. He noticed she’d stuffed both her hands deep into her coat pockets. “I didn’t realize she was going to make me smell your skin.”

  “The lady was definitely working for the sale.”

  “Vendors at these things always are.”

  They were conveniently ignoring that James was not a man who people made do anything, as well as the fact he could have sampled the scent without brushing the tip of his nose across her skin. “I hope my comment didn’t stop you buying something.”

  “Of course not. I know what I like and don’t like.”

  “I’m sure you do,” he replied. In this case, as she’d twice demonstrated, she didn’t like sharing any more personal space with him than necessary.

  Message received. Copying her, he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  “Heineman’s Chocolatiers is straight ahead,” she said, nodding toward the red-and-white-striped stall fifty yards away. “Doesn’t look like there’s too much of a line either.”

  Considering the crowds, that didn’t bode too well for the chocolate. One would think the greatest cocoa in the world would have lines a mile long.

  A burly man with gray bushy hair peeping out from beneath a Santa hat waved to them as they approached. “There’s my Noelle! I wondered when I would see you!” Leaning over the table, he wrapped Noelle in a hug. His arms were so massive she nearly disappeared from view. “It’s good to see you, child. Merry Christmas!”

  Noelle replied something that sounded like “Murry Chrfmaf!” before breaking free. “It’s good to see you too. I’ve been dreaming about your hot chocolate since last December.”

  “You say that every year.”

  “I mean it every year. You know it’s not Christmas until I have my Heineman’s Hot Chocolate fix.”

  James got a twinge in his stomach. Noelle wore a smile brighter than anything he’d seen on her face. Brighter than anyone had ever smiled around him actually.

  “This is James Hammond,” she said. “His company purchased the store.”

  “I read in the paper that Belinda had retired and sold the business. I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did after Ned’s death. The store was always more his, and with Kevin gone...”

  The man paused to wipe at a spot of dried chocolate with his hand. An impromptu moment of silence.

  “I’m surprised she didn’t have you take over,” he said once the moment ended.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t worked long enough to have the experience,” Noelle said. “I also didn’t have the kind of money Mr. Hammond put up.”

  “I read that in the paper too. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hammond.”

  “Same here,” James replied. “Noelle has been raving about your hot chocolate all day. She swears it has magical properties.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Noelle shot back. “I said it tasted magical.”

  “Auch! You and that man of yours were always saying that. Ever since you were in jun
ior high.

  “Did she tell you about her man?” he asked James.

  “Some,” he replied.

  The old man nodded. “Kevin Fryberg. Belinda’s son. Fine young man. A true hero.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Left a hole in the town when he died,” Mr. Heineman continued. “A huge hole. Can’t imagine how Belinda coped. Or this one.”

  Noelle was looking down and fingering a tiny tear in the plastic tablecloth. Her cheeks had turned a darker shade of pink. “Mr. Heineman...”

  But the vendor didn’t get her hint. “Did she tell you how he died?” James shook his head, eager to learn details his research couldn’t. “Truck rolled over and blew up while he was trying to pull one of his men free.”

  A true hero, like the man said. Bet he was a great guy through and through. The kind of guy who was easy to fall for. “Pretty amazing,” James replied.

  “The whole town loved him,” Mr. Heineman repeated. “Isn’t that so?”

  Noelle, who still hadn’t said anything beyond his name, nodded. “Everyone,” she repeated softly.

  “And this one... Joined at the hip, the two of them. Kevin Fryberg and the little Manger Baby. They made the perfect couple.”

  “Mr. Heineman...” This time, the words came out a little stronger, whether because of unwanted memories or the Manger Baby comment, James wasn’t sure. Probably unwanted memories, considering how she started twitching the moment Kevin’s name came up.

  Personally, James wanted to hate the man—Kevin—but he couldn’t. It was impossible to hate a saint. Instead he jammed his hands down deeper into his pockets.

  * * *

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I promised Mr. Hammond hot chocolate, not a trip down memory lane.” Noelle did her best to smile brightly as she cut the older man off. “I need to prove to him that the drink’s worth bragging about.”

  “Of course it’s worth bragging about. Two cups of Heineman’s Hot Chocolate coming right up.”

  “Prepare to be blown away,” she said to James with an enthusiasm she no longer felt.