A Lot Like Christmas

by Dawn Atkins

  It was named after her because she was the light of their father’s life—all their lives, really. Starr had smoothed Marshall’s rough edges and oiled the friction between the two brothers, building a decent family out of the four of them. After she died, they’d fallen apart, bumped heads, scraped words, grieving in their separate ways.

  If emotions ruled, they couldn’t sell this place fast enough to suit Chase. But he did business based on facts, not feelings. So Chase would gather the data, drill down to the bottom line, then lay out the case for either keeping the mall or selling it based on what he found.

  Which likely wouldn’t resolve the issue. Fletcher was as stubborn as their father, whom they called the General. Marshall would never sell away his wife’s dream while Fletcher was convinced that selling was the only way to go.

  Chase took the stairs to the mall offices, where his father stood in the doorway to the meeting, munching on a pastry, a china cup puny in his big hand.

  “You’re holding up the show, son,” he boomed, his voice as big as his presence. Marshall McCann took up a lot of space. He motioned Chase inside.

  Sylvie looked startled to see him. “You’re sitting in? Oh. Okay.” She bit her lower lip, a move Chase felt below the belt. Sylvie had the most kissable mouth he’d ever tasted, before or since that ill-advised night.

  “Grab him a chair, would you, hon?” his father said to Sylvie. “And some of this good coffee, too.”

  “That’s not her job,” Chase said, shooting Sylvie an apologetic look. “I can get my own coffee.” He helped himself to a scone while he was at it and pulled up a chair.

  Sylvie stood there looking stunned. What the hell?

  “You all right?” he asked her, munching on the pastry. God, it was delicious. Tangy and moist. Sunni Ganesh knew how to roll dough, for sure.

  “The team’s on the field, let’s put the play in motion,” his father said, rolling his hands like a referee.

  Good grief. The man had gone from gruff to sexist to clownish in a few short words.

  “The team?” Sylvie’s smile went stiff as plaster.

  “That’s right,” his father said. “Team Starlight Desert Mall. Sylvie, meet your new head coach. And, Chase, Sylvie’s your able assistant coach. Let’s kick off.”

  “Head coach?” Sylvie repeated. “Does that mean…?” She turned to Chase. “You’re the new general manager?”

  “That’s the plan,” his father answered for him, beaming.

  “Oh.” Sylvie looked like she’d been punched in the gut. “I didn’t realize…” So much for easing her burden the way he’d expected. Judging from her stricken face and the storm clouds in her green eyes, Chase had just gone from hero to villain in ten seconds flat.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MARSHALL HAD GIVEN CHASE her job. Rocked by the news, Sylvie bumped the table, jarring the computer mouse so the first slide of her presentation flashed on the screen.

  It was a photograph of all the store owners grouped in front of the mall wearing sunglasses. Underneath, the caption read, The Future’s So Bright, We Have To Wear Shades.

  Meanwhile, Sylvie’s future had just gone black.

  Her loyalty, devotion, hard work and brilliance meant nothing. Marshall trusted family over her and that hurt. Bad.

  “Sylvie? Are you okay?” Chase asked.

  “Sorry. Yes. Let’s, um, get started, shall we?” She would go through her presentation and figure out a solution as she went along. She managed a smile at her audience, Chase and Marshall, who would determine her fate, her heart just aching.

  “In tough economic times, shoppers must be selective about where they shop and how much they spend.” She somehow kept her voice steady, her tone upbeat. As she spoke, she clicked through slides of the stores, one at a time, each with its owner in smiles and sunglasses. She’d been so proud of this presentation.

  Now she just felt sick.

  “Weary of huge malls, with their generic stores and indifferent salespeople, today’s shoppers want a place where cheerful, caring employees guide them to the goods they want at the prices they need. Just like the famous Cheers pub, they want to go where everybody knows their name.” She paused.

  “And where is that?” She tried for the grin she’d planned, but her face muscles lagged. “Starlight Desert Mall, of course, where our forty shops are one-of-a-kind, where every salesperson is eager to assist, where prices are fair and customers are treated like royalty.”

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, so she took a sip of water. “And how do we know this? We asked our customers!” She clicked through several charts from a recent survey and summarized the positive findings.

  Next came the tough part—the revenue dip.

  She flashed to the graph with its visible down-tick. “Though the general economic downturn has resulted in a slight drop for us, we’ve replaced four of the six lost tenants and in a blip of time we’ll hit our financial stride again.”

  She paused. “However, to be certain we were on firm ground, last week I met with a top mall renovation consultant and she declared us solidly positioned to survive the downturn. Here are some excerpts of her report.”

  Sylvie flashed quotes about the mall’s stability, its unique niche, its staying power.

  She glanced at Marshall, who was nodding along, clearly impressed. Chase’s face was neutral. Should that worry her? Maybe he just didn’t care. This was hardly his area of interest. He’d been a piss-poor manager those months he’d been in charge after Starr got sick, hardly there and unresponsive when he was. The rest of the team had soldiered on, leading themselves.

  And now he would be her boss. She made a fist of her nonmouse hand to contain her frustration.

  “Starlight Desert is what’s known in the industry as a ‘destination mall,’ she continued. “People don’t just go to the mall. They go to Starlight Desert. They know they’ll get a special shopping experience within these colorful walls. That’s why, in these difficult times, while generic malls lose revenue or close their doors, Starlight Desert will not only survive, we will thrive.” She paused for a breath.

  “Excellent presentation,” Marshall said, pushing himself heavily to his feet. “Thank you, Sylvie.”

  “Oh, I’m not finished yet.” She smiled at him.

  “That’s fine. I’ll let you and Chase carry on from here.”

  “You’re leaving?” She was stunned.

  “I think that’s best.” He looked briefly around the room. “Starr surely did love this place.” He cleared his throat, his smile wistful.

  But he couldn’t leave. Not when she’d worked so hard. “Please stay, Marshall. I’m nearly finished.” She held her breath, her heart banging her ribs, waiting for his answer.

  “Five minutes,” he said sternly, lowering himself again, his bushy eyebrows dipping into a frown. Marshall did not like to be disagreed with. Eccentric, obstinate and cranky, he gave Fletcher, his second-in-command, hell, according to Mary Beth.

  “Thank you.” Sylvie’s pulse raced. Make it good. Make it count. “The Black Friday promotion I’ve planned, ‘A Starlight Desert Christmas,’ will dramatically boost our revenues, but I’ll save that portion for another time—” she clicked quickly through those slides “—and move straight to what’s most crucial now—mall leadership.”

  She stopped at the slide that showed her career path, from gift wrapper, to mall maintenance crew, to cashier at the card shop, then hobby shop manager, GM secretary, marketing assistant, and finally operations manager for the past two years, where she handled the budget, maintenance, capital outlay and more.

  Marshall seemed restless, and Sylvie heard her voice tighten with tension as she explained how she’d cut expenses, negotiated discounts with vendors, met tenant needs in a timely fashion, been active with the Retail Association and coordinated community events—a heart-healthy foods cook-off, a karate kick-a-thon for cancer, a community theater production and a skateboard competition.

&
nbsp; These tasks were Mary Beth’s responsibility, but Sylvie had taken the lead, assisted by Olive, their part-time marketing assistant. Sylvie, like Starr before her, believed Starlight Desert should be as good a neighbor to the community as it was a family to the employees and shop owners.

  She clicked to the final slide of her and Sunni outside the bakery, Sunni with a basket of scones on one hip, sunglasses on the tops of both their heads, holding up red umbrellas on which Sylvie had stenciled The Starlight Desert Family: Together we weather any storm.

  Her cuticles still sported black spray paint from stenciling an umbrella for each tenant. She’d planned to hand them out on her walk-around announcing her new job.

  Then she delivered her bottom line: “I hope you can see that with my skills, experience and commitment, I’m uniquely suited to lead the Starlight Desert family through the economic storm into its bright and sunny future.”

  She stopped, her pulse throbbing in her ears, waiting for Marshall’s reaction. He looked bewildered and so did Chase.

  Eventually Marshall spoke. “We’re kind of caught off guard here, Sylvie. We hoped you’d stay on as operations manager as long as you remained in Phoenix.”

  “As long as I remained? What does that mean?”

  “Mary Beth let Fletcher know you were headed for Seattle. There’s someone special there?” He smiled faintly.

  Mary Beth told Fletcher about Steve? “Not anymore, no. I mean, we dated, but… Never mind.” No way was she discussing her love life with the McCanns. “The point is I’m not leaving.”

  “Well, then, that’s good news for us. You’d be tough to replace, in point of fact.” Marshall seemed to hesitate. He glanced at Chase, then cleared his throat again. “Which is why we’d like to, uh, offer you a bit of a salary increase.”

  “That’s nice and all, Marshall, and I know we’d have to hire someone for my old job, but I’d happily train that person.” She smiled, forcing more confidence into her voice than she felt. “With the holiday season approaching, we need strong, knowledgeable leadership. And that would be…me.”

  “No can do, Sylvie. I’m sorry. We feel this is best.”

  “I have to respectfully disagree. I—”

  “Let me tell you a personal story that might help you,” Marshall said. “When I was a young man, I worked as a clerk in a drugstore. I loved the job and before long they offered me a position as shift manager. I jumped at it—it was more money, more responsibility, more prestige. The only problem was—” he paused for effect “—I hated it. I was a terrific cashier, but a miserable manager. I should have stayed with what I loved, with what I was good at. Do you see my point?”

  “I’d be great as GM,” she said woodenly, feeling the ground slide beneath her. She was lost. “With all respect to Mary Beth, I’ve already taken on many of her tasks.”

  “And we appreciate that. You’re tremendous at what you do, so we want you to keep doing it. And at a higher salary, now, I insist.” He wagged a finger at her. “I’ll let you and Chase decide on the proper amount.”

  “It’s not about the money, Marshall,” she said, her mind a riot of arguments and despair. Marshall didn’t believe she was up to the job and that broke her heart. She hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

  “I’m sure you’ll come to see this arrangement is best for all concerned.” He stood, signaling the end of the discussion.

  Not for her. For her it was the worst. Her throat burned and she’d dug half-moons into her palms with her nails.

  “Can we count on you to stay with us? I’m sure MegaMalls would snap you up in a Mall-of-America minute.”

  “I’m happy here, Marshall. And I’ll do what’s best for the mall.” Her insides seemed to sag like her spirits.

  “We wouldn’t expect anything less. Hell, you’ve been practically part of our family.” Marshall leaned forward for another scone. “These things are sinful. Great coffee, too.”

  God, he did think of her as the snack girl.

  “I’ll leave you two to work out the playbook.” He lumbered out the door without looking back.

  If only Starr were alive. Starr would have known what was going on, how hard Sylvie worked, how qualified she was. Starr would have fixed this.

  Water wobbled in Sylvie’s eyes, but she would not let one tear drop in front of Chase, who stood and joined her, his expression uneasy and full of pity.

  “Look, I’ll be counting on you a lot, Sylvie,” he said, as if that made it better. “If you want we can comanage the place. How’s that? The title’s not a big deal to me.”

  Anger flared. “Well, it is to me. It’s a huge deal to me. And as far as comanaging goes, operations is a full-time job. So is the general manager’s if it’s done properly.”

  “Calm down, Sylvie. I’m on your side here.” He was trying to mollify her as if she were an angry child who’d lost her Popsicle.

  “Really? Then post my job and give me yours.”

  “That’s not possible at the moment.”

  “Then you’re not on my side.” She turned to go, before she said what she was really thinking. This reeked. She’d worked for every scrap of success and Chase had swooped in and stolen the dream job he thought was no big deal.

  If he ran it the same way he had last time, well, she wouldn’t stand for it. No, she wouldn’t.

  “Hold on,” he said, moving to block her from leaving. “Whatever you’re thinking about this, just stop. We can work this out. I promise you.”

  “What do you want with this job anyway? Don’t you have deals to broker somewhere else?” The words came out snottier than she’d intended.

  “Not at the moment, no,” he said, not seeming offended. “As a matter of fact, we’re starting a new project here. It’s different from what I usually do.”

  “Yeah?” she said. “What is it?” She had to be polite.

  “We’ll be building low-cost modular houses for first-time buyers who lost out in the mortgage crash. We’re calling it Home At Last.”

  “Wow. That is different.”

  “It’s nice to be on the ground with a project, actually building something tangible. Not numbers on paper.”

  “I imagine that must take a lot of time. Starting something like that.” How could he manage the mall, too?

  “My partner Chet handles the day-to-day stuff. My job is getting the investors, which means evening meetings, some showings, phone calls. It shouldn’t interfere with what I do here if that’s what concerns you.”

  “Oh,” she said. “If you’re sure then.” Now what? She wanted to hide somewhere to lick her wounds, but the mall came first. “So, exactly how do you figure we can work this out?”

  Chase looked at his watch, then grimaced. “We’ll go over it all tomorrow. I’ve got to meet with my partner.”

  “You’re leaving? On your first day? This isn’t a job you can just pop in and do for a few hours, Chase. We need a lot more than you gave us last time.” She stopped short, sucking in a breath at what she’d done—conjured up Starr’s illness.

  Pain washed across Chase’s face.

  “I’m sorry. That was the wrong thing to say.”

  He managed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll start fresh in the morning,” he said. “In the meantime, I need you to get me detailed revenue reports for the past two years, all your notes from the consultant’s visit and her full report, along with anything else that will give me a clearer idea of the mall’s status and revenue potential. Can you have that ready by the morning?”

  “Easily,” she said. Did he doubt her? Was he double-checking her work? Don’t say it, she told herself, gritting her teeth. It was too soon to pick a fight with the man.

  But she wouldn’t let him off easy, either. “If you can wait a moment, I can make you a copy of my presentation to go over tonight. Also, you might want to read through the mall policy manual. I have a great book on mall management you should dig into. You know, to get yourself up to speed.”r />
  “Tomorrow,” he said on a sigh. “We’ll get into that in the morning.” He looked suddenly weary, as if he’d rather be anywhere but there.

  He doesn’t want the job.

  The idea blasted through her, leaving hope in its wake. Maybe Chase would see that this responsibility was too much to juggle with his new business. Maybe he’d bail and Sylvie would be where she belonged, fully in charge of the mall she loved.

  Right. And maybe the mall Santa gave good little girls what they wanted for Christmas.

  PULLING INTO THE PARKING lot of the high-rise that held McCann Development, Chase left the BMW convertible Fletcher had loaned him and strode inside. He buzzed up the elevator, breezed through the glass-and-brass door and burst into his brother’s office, mad as hell.

  Fletcher looked up from the papers on his desk. “It’s customary to knock,” he said. “That’s why we put in doors.”

  “It’s also customary to get your facts right before you send someone to do a job for you.” He dropped into the leather chair opposite his brother’s fancy mahogany desk.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That was utter crap about Sylvie moving to Seattle. Worse, she wants the GM job, which, by the way, she’s qualified for. Wait until I tell her we’re considering selling the—”

  “Sylvie’s not getting married? Really?”

  “No, she’s not.” Chase eyed his brother. That was an odd detail to focus on. “Why? Are you interested in her? Still?”

  “No. Of course not.” But Fletcher’s face had turned I-lied red. After all these years. Hmm.

  Though who was Chase to talk? He’d felt sparks the moment he saw her again. And gotten that whole hold-still-and-be-here vibe stronger than ever. Not to mention how good she smelled.

  But he was human and they had history.

  A screwy history, but history nonetheless.

  “That’s what Mary Beth told me and she tracks the social stuff pretty damn close. So Sylvie’s not going to Seattle?”