Once Upon a Christmas Eve

by Christine Flynn

  All he cared about just then was that she hadn’t any more dizzy spells. Still hearing fatigue in her voice, it relieved him, too, to know she’d had a little extra help that week and that for the moment at least, she wasn’t in her bistro, taking care of a dozen things at once.

  As he admitted to her that he could now see why she hadn’t gone to her surrogate uncle and they moved on to talk about when she might tell her family about her baby, he felt relieved, too, by the easy way she’d accepted his having told his partner about her circumstances.

  He’d been struck before by her undemanding sense of forgiveness, her understanding. Not caring to examine why he was so drawn by that, he concentrated on what she said about finding the right time to break her news.

  He suggested she do it right after she got her copy of the countersigned agreement back. Then, in a few days, it would be over with.

  “Just tell them. You’ll feel better,” he insisted. “It’ll be like dropping a hundred-pound weight.”

  He expected her hesitation. He just hadn’t fully anticipated its cause.

  “I doubt I could get them all together this week,” she finally prefaced, not sounding totally convinced of his logic anyway. “But about the agreement. There’s something you need to know.” The ease left her voice. “The monthly reports I’ll send to your accounting department aren’t going to show quite what you expect.

  “I agreed to sign with the wage and benefit restrictions. And I will. I’m just not going to cut anyone’s pay or benefits. It won’t affect your investors’ profit margin at all,” she assured him in a rush. “I promise. I’ll just make up the difference out of the increase you show I’ll have in my salary. I just wanted you to know that because whoever gets that first report will probably freak when they see my payroll.”

  He could practically see her holding her breath. His own came out in a heavy sigh.

  What she intended to do totally defeated part of what he wanted for her. At the very least, she wouldn’t be able to afford her bigger apartment.

  “Max?” she asked.

  Rising, he drew his hand down his face.

  “Really,” she insisted, at his silence. “It won’t affect anything. I’ll just deposit part of my salary back into the partnership account. It’s all just a matter of bookkeeping.”

  It affects you, he wanted to say. “You’re right,” he muttered, instead. “It won’t affect their profits. Look. Don’t mail the agreement. Are you going to be home today?”

  “I need to leave in a while. But I should be back by six.” She hesitated. “Why?”

  “I’ll come by after that and pick it up. I leave for Chicago in the morning, but I’ll sign it and leave it with legal before I go.”

  She seemed relieved. Or maybe the relief was there because he hadn’t questioned her totally unacceptable plan to take care of her employees.

  She was good at that. Taking care of people.

  She’d paused again, her silence making him think she had more to say. Apparently deciding not to push her luck, she opted to tell him she’d see him later, then, and left him staring at the phone in his hand.

  The longer he sat there, the more he disliked what she intended to do. And the more convinced he became that it was time she let someone do something for her for a change.

  He didn’t bother to wonder why he wanted to be that someone. As he finally tossed the phone aside, all that mattered was that he knew exactly what that something should be.

  Chapter Eight

  It had seemed to Tommi as if all of Seattle had jammed itself into the wreath-and-garland-draped Pacific Place mall. She hadn’t had much choice other than to brave the masses, though. Not with only one other full day off before Christmas.

  Even with the sheer number of bodies reducing the odds of seeing anyone she knew, she’d been on her way to Barney’s when she’d seen her mom and Georgie a level down across the wide atrium.

  She regarded it a fair indication of how messed up her life had become that she promptly ducked her head and hurried on.

  Since her cell phone hadn’t chimed, they hadn’t seen her. Still, guilt continued to nag at her for the way she’d been avoiding her family in general when she finally headed up the four flights of stairs from the garage to her third-floor apartment with her six shopping bags, her purse and a two-foot-high fiber-optic Christmas tree. Faux was as good as it was going to get this year.

  She’d wanted to be out of the miserable cold and sheeting rain and home before six. Since she had only a few minutes before Max would be downstairs buzzing her apartment to let him in, she hurried as best she could. Until a couple of months ago, she could jog up all four flights and her lungs would barely notice it. Anymore, even without the packages, she tended to be out of breath by the time she reached the second floor.

  She didn’t even want to think about what the trek would feel like in five months. Or how she was going to handle the increased management responsibilities of an expansion and training more staff and being a new mom. What she did want was to crawl into bed, pull the blankets over her head and not wake up until summer. Then, when she did wake up, she wanted to find out that everything she’d been dealing with the past few months had just been a bad dream.

  Readjusting the bag holding six tall rolls of Christmas wrap, she turned into the hall leading to her apartment.

  Max was already there.

  He leaned against the wall by her door, his squall jacket tossed over one shoulder of his heavy pullover, hands on the hips of his cargo pants.

  Before she could do much more than hesitate at the unfamiliar reserve carved in his face, he unfolded his long frame and started toward her.

  His glance swept hers, his brow pinching as he took the tree.

  “How did you get in?” she asked, still clutching the only bag that wasn’t looped over an arm.

  “Essie buzzed me up.”

  She tried to look at her watch. Between her heavy coat sleeve and the bag handles holding the fabric down, she couldn’t see it. “I didn’t think I was late.”

  “You’re not. Give me those.”

  He closed in on her again, six feet of commanding masculinity that smelled of expensive aftershave and the butter mints Essie kept on her coffee table. As she gratefully turned over the heaviest of the bags, what she noticed most were the deepening lines in his forehead.

  “What’s in here?” he asked, still at her shoulder as she stuck her key into her door lock.

  “Books.”

  “Like what,” he muttered. “A set of encyclopedia?”

  She felt guilty about her family, more overwhelmed than she dare admit by the changes taking place in her life and aware of him in ways she thought best not to consider, considering how badly she needed the calm in his touch. Still, she managed a smile.

  “Close. I bought a vampire series for Bobbie’s fiancé’s daughter and a six-volume history of martial arts for his son.” Keys rattled as she moved from upper lock to lower. “And a coffee-table book for Mom.”

  “Why didn’t you leave all this in your car and let me bring it up? You knew I was coming.”

  She had the door open. With him behind her, she couldn’t see his frown, but she could hear it in his voice. It was that unmistakable displeasure with her that had her regarding him a little skeptically when she stepped aside for him to enter.

  Rather than tell him it hadn’t occurred to her to impose on him, she let the admonishment go and motioned into her living room.

  “Just put them anywhere.”

  Conscious of her caution, Max headed past a pillow-strewn sofa and the coffee table holding side-by-side copies of the agreement she’d been sent. The modest space wasn’t at all what he’d expected. Still, it suited her just the same. The colors in her bistro were bright, edgy, bold. What she surrounded herself with in her home gave the impression of nature having come indoors. Everything was shades of green, pale cream, taupe or rich espresso. A tall, slender wood vase held long reeds b
y the cubes forming her entertainment center. The clean lines of her furnishings were covered in fabrics that invited touch.

  There was calmness here. Comfort.

  He heard the door close. By the time he had the little tree sitting on an end table and the bags in one of the two comfortable-looking barrel chairs flanking it, she’d come up beside him.

  He hadn’t seen her with her hair down before. That straight dark silk framed the gentle lines of her face, reflected touches of gold in the light from the overhead she’d flipped on. But something more had caught his attention.

  He’d seen her looking a little tired before, but he’d never seen the sheer weariness that lurked just beneath her faint smile. He knew she’d had a long week, though. She’d also just spent the one day she could have been off her feet hiking through department, book and, from the logo on one of the bags, cooking stores.

  “How long did all this shopping take you?”

  “About six hours,” she said, piling her remaining packages and her purse in the other chair. “All I have to do now is finish up the last of my list, wrap everything, and I’ll be done.”

  She made it sound as if those tasks would take no time at all. Watching her slip off her coat and head for the closet by the door, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was herself she was trying to convince of that. Or him.

  “The agreement is right there,” she said, nodding to the copies on the table. “When you said you’d come get it and sign it here, I thought I’d wait to sign it, too.”

  He knew how important—and difficult—this partnership was for her. Had the deal been larger for L&C, the principals would have executed the paperwork together in a conference room or an office. Being large for her, it made sense that she’d want to acknowledge that significance by signing at the same time.

  “May I take your jacket?”

  “No need. I won’t be here long. And you don’t need to sign that agreement. Just give it to me.”

  He had his jacket tucked under his arm. Aware of how still she’d gone, he pulled a legal-sized envelope from a net inner pocket and laid the heavy garment atop the bags. He really didn’t plan to stay. According to Syd, Sunday night was when Tommi did her books if she hadn’t had time to do them during the week. Since he knew her week had been even busier than he’d suspected, thanks to the chatty neighbors who’d also told him about the two hundred Santa cupcakes she’d baked and decorated for Alaina’s daughters’ school’s holiday bake sale, he was sure she’d be up with those books tonight.

  She’d brought them up from her minuscule office downstairs. He could see them through the archway on her small kitchen table.

  Confusion vied with disquiet in her deep brown eyes. “Why don’t I need to sign it?”

  “Because I think you’ll like these terms better.”

  Seeing the familiar formatting on the two copies of the document he handed her, Tommi’s glance darted to his, then back to the pages.

  The heading was the same as the agreement she had left on the coffee table with her best pen. Only this one contained half as many pages, and it wasn’t with Layman & Callahan. It was with Maxwell Alexander Callahan, an individual.

  Her confusion remained. “What’s going on?”

  Max wished he knew. He’d been going with his gut ever since he’d hung up with her that morning, and his gut was leading him into totally uncharted territory.

  All he knew for certain was that he didn’t want her mixed up in any way with his partner.

  “My personal conditions aren’t as strict as the company’s. That agreement,” he said, nodding to what she held, “doesn’t restrict wages or benefits for your employees. My percentage is less, so you’ll be able to cover the expense without going into your salary. The renovation clauses have changed, too.

  “You’ll still have to expand to earn enough to pay for your additional chef. There’s no way around that.” She already knew she couldn’t afford the trained help she badly needed without a means to make more income. “But you’ll be working with one of the architects from J. T. Hunt’s firm out of Portland. I talked to him this morning. He said he thought you’d like Jessica Kaczynski, so she’ll contact you after the first of the year.

  “The dates and franchise clauses are all the same. The only other change was to delete all references to the company and change the reporting procedure,” he continued. “You’ll be sending your reports to my personal accountant. The rest of the legalese is the same.”

  “You know J.T.?”

  “I have for years. We worked together when he was with HuntCom. When a client doesn’t already have their own architect for an expansion, he’s my first go-to.”

  With everything else he’d said, Tommi wasn’t sure why his mention of Harry’s second son had caught her so off guard. She’d known HuntCom was Max’s client. But mention of her surrogate cousin was only a small part of what had her feeling totally thrown.

  The onerous wage clause was gone. He had cut his own percentage to help her employees.

  She wouldn’t have to work with his partner.

  Disbelief had her slowly shaking her head. “Why did you do this?”

  Max searched the fragile lines of her face. The strain was still there, shadowing her eyes, making it clear she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Or more likely, he figured, unable to imagine why he would make such changes for her.

  “I did it because I know how insecure you felt being raised without your dad. And because I know you feel bad about bringing up your child that way. There’s nothing I can do about it not having a father, but I can give you a little extra financial security. With this agreement, you won’t have to use your money to make up the difference in your employees’ wages and benefits. You can use it to take care of yourself and your baby.

  “That should help with your mother, too,” he concluded, recalling that her concern there had also figured into what he’d done. “You said you need to be able to tell her you’re financially secure. Now that you have the means for that security, you can.”

  Tommi stared at the document. She knew what she’d heard. She just couldn’t see much of anything at the moment because his intention to ease part of what was always on her mind had tears threatening. Those tears blurred the print on the page.

  Tears were so not like her. At least, they hadn’t been before she’d gotten pregnant.

  Stunned by how quickly the moisture had pooled, afraid he would see, she sank to the sofa. Head down, the pages in her lap, she drew a deep breath and blinked hard to bring the top page into focus.

  All Max could see was the top of her head as she pulled her long, shining hair to one side, leaving it to fall straight as an arrow over the two-inch threads of liquid silver hanging from her ear.

  It also covered the delicate curve of her cheek and the little dimple he knew would be there if she smiled.

  The earrings had caught his attention out in the hall. The dimple he’d noticed the first time her soft-looking mouth had curved.

  He wasn’t sure when he’d first noticed the inherent grace about her as his glance moved over the long black tunic sweater covering her narrow shoulders and her slim black pants. Or when he’d first recognized her awareness of him in the way she seemed to breathe in a little before she would quickly look from his face. He’d done his best to detach himself from his attraction to her from the moment they’d met.

  Because she needed far more than he was capable of giving her, he tried to detach himself now.

  “Unless you want to reread all of it,” he said, not totally sure what she thought of what he’d done, “the main changes are on the first three pages and the last one.”

  He turned away, listened to the sound of the pages turning. He didn’t think she’d have a problem with his arbitrary alterations. Not as troubled as she’d been by the other terms. He just hoped she trusted him enough to accept what he’d offered.

  That he wanted her to trust him—him, not his company—was someth
ing he hadn’t realized until she picked up the pen from above the old agreement.

  Apparently okay with the changes, she signed her name on the last page. Picking up the other copy, she did the same.

  “Your turn,” she murmured, still not looking up.

  Max stepped between the sofa and coffee table. Her eyes still stinging, the moment he did, Tommi rose, quickly turning away to slip around the opposite end so he could sit where she had.

  With her back to him, facing her purchases, she drew a long, quiet breath. She could hear the faint scrape of pen on paper as he slashed his signature next to hers on both copies. Then, the rustle of papers as he stuffed the old agreement and his own copy of the new one into the manila envelope.

  She rubbed her breastbone. Gratitude was there, huge and squeezing hard at her heart. So was the need to let him know that.

  So was the need to be more like him.

  He didn’t seem to require anything from anyone. Least of all her. He’d made that clear enough the last time he’d walked out of her kitchen. Hating how needy she felt herself just then, she would have given anything to possess his self-contained defenses. It was his fault she felt this way, after all. She’d always stood on her own. She’d been raised to do exactly that. It hadn’t been until he’d come along that she’d become so acutely aware of how very tired she was pretending to be strong all by herself.

  Her throat burned.

  Over the heavy beat of rain on her windows, she heard Max bump the coffee table and the rustling of his movements at the other chair as he put the manila envelope inside his jacket. Coming up beside her, he held out her copy of what had now been signed, dated and, literally, delivered.

  With her head still down as if she was looking at the agreement, she took it along with another determined breath and blinked. Hard. But instead of clearing her vision, all she succeeded in doing was squeezing out one of the tears she’d tried to hold back.

  That single drop landed near the bottom of the page.