‘Ooh, how lovely!’ she said, coming over to give Alex a tight hug. ‘We’re so proud of you too,’ she murmured. ‘We’ll listen to that whilst we eat our supper, but perhaps you could play the piano now and we’ll have a bit of a sing-song?’
‘Sure, I’d love to play,’ Alex said. ‘I just need to do something upstairs first.’ He turned to Flora and gave her one of his disarming smiles. ‘I’m going to need you for this,’ he said.
‘Oh, yeah?’ Violet drawled, giggling and waggling her eyebrows at them.
‘Excuse us,’ Flora said, getting up to follow him out of the room, heat rising to her cheeks as she wondered what he had in mind.
Whatever he wanted would be fine by her though.
As they ascended the stairs she wondered again, as she had every now and again over the last year, whether her best friend had meant this to happen all along—for her and Alex to get together. Not that it mattered either way. She felt sure Amy would be pleased for them if she was able to look down from where she was and see how happy they were.
At the top of the stairs Alex stopped under the door frame of the guest room he’d stayed in the previous year, the room they’d first made love in. He pointed out the sprig of mistletoe that hung there once again.
‘It looks like someone’s been playing Cupid again,’ he said with a grin.
‘So it does,’ she replied, walking into his arms and giving him a long and very satisfying kiss.
‘Isn’t it bad luck not to ask the person you love to marry you under the mistletoe?’ he murmured against her lips. Before she could answer, or even draw in a startled breath, he dropped to one knee and pulled out a small velvet box from the pocket of his trousers and looked up at her.
‘Flora, my muse, my lover, my friend—will you marry me?’
She stared at him, then at the beautiful diamond ring he showed her as he flipped open the box.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her throat tight with exhilaration. ‘Nothing would make me happier than being married to you.’
He stood up and took the ring out of the box, sliding it onto her finger with trembling hands.
‘You bring the music, Flora Morgan, and I love you for it,’ he said, leaning in to place the lightest of kisses onto her lips, sending her head spinning with pure joy. ‘Now let’s go celebrate by doing what everyone thinks we really came up here to do,’ he said with a wink and a teasing smile. And as Flora giggled with happiness he guided her gently back into the room and shut the door firmly behind them.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Christy McKellen:
THE UNFORGETTABLE SPANISH TYCOON
A COUNTESS FOR CHRISTMAS
ONE WEEK WITH THE FRENCH TYCOON
All available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from CHRISTMAS WITH HER MILLIONAIRE BOSS by Barbara Wallace.
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Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss
by Barbara Wallace
CHAPTER ONE
OH, WHAT FRESH hell was this?
A pair of ten-foot nutcrackers smiled down at him with giant white grins that looked capable of snapping an entire chestnut tree in half—let alone a single nut. Welcome to Fryberg’s Trains and Toys read the red-and-gold banner clutched in their wooden hands. Where It’s Christmas All Year Round.
James Hammond shuddered at the thought.
He was the only one though, as scores of children dragged their parents by the hand past the nutcracker guards and toward the Bavarian castle ahead, their shouts of delight echoing in the crisp Michigan air. One little girl, winter coat flapping in the wind, narrowly missed running into him, so distracted was she by the sight ahead of her.
“I see Santa’s Castle,” he heard her squeal.
Only if Santa lived in northern Germany and liked bratwurst. The towering stucco building, with its holly-draped ramparts and snow-covered turrets looked like something out of a Grimm’s fairy tale. No one would ever accuse Ned Fryberg of pedaling a false reality, that’s for sure. It was obvious that his fantasy was completely unattainable in real life. Unlike the nostalgic, homespun malarkey Hammond’s Toys sold to the public.
The popularity of both went to show that people loved their Christmas fantasies, and they were willing to shovel boatloads of money in order to keep them alive.
James didn’t understand it, but he was more than glad to help them part with their cash. He was good at it too. Some men gardened and grew vegetables. James grew his family’s net worth. And Fryberg’s Toys, and its awful Christmas village—a town so named for the Fryberg family—was going to help him grow it even larger.
“Excuse me, sir, but the line for Santa’s trolley starts back there.” A man wearing a red toy soldier’s jacket and black busby pointed behind James’s shoulder. In an attempt to control traffic flow, the store provided transportation around the grounds via a garishly colored “toy” train. “Trains leave every five minutes. You won’t have too long a wait.
“Or y-you could w-w-walk,” he added.
People always tended to stammer whenever James looked them in the eye. Didn’t matter if he was trying to be intimidating or not. They simply did. Maybe because, as his mother once told him, he had the same cold, dead eyes as his father. He’d spent much of his youth vainly trying to erase the similarity. Now that he was an adult, he’d grown not to accept his intimidating glower, but embrace it. Same way he embraced all his other unapproachable qualities.
“That depends,” he replied. “Which mode is more efficient?”
“Th-that would depend upon on how fast a walker you are. The car makes a couple of stops beforehand, so someone with...with long legs...” The soldier, or whatever he was supposed to be, let the sentence trail off.
“Then walking it is. Thank you.”
Adjusting his charcoal-gray scarf tighter around his neck, James turned and continued on his way, along the path to Fryberg’s Christmas Castle. The faster he got to his meeting with Belinda Fryberg, the sooner he could lock in his sale and fly back to Boston. At least there, he only had to deal with Christmas one day of the year.
* * *
“What did you say?”
“I said, your Christmas Castle has a few years of viability in it, at best.”
Noelle hated the new bos
s.
She’d decided he rubbed her the wrong way when he glided into Belinda’s office like a cashmere-wearing shark. She disliked him when he started picking apart their operations. And she loathed him now that he’d insulted the Christmas Castle.
“We all know the future of retail is online,” he continued. He uncrossed his long legs and shifted his weight. Uncharitable a thought as it might be, Noelle was glad he’d been forced to squeeze his long, lanky frame into Belinda’s office furniture. “The only reason your brick-and-mortar store has survived is because it’s basically a tourist attraction.”
“What’s wrong with being a tourist attraction?” she asked. Fryberg’s had done very well thanks to that tourist attraction. Over the years, what had been a small hobby shop had become a cottage industry unto itself with the entire town embracing the Bavarian atmosphere. “You saw our balance sheet. Those tourists are contributing a very healthy portion of our revenue.”
“I also saw that the biggest growth came from your online store. In fact, while it’s true retail sales have remained constant, your electronic sales have risen over fifteen percent annually.”
And were poised to take another leap this year. Noelle had heard the projections. E-retail was the wave of the future. Brick-and-mortar stores like Fryberg’s would soon be obsolete.
“Don’t get me wrong. I think your late husband did a fantastic job of capitalizing on people’s nostalgia,” he said to Belinda.
Noelle’s mother-in-law smiled. She always smiled when speaking about her late husband. “Ned used to say that Christmas was a universal experience.”
“Hammond’s has certainly done well by it.”
Well? Hammond’s had their entire business on the holiday, as had Fryberg’s. Nothing Says Christmas Like Hammond’s Toys. The company motto, repeated at the end of every ad, sang in Noelle’s head.
“That’s because everyone loves Christmas,” she replied.
“Hmm.” From the lack of enthusiasm in his response, she might as well have been talking about weather patterns. Then again, his emotional range didn’t seem to go beyond brusque and chilly, so maybe that was enthusiastic for him.
“I don’t care if they love the holiday or not. It’s their shopping patterns I’m interested in, and from the data I’ve been seeing, more and more people are doing part, if not most of their shopping over the internet. The retailers who survive will be the ones who shift their business models accordingly. I intend to make sure Hammond’s is one of those businesses.”
“Hammond’s,” Noelle couldn’t help noting. “Not Fryberg’s.”
“I’m hoping that by the end of the day, the two stores will be on the way to becoming one and the same,” he said.
“Wiping out sixty-five years of tradition just like that, are you?”
“Like I said, to survive, sometimes you have to embrace change.”
Except they weren’t embracing anything. Fryberg’s was being swallowed up and dismantled so that Hammond’s could change.
“I think what my daughter-in-law is trying to say is that the Fryberg name carries a great deal of value round these parts,” said Belinda. “People are very loyal to my late husband and what he worked to create here.”
“Loyalty’s a rare commodity these days. Especially in the business world.”
“It certainly is. Ned, my husband, had a way of inspiring it.”
“Impressive,” Hammond replied.
“It’s because the Frybergs—Ned and Belinda—have always believed in treating their employees like family,” Noelle told him. “And they were always on-site, visible to everyone.” Although things had changed over the last few years as Belinda had been spending more and more time in Palm Beach. “I’m not sure working for a faceless CEO in Boston will engender the same feelings.”
“What do you expect me to do? Move my office here?”
He looked at her. His gaze, sharp and direct, didn’t so much look through a person as cut into them. The flecks of brown in his irises darkened, transforming what had been soft hazel. Self-consciousness curled through Noelle’s midsection. She folded her arms tighter to keep the reaction from spreading.
“No. Just keep Fryberg’s as a separate entity,” she replied.
His brows lifted. “Really? You want me to keep one store separate when all the other properties under our umbrella carry the name Hammond?”
“Why not?” Noelle’s palms started to sweat. She was definitely overstepping her authority right now. Belinda had already accepted Hammond’s offer. Today’s meeting was a friendly dialogue between an outgoing owner and the new CEO, to ensure a successful transition. She couldn’t help it. With Belinda stepping down, someone had to protect what Ned had created. James Hammond certainly wasn’t. To hear him, Fryberg’s Christmas Castle was one step ahead of landlines in terms of obsolescence. She gave him two years tops before he decided “Hammond’s” Christmas Castle didn’t fit the corporate brand and started downsizing in the name of change. Bet he wouldn’t blink an eye doing it either.
Oh, but she really, really, really disliked him. Thank goodness the corporate headquarters were in Boston. With luck, he’d go home after this visit and she’d never have to deal with him again.
“Our name recognition and reputation are important elements to our success,” she continued. “All those people who line up to see Hammond’s displays every Christmas? Would they still remember to make the pilgrimage if Hammond’s suddenly became Jones’s Toys?”
He chuckled. “Hammond’s is hardly the same as Jones.”
“Around here it might as well be.”
“She makes an interesting point,” Belinda said. Noelle felt her mother-in-law’s sideways gaze. When it came to giving a pointed look, Belinda Fryberg held her own. In fact, she could probably do it better than most since she always tossed in a dose of maternal reproach. “While you may think our physical store has a limited future, there’s no need to hasten its demise prematurely. Maybe it would make more sense for Fryberg’s to continue operating under its own name, at least for now.”
Leaning back in his chair, Hammond steepled his fingertips together and tapped them against his lips. “I’m not averse to discussing the idea,” he said finally.
I’m not averse... How big of him. Noelle bit her tongue.
Her mother-in-law, meanwhile, folded her hands and smiled. “Then why don’t we do just that over lunch? I made reservations at the Nutcracker Inn downtown.”
“I don’t usually have lunch...”
No surprise there. Noelle had read once that sharks only ate every few days.
“Perhaps you don’t,” Belinda replied, “but for a woman my age, skipping meals isn’t the best idea. Besides, I find business always goes smoother when accompanied by a bowl of gingerbread soup. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried it.”
Either Hammond’s cheek muscles twitched at the word gingerbread or else they weren’t used to smiling. “Very well,” he said. “I have some calls to make first though. Why don’t I meet you at the elevator in, say, fifteen minutes?”
“I’ll see you there.”
Returning Belinda’s nod, he unfolded his lanky self from the chair and strode from the room. If only he’d keep walking, Noelle thought as she watched his back slip through the door. Keep walking all the way back to Boston.
“Well, that was a surprise.” Belinda spoke the second the door shut behind him. “I hadn’t realized you’d joined the mergers and acquisitions team.”
“I’m sorry,” Noelle replied. “But the way he was talking...it sounded like he planned to wipe Fryberg’s off the map.”
“You know I would never allow that.”
She hung her head. “I know, and I’m sorry. On the plus side, he did say he would consider keeping the Fryberg’s name.”
“Even
so, you can’t keep getting angry every time he says something that rubs you the wrong way. This is Hammond’s company now. You’re going to have to learn to bite your tongue.”
She’d better hope Noelle’s tongue was thick enough to survive the visit then, because there was going to be a lot of biting.
“I just...” Starting now. Gritting her teeth, she turned and looked out the window. Below her, a school tour was lining up in front of the reindeer petting zoo, the same as they did every year, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Later on, they would make wish lists for their parents and trek over to the Candy Cane Forest to meet Santa Claus.
Her attention zeroed in on a little girl wearing a grimy pink snow jacket, the dirt visible from yards away, and she smiled nostalgically at the girl’s obvious excitement. That excitement was what people like James Hammond didn’t understand. Fryberg’s was so much more than a toy store or tourist attraction. When you passed through that nutcracker-flanked gate, you entered a different world. A place where, for a few hours, little girls in charity bin hand-me-downs could trade their loneliness and stark reality for a little Christmas magic.
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.”
His Mistletoe Proposal Page 16
