12 Stocking Stuffers

by Beverly Barton

  At last he laughed and sat down on top of the stepladder, shaking his head. “You look like you got your head caught in a rusty commode and you’re still able to charm the birds out of the trees.”

  She shot him a wry smile. “So glad we’ve made up. Where’s the piano?”

  “They moved it around the corner to the Asteroid Room to get it out of the way. Hey, I found a sprig of artificial mistletoe—do you think I should put it up?”

  She shook her head. “Just last week I received a memo prohibiting mistletoe at company Christmas parties.”

  “Never listened to ’em before.”

  “I think I’d better this time,” she said. “Nix the mistletoe.”

  He climbed down the ladder slowly. “Afraid you’ll be caught under it, are you?”

  “No!”

  He grinned. “Afraid you won’t be?”

  “I won’t dignify that question with a response.”

  “Bringing that Quinn lad, aren’t you?”

  “Jerry, he’s hardly a lad.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Besides, how did you know?”

  “Camelia told me when I walked into the salon this morning.”

  “But I didn’t even meet her until she gave me this dreadful perm!”

  He shrugged. “She said Stan, the shoeshine man, told her.”

  Cindy shook her head. “Unbelievable.” She threw up her hands, defeated. “Well, at least she’s working out.”

  The old man grimaced.

  “She’s not working out?”

  “You keep scarin’ them off with your hair disasters.”

  Cindy looked up at the ceiling. “Now what are we going to do for a hairdresser?” She cut her gaze to Jerry, then smiled sweetly. “You know, Jerry, if you’d agree to wait on female customers, your tips would probably skyrocket.”

  He held up one brown, weathered hand. “Oh, no. Men, give ’em a few snips here and there, clip the eyebrows, mustache and the occasional bushy ear, and they’re happy. Women? No, thanks.”

  “I guess I need to call personnel to arrange for another temp.”

  Jerry glanced at his watch. “You’d better pick up the pace if you’re going to get all duded up for the party.”

  She pretended to be hurt. “How long do you think I need?”

  He gave her a rare one-armed hug. “Build in some time to relax, okay? Try to forget about this old hotel and have a good time tonight with your young man.” Then he held up the mistletoe and grinned, revealing large, perfect teeth. “And I’ll try to find someplace appropriate for this.”

  Cindy punched him playfully. “You’re determined to get me into trouble. I’ll see you tonight.”

  But Jerry’s words stirred up the anticipation she’d suppressed all afternoon. She tied up a few administrative loose ends, distracted to the point of craning for a glimpse of Eric as she moved through the hotel.

  At six o’clock, she returned to her suite and grabbed an apple. Then, sinking onto her bed, she wistfully dialed her parents’ number. Janine Warren answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, Mom. How’s everything—Nothing’s wrong, Mom. In fact, I’m going to a party tonight and I had a few minutes—Hmm? Yes, I have a date. He’s a very nice man who happens to be a guest—What? Of course he’s not married. Yes, he told me—huh? Eric Quinn. No, with a Q, not a K. Guess what?…No…No…No. He’s from Virginia, can you believe—Manassas…Manassas…Ma-nass-as. Right. Virginia. Right. So how’s everything? He’s a salesman. What kind? A successful salesman, Mom. So how’s everything? Right, Christmas Eve. No, Mom, Manny is just a friend, he doesn’t care that I—As a matter of fact, they have met. Oh, look at the time! I have to get ready for the party. I will. Okay, I will. Say hello to Daddy for me. Love you, too. Bye-bye…okay, bye-bye…okay, bye-bye.”

  Cindy replaced the handset with a sigh, then bit a chunk out of the apple. “I’ll know I’m grown up when my mother lets me finish an entire sentence,” she mumbled. But she had to admit it was comforting to know her mother still fretted over her. She would probably be the same kind of mother. Cindy stopped in midchew—mother? It was definitely time to stop thinking and get ready for the party.

  Her stomach was so full of butterflies, it fairly flapped. She undressed slowly, then turned on the shower and let the water run over her fingers until it warmed.

  With trepidation, she unfastened her hair, not surprised when the coarse, reddish mass instantly vaulted toward the ceiling. Manny had instructed her to wash her hair twice to diffuse some of the curl and most of the odor. Resigned, she stepped under the water and lathered the rat’s nest carefully, unused to the shortened length and springy texture. After dousing her hair with thick conditioner, she soaped her body, then went for the big shave—both the bottoms and tops of her legs.

  She rinsed, then wrapped her hair in a towel. The flashlight from her nightstand was required to locate her special-occasion matching body lotion and perfume in the depths of her vanity cabinet. After slathering her slight curves with moisturizer and stepping into a robe, she finally dredged up the nerve to remove the towel from her head.

  The tight curls clung to her head haphazardly, brassy in color even when wet. Cindy moaned and reached for the cosmetic bag Manny had given her with various picks, gels and a little black thing that looked like a tiny hammock. She smoothed out his page of written instructions and drew a calming breath.

  Thirty minutes later she had managed to pull out most of the tangles with a wide pick, but by then the mass stood around her head like some kind of exotic hat. She worked the gel through her wild tresses, then slicked it back into a low ponytail according to Manny’s drawing. The little hammock, she discovered, was called a snood, a fancy name for a ponytail net. She fastened the snood in place, then turned sideways to critique her handiwork in the mirror and smiled. It didn’t look half-bad.

  She turned back to the vanity mirror and frowned. Her face was another story. She hadn’t arched her eyebrows in ages and next to her perm-lightened hair, they looked darker and more severe than usual. “Glam up the eyes,” Manny had told her. She fished tweezers and an eyelash curler from a cluttered drawer, then pulled her magnifying mirror closer. With grimacing plucks, she thinned her wayward eyebrows, begrudgingly acknowledging her greenish eyes were her best feature.

  Carefully, she positioned the eyelash curler to tackle her long straight lashes, and squeezed the handle. The phone in her bedroom rang, startling her, and her hand jerked. She gasped as searing pain zipped across her eyelid, then jumped up to answer the phone, covering her stinging eye with the heel of her hand.

  “Hello?”

  “Cindy, this is Manny. You have a delivery—shall I bring it up?”

  “What kind of delivery?” She wiped at the involuntary tears running down her cheek.

  “Let it be a surprise.”

  Glancing down at the eyelash curler, she frowned at the number of lashes stuck to the little rubber pad, then froze. “Yes, Manny bring it up.” Cindy slammed down the phone, dread washing over her as she stumbled back to the vanity table. She pressed her face close to the mirror, then gasped. Funny—she’d never realized how much eyelashes, or the lack of them, contributed to the overall balance of a person’s face. The top of her left eye was nearly bald in places.

  She groaned, then threw up her hands. She’d simply have to call Eric and cancel. Obligation dictated that she attend the party, but she couldn’t face him with only half her lashes on one eye. Then she chewed her bottom lip—maybe it wasn’t so noticeable. A knock at her door interrupted her panicked scrutiny.

  Cindy secured the sash around her robe and jogged to the door. After a quick check of the peephole, she swung open the door to find Manny sporting a smashing black tux with a silver cummerbund and bow tie, and holding a small vase of exquisite flowers with a card tucked among the blooms. She smiled. “What on earth?”

  “I didn’t check the card, but I suspect they’re from your dashing date.” He handed her the vase and followed
her inside the room. “Hey, your hair looks great.”

  “You sound surprised,” she said, setting down the fragrant mixture of white roses and lilies. “By the way, love the tux.”

  “Thanks. Was I right?”

  Cindy read the card, a zing of pure pleasure coursing through her at Eric’s neat handwriting. Thank you in advance for an engaging evening. Eric.

  “Well, is his note naughty, or nice?”

  Scoffing at his implication, Cindy said, “Nice, of course.”

  He made a face, then he leaned forward, squinting. “Cindy, your eye.” His jaw dropped. “What happened to your eyelashes?”

  She sighed. “So much for it not being noticeable.”

  “Let me guess—eyelash curler?”

  Cindy nodded miserably.

  “A dangerous tool in the hands of a nervous woman,” he observed.

  “I’m not nervous.”

  He gave her a pointed look.

  “Okay, I’m a little nervous—my hand jerked when the phone rang. What am I going to do?”

  “They’ll grow back.”

  “I mean about tonight!”

  He tilted his head to one side. “Got any falsies?”

  She frowned. “Are we still talking about eyelashes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then no.”

  He turned and strode back toward the door. “Put on the rest of your makeup—everything but the eye stuff. I’ll be right back.”

  After he left, Cindy buried her nose in the flowers, then dropped onto the stool at her vanity. An engaging evening. He didn’t seem the type to copy words from some generic book at the flower shop. Eric was a sincere and forthcoming man. After all, he obviously suspected his vocation might turn her off, yet he’d been up front with her.

  Cindy smoothed foundation over her skin, then applied blush and rummaged for the brightest red lipstick in her makeup case. As Cindy drew on the rich color, she remembered in vivid clarity the pressure of Eric’s lips against hers the previous night. She closed her eyes and relived the taste of him, the sensation of his hands holding her face…a shudder traveled her shoulders and she knew the hair on her neck would have stood straight up were it not plastered down.

  She had to admit, the man captivated her at a time when she’d have bet she couldn’t be distracted from the goings-on within the hotel. The presence of the notorious Mr. Stark-Stanton hadn’t consumed her the way she’d feared, although she would continue to do her best to placate the difficult man.

  Keeping a near-bald eye on the clock, she stepped into the fitted long black gown. Cindy checked the top half of her dress in her vanity mirror, then climbed on her bed to check the bottom half. “Someday I’ll invest in a full-length mirror,” she mumbled, jumping down to slide her feet into suede pumps.

  She slicked clear polish on her short nails, which had dried by the time Manny knocked on the door again. He strode in and whipped a package of false eyelashes out of a bag.

  “I don’t have time to put on false eyelashes,” she said in exasperation. “Eric will be here in fifteen minutes!”

  Manny, slightly out of breath, lifted his hands high. “Okay, if you want to get nose to nose with this guy with nothing to bat at him as he unlocks the door to his room—”

  “You don’t think he’ll ask me to go back to his room,” she gasped, then added, “do you?”

  He laughed and gestured toward the vase. “Hello? Do these flowers say ‘I’ll settle for a goodnight kiss’ to you? No. More like ‘I want to devour you, my pet.’” He plucked a white rose from the vase, clenched it between his teeth, and wagged his eyebrows.

  “Do you honestly think so?” She nibbled on a freshly painted nail.

  Manny pursed his lips and nodded, then broke off the rose and motioned for her to turn around.

  “So,” she said sheepishly as he inserted the flower in her hair, “how long does it take to put on falsies?”

  “Sit down and give me five,” he said, ripping open the package and pulling out a tiny bottle of something clear. “Your dress is fab, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” She eyed the flimsy semicircle of lashes warily. “I’ve never worn these things before.”

  “You’ll get used to them in no time.”

  Cindy gave him a questioning look.

  “So I’ve been told,” he added.

  She flinched throughout, but true to his word, Manny quickly patched the gap in her lashes quite convincingly. She tested the subtly heavier eyelid with a few blinks, then grinned and pulled him down for a quick peck on his cheek. “Thank you.” A knock sounded at the door, sending her heart into her throat.

  “I’ll stall Mr. Quinn for a few minutes while you finish your eye makeup,” Manny assured her. “And don’t forget your glass earrings.”

  Her hands started shaking. “I’m a nervous wreck,” she said. “Any last-minute advice?”

  Her friend gave her a wry smile. “Try not to destroy any more of the man’s clothing tonight when you undress him.”

  7

  ERIC FELT LIKE A TEENAGER picking up his date for the prom. He had to acknowledge, however, that his anxiety about developing an attraction to Cindy Warren had increased tenfold since the tree incident in the lobby. The woman moved him…it was an unsettling sensation.

  During the afternoon, he’d stumbled onto more disturbing aspects of the hotel operation. On the two floors with the most conference-room space, there were three bathrooms marked Men, Women and Other. Scary. And instead of the conference rooms bearing regal names, they were dubbed the “Phenomenon Room” and the “Dimension Chamber.”

  A quick look at the balance sheet had revealed the chandelier was booked at a legitimate-sounding twenty-eight thousand dollars. So why had he penned on the postcard to his father: Dad, wondering if you can help me dig up information about the chandelier in this photo—possibly French, nineteen-twenties? I’ll call you soon. And why did he feel as if every minute spent with Cindy Warren would suck him deeper into a quagmire of right and wrong?

  The door opened and his anxiety turned to puzzlement. Manny, not Cindy, stood in the doorway. “Hello,” he ventured.

  The blond man smiled tightly. “Cindy will be ready in a couple of minutes. Come on in.”

  Bemused, Eric followed him down a short hallway to a surprisingly spacious sitting room tastefully decorated in a celestial motif of blues and golds.

  “Have a seat,” Manny invited, making no move to sit himself.

  “Thanks, I’ll stand,” Eric replied, once again wondering if the concierge was smitten with his boss. Closer scrutiny revealed a red lipstick mark on the man’s cheek, eliciting an unreasonable stab of jealousy in Eric. Did Cindy have romantic feelings for her employee? It didn’t seem likely considering the way she’d responded to his kiss last night, but what if she was just trying to butter him up after all? Questions chewed at Eric, renewing his resolve to resist her charms, especially in light of the troubling revelations about how business was conducted at the Chandelier House.

  Manny glanced over Eric’s tux and pursed his lips. “Nice threads.”

  “Thanks,” Eric said with a nod. “Yours, too.” The subject of clothing reminded Eric of the bizarre incident he’d been meaning to report, but he hadn’t wanted to bother Cindy. He lowered his voice. “Listen, Mr. Oliver—”

  “I’m ready.”

  Cindy floated down the hallway toward them, her beauty taking Eric’s breath away. The black dress covered her gleaming shoulders and neckline modestly, but hugged her curves, confirming his earlier suspicions of what lay beneath the plain green and navy uniform she wore—a shapely bust, trim waist, flaring hips. A mid-thigh slit revealed a long, lean leg encased in shimmering black stockings. Eric’s body hardened, reminding him again of a high-school date.

  Their gazes locked and his tongue grew thicker. Translucent, faceted earrings hung from her small ears like huge raindrops. With her hair skimmed back from her face, her lovely features were brought into
relief. Her green-gray eyes shone luminously, set off by thick dark lashes. She winked, surprising him, and he smiled in return. Her bee-stung red lips curved into a shy smile. Eric couldn’t take his eyes off her, and his tongue refused to budge. She, too, seemed hesitant to speak.

  “Cindy received your flowers,” Manny injected. “She loves white roses, don’t you, boss?”

  Cindy nodded, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge the presence of her concierge. Eric spotted her pulse jumping at the side of her slender neck.

  Manny cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I’ll be leaving you two chatty kids alone. Don’t mind me, I’ll show myself out.”

  Eric heard the shuffle of the man’s footsteps, and the click of the door closing behind him. After a few seconds of heavy silence, he murmured, “Hi.”

  One side of her mouth went up. “Hi, yourself.”

  “You look…great.”

  The other side of her mouth joined the first. “That’s the look I was aiming for.”

  He swallowed. “I like your—” body “—earrings.”

  She touched one lobe, setting the glasslike bauble into sparkling motion. “Thank you. The flowers are beautiful.” She turned her head slightly to show him the rose in her hair. “And thank you for the nice card.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “I guess we’d better get to the party.”

  Eric moved toward the door, his steps faltering when she turned to retrieve an evening bag from the breakfast bar. He devoured the sight of her bare back, imagining the sensation of running his hands down the indentation of her spine. Promising himself some unimaginable treat in the morning for resisting her tonight, Eric opened the door and kept his eyes averted as she preceded him into the corridor. As if sharing his awkward awareness, she moved down the hall beside him, staring straight ahead.

  Since Cindy, too, seemed quieter than usual, Eric decided the long ride down the elevator might be a good time to casually broach at least one topic niggling at him. “Cindy, when we were moving the tree this morning, I was noticing that amazing chandelier—is it valuable?”

  She raised her lovely shoulders in a slight shrug. “The chandelier holds sentimental value to everyone who works here, I suppose.”