12 Stocking Stuffers

by Beverly Barton

  Hurt stabbed her from all sides. “You’re right.” Deep down, she’d known all those things about Eric—so why did hearing the words aloud bother her so much?

  He handed her a plastic bag he’d been holding.

  “What’s this?”

  “Stanton’s jammies.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why did you bring them back?”

  Manny shrugged. “I don’t know—I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, and it seemed icky to hang on to them.”

  “Icky?”

  “Another word for ‘I don’t want this on my conscience, girl.’”

  She clamped the bag under her arm. “Like I don’t have enough on mine.”

  “Well, I feel better about giving back the pants knowing that Stanton doesn’t mean anything to you.”

  She swallowed. “Thanks. I have to go. I have an appointment with our new hairdresser in the salon.” She held up a finger. “Don’t say a word.”

  He made a zipping motion across his mouth with his finger, turned on his heel and headed back to the concierge station.

  Cindy turned toward the salon, anticipating a few minutes of peace and quiet to mull her recent restlessness.

  “Whew, that perm really stripped your color,” Matilda, the new hairdresser, said emphatically. “Let’s try shade number twenty-eight B, chocolate coffee.”

  Cindy settled into a salon chair, frowning in puzzlement.

  “Dark brown,” the woman clarified.

  “Ah. Good—back to my original color.” She glanced at her hair in the mirror. “Is it safe to color so soon after perming?”

  “I’ll apply a conditioner first.”

  “Okay, you’re the expert…aren’t you?”

  Matilda nodded, while in the background, Jerry shook his head.

  “Just match my eyebrows as closely as you can,” Cindy declared, ignoring the barber. How hard could it be to open a bottle of dye and pour it on?

  “Okeydokey.”

  At least her hair would be back to its normal color by the time she met the review team. While the stylist painted on goopy hair dye with a brush, Cindy’s thoughts strayed to pending catastrophes. She longed for the days when they weren’t enslaved to a corporate master, when they didn’t expend so much energy watching their p’s and q’s. “How much longer?” she asked the hairdresser.

  “Time to rinse,” the woman said, yanking Cindy’s head back into a sink and nearly drowning her in her attempt to wash away the residue. After a knot-raising towel dry, Matilda plugged in a blow-dryer.

  Except when she flipped the switch to the hair dryer, the lights blinked, then went out, pitching the salon into total darkness. “Did I do that?” Matilda cried.

  “I don’t think a hair dryer could do this,” Cindy said. The low-watt generator lights came on. “It would take a huge power draw, something like a…”

  “Like a Christmas tree?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah,” Cindy said, nodding, then gripped the arms of the chair. The Christmas tree—had the decorators added more lights once they stripped the melting decorations?

  She launched herself out of the chair and fled for the lobby.

  “POWER FAILURE,” Eric murmured, grasping the rail along the three-story staircase landing. He immediately wondered if Cindy was at the source of the calamity and smiled to himself, surprised that the mere thought of her evoked that odd twisting feeling in his chest. Guilt, probably. He held a small pair of binoculars through which he’d studied the chandelier hanging a few yards in front of him for a good fifteen seconds before everything went black.

  Emergency lights came on, supplementing the thin daylight streaming in around the front entrance. Eric had a fairly good view of the activity in the lobby. Newly erected scaffolding held a dozen workers, some of whom had been removing items from the tree while others had been adding strands of lights. Someone with a pronounced lisp yelled for everyone on the scaffolding not to move. A knot of six guests came through the front door, dressed professionally and pulling sleek suitcases. His team, he noted, cursing the bad timing. Eric descended the long stairway in the semidarkness.

  As expected, Cindy came flying onto the scene, almost literally, since she sported some kind of cape that flapped behind her. Her hair sprang wild and wet around her. Eric approached his team, shaking hands and explaining the recent turn of events. With a start, he realized he was becoming numb to the hotel’s minidisasters. Within a few minutes, Cindy had coordinated an evacuation of workers on the scaffolding and announced that the electricity, which was off in a two-block radius, would be restored soon.

  He waved to get her attention and gestured her over. She resembled a drowned cat with her huge greenish eyes and her wild, wet hair that looked almost…no, it was probably just the low lighting that made it look purplish. From the gray cape he assumed she’d been “salonus interruptus” when the blackout occurred.

  “This is Ms. Cindy Warren,” he said to his team, “General manager of the Chandelier House.” That she occasionally moonlighted as Nurse Lovejoy, he kept to himself. “Ms. Warren, meet the Stanton & Associates review team members who have been assigned to evaluate your property.”

  She blanched, then recovered quickly as she exchanged greetings with his stoic-faced team. “We apologize for the inconvenience,” Cindy said with a big smile. “Lights are being rounded up as we speak so that everyone can find their way around the hotel. Ah, here we are. Eight lights over here, please.”

  From a box, a young man passed out pale cylinders to the group, then moved on. Eric studied the object in his hand, frowning.

  “Ladies and gentlemen…” A voice he recognized as Samantha Riggs’s came over a bullhorn. “We are providing all guests with a combination glow-in-the-dark flashlight/vibrator, batteries included, compliments of Ready-now, one of our vendors for the adult entertainment trade show that will begin on Monday. If you’re still visiting with us at that time, we invite you to drop by the show. Oh, and please bring photo ID.”

  Eric shot Cindy an amused glance as she stared at the contoured flashlight cradled in her hands, closed her eyes and mouthed something heavenward. He suppressed a smile. “Ms. Warren, I was hoping you’d join us for dinner in the restaurant, say around seven? Hopefully the lights will have been restored by then.”

  She nodded and smiled shakily. “We can hope, can’t we?”

  “IT’S PURPLE,” SHE MOANED, looking in the mirror.

  “‘Eggplant’ sounds so much more fashionable,” Manny declared.

  “Why does this keep happening to me?”

  “It’s a conspiracy, Cindy. What did the hairdresser say?”

  “By the time I got back to the salon, Jerry had sent her home.”

  “Hmm. And did Jerry have any advice?”

  “He gave me a paper sack to wear on my head. I asked for plastic so I could suffocate myself.”

  “You have to admit it’s very trendy. Some people would pay top dollar for this look. It’s not half-bad, actually.”

  “Manny, I’m supposed to have dinner with Stanton and the rest of the review team in one hour. I look like one of the Spice Girls.”

  “Is this just a shmoozy meeting?”

  “I think so, although Eric mentioned he wanted to talk to me afterward.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Relax. He said it was about the hotel, although he didn’t give me any specifics.” She gave him a wry smile. “And with my wet head and wearing that plastic cape, I was in such a hurry to get out of there, I didn’t question him.”

  “I heard the rest of the review team arrived during the blackout.”

  “When else? I’m sure they were very impressed with my getup, not to mention the vibrating hostess gifts.”

  “Oh, well, it can’t get any worse.”

  “Please don’t say that.”

  “At least the lights are on now.”

  “Which is a good thing, else no one would be able to see our totally bare three-story Christmas tree.
”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “Do you think the green hat is too casual for dinner?”

  “Yes.” He picked up a lock of her wine-colored hair. “Don’t you have a dress this color?”

  She nodded.

  “How about a head wrap? Blue would be nice.”

  “I don’t have a blue scarf.”

  “Hmm.” He pursed his mouth as if an idea had struck him.

  “What?”

  “Where are the jammies?” He spied the paper bag in a nearby chair and pulled them out.

  “Oh, no.” Cindy held up her hands. “I am not going to dinner with Eric wearing the pajama pants I stole from him wrapped around my head.”

  But his hands were already at work. “Think of it as a three-hundred-and-fifty-dollar scarf. Fold under the waistband, hide the stain, tie the legs in back, tuck, tuck, tuck, and voila`!”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he guided her face to the mirror. She looked…good, exotic even. Creating a four-inch strip around her hairline and ears, the makeshift scarf held the curly purple hair away from her face, forcing it to spill up and over the pale fabric. “Dammit, Manny, how do you do that?”

  “Resourcefulness,” he said, snapping his fingers.

  “But what if he recognizes it?”

  “If he were gay, I’d say don’t risk it. But straight, hungry, horny and under low lights—are you kidding?” He laughed. “Besides, this is too perfect.”

  Frowning, Cindy looked at her reflection and let out a sigh. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  11

  STANDING NEXT to the long dinner table, Eric lifted his hand in a final wave as the members of his review team filed out of the restaurant. Strange, but he hadn’t noticed before what incredibly dull company his associates were. Of course, he suspected the hours had dragged because he was longing to talk to Cindy alone. She’d chosen the seat farthest from him, so he hadn’t been able to engage her in conversation. “Thanks for agreeing to stay awhile longer.”

  She nodded curtly, her expression guarded, as it had been each time he had caught her gaze throughout the meal. “You wanted to talk to me about a hotel matter?”

  When she started to reclaim her seat, Eric’s mind raced to come up with a venue that would offer privacy without the connotation of either of their rooms. “How about if we go up to the roof to take in that great view you told me about? I hate to admit it, but I’m dying for a smoke.”

  She pressed her lips together, hesitating.

  “And I don’t want to risk our conversation being overheard,” he added.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought you said you wanted to discuss the hotel.”

  “I do, but I believe you will appreciate the privacy.”

  Concern furrowed her forehead. “I’ll need to stop by my room to get a jacket.”

  “You can use mine,” he offered. “I won’t keep you long.”

  In answer, she picked up her bag and walked to the hostess station, where she signed for their meal. Eric couldn’t stop himself from devouring the swell of her hips beneath the thin fabric of her slim burgundy dress. Her hair, which was actually an odd, lovely contrast to her green eyes, would take a little getting used to, but—

  What was he thinking? He wouldn’t be around long enough to get used to anything. Spending the night with Cindy would undoubtedly be a fondly recalled memory, but little more. Once he put a little space between him and the Chandelier House, he would recover his edge.

  “You made a good impression on the team,” he said with sincerity as they strolled toward the elevator.

  She laughed softly. “With the utter chaos surrounding my introduction this afternoon, I had nowhere to go but up.”

  He waved off her concern. “I told everyone they’d get used to seeing you like that.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Eric laughed. “I meant, they’d get used to seeing you in the middle of things, taking charge, no matter what.”

  She turned wary eyes his way. “That’s my job, Mr. Stanton.” She walked into the elevator car, claimed a front corner and depressed the top floor button. Her posture remained uncompromising.

  Hating the formality, the distance and the awkward tension, he watched the floors light as they climbed. Strange, how they had gone from being strangers to acquaintances to lovers, and now back to mere acquaintances.

  They reached the top of the building in short order. Cindy removed a handheld radio from her bag and asked the operator to notify security that the silent alarm for the roof door would be tripped. Eric followed her down a hallway, up a flight and a half of stairs, and through the heavy metal door covered with warning stickers.

  Cindy looked forward to the openness of the roof after being in close confines with Eric for the past few hours. A gusting breeze enveloped her as she stepped outside, the December chill raising gooseflesh on her skin, despite the long sleeves of her dress.

  She shivered involuntarily, then started when Eric’s jacket appeared around her shoulders. The warmth from his body still emanated from the silky lining, and the faint scent of English Leather drifted up to tease her. “Thank you,” she murmured, then stepped away from the stairwell enclosure toward the center of the roof.

  “Nice,” he observed, scanning the view.

  She had to agree. At this height, the world was a soothing mixture of calm silence with faint undertones of traffic far below. The wind sent the ends of her hair skimming across her face and dancing in the air. She patted the pseudo-scarf, experiencing a stab of alarm that it seemed much looser. Oh, well, the wrap seemed intact for now, and Eric had told her the discussion wouldn’t take long.

  Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the wind. The only reason she could think of for his wanting to talk in private was to rehash the impact of their night together on the review, and she didn’t want to talk about it again. Wasn’t it enough that the encounter was never more than a few seconds from her mind anyway?

  She tried to distract herself by absorbing the wonderful view, which remained breathtaking no matter how many times she made this pilgrimage. A myriad of lights from homes, cars and Christmas decorations, studded the landscape in three directions as far as one could see. To the west, of course, lay the bay, offering its own nighttime spectacle.

  “Beautiful,” Eric said, turning to look at her.

  Despite the circumstances, Cindy found it difficult to make eye contact with the man and not be affected. Not only was he undeniably handsome, but she also knew intimate secrets about the powerful body standing little more than an arm’s length away. The awareness of their physical compatibility pulled at her like a vacuum. “Mr. Stanton,” she said hurriedly, “I need to get to bed early tonight.”

  The words hung in the air between them.

  “Alone,” she amended quickly, then stopped and took a deep, calming breath. “Maybe you’d better just dive right in…Into whatever you wanted to talk about, I mean.” To cover her growing uneasiness, she smiled cheerily into the stiff breeze and rambled on. “You know, I’m so glad we’ve been able to get past that little indiscretion and move on to building a business relationship based on—” she spit out a hank of hair that the wind blew against her mouth “—mutual respect.”

  Eric nodded, his expression unreadable. Then he stepped forward and reached for her. Terrified at the zing of desire in her stomach, she held up both hands to ward him off. “Stop right there, buster.” Her body responded shamelessly even as her indignation ballooned. “How dare you lure me up here under the guise of business when all you had on your mind was…was copping a feel!”

  He halted, his eyes wide.

  Hurt loosened her tongue, making her want to give pain in return. “Haven’t you ever done it on a roof, Mr. Stanton? Does it turn you on? Didn’t I give you enough material the other night for a few weeks’ worth of locker-room talk?”

  He frowned and nodded toward his jacket. “If you’re finished, there
’s something in the left pocket, wrapped in a tissue. I believe it’s yours.”

  Slightly deflated that he hadn’t brought her to the roof to feel her up after all, Cindy reached into the pocket and withdrew a wad of tissue.

  “Careful,” he warned.

  She gently unfolded the tissue, at first confused by the bits of glass winking in the moonlight. Then she sucked in a breath. “My earring,” she said softly, wincing when she saw the two pieces.

  His tie whipped in the wind, curling around his neck. “It must have fallen into the pocket of my tux or gotten hung on my clothes somehow,” he explained. “I stepped on it accidentally. I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s all right.” But she could hear the hurt in her own voice.

  “I wanted to have it repaired, but the jeweler told me he couldn’t replace it.”

  Her head jerked up. “Jeweler?”

  “He told me it wasn’t glass, as I’d thought, but vintage lead crystal.”

  She met his gaze, looked away, then glanced back, her knees weakening. “Um, yes, as a matter of fact, it is crystal.”

  “He also said it probably came from a chandelier.”

  “Did he?” Stuffing the broken earring into her purse, she walked past him and over to the shoulder-high concrete edge, her mind spinning.

  “He told me an intact chandelier made out of this crystal would be extremely valuable.” She could tell from his muffled voice that he stared at the opposite horizon. How perfectly symbolic, she realized.

  Cindy wet her lips, blinking against the wind, which was much stronger here on the perimeter of the roof. “I suppose it would be,” she said over her shoulder. She gasped as the scarf fell slack against her hairline and a leg of the pajama pants whisked in front of her face, riding the wind like a flag. She snatched the leg and straightened, using both hands to try to repair the damage.