Naught or Nice
Page 11
As relief floods my system, the others cheer.
“Thank God,” Natalie whispers.
Couldn’t have said it better myself. I may never fly again after that.
The PA system crackles to life. “Welcome to Saint George, Utah, where the local time is four oh two p.m.”
I look across the aisle. “Addison.”
Addie leans forward so she can see around Hayden.
“What do we know about Saint George, Utah?”
“Nothing yet, but I’ll get right on it.”
She whips out her iPhone and starts clicking away.
I turn my attention to Natalie. “Sorry about this, sweetheart. It’s not exactly what I had planned.”
“It’s an adventure, and what does it matter where we are? We’re all together, and we’re alive. There’s a lot to be said for that.”
“Indeed, there is.” I decide right then and there to let go of my plans and preconceived notions about the perfect Christmas and let it unfold in whatever way it’s meant to. I’m with Natalie, my sister and my closest friends, and we were safe after a harrowing flight. I couldn’t care less what happens next.
After the pilots inform us that we’re done flying for the day—and possibly tomorrow, too—Addie works her magic and finds the one motel in town that can accommodate all of us. When the owners hear who their guests are, they send people from town to pick us up and deliver us to the Castaway Inn—a fitting name in light of our predicament.
Addie had arranged to bring days’ worth of food and booze with us on the plane so we wouldn’t need to worry about grocery shopping when we got to Aspen. We bring everything with us to the motel.
The place is clean but basic, one of those roadside places in which the doors open into the parking lot and the rooms are adjoining. Not exactly the accommodations we’ve become accustomed to, but the certainty we were going to die on that plane has put us all in a festive mood. Fluff sniffs every square inch of the place and apparently finds it to her liking. She curls up in a ball on our bed and is snoring within minutes.
We throw open the connecting doors inside the rooms, and before long, we’ve got a full-on party going. It’s a good thing we’re the only guests, because we’d probably get kicked out if there were others.
By six o’clock, it’s snowing hard and accumulating rapidly.
Over the next two days, the weather only gets worse, and we begin to accept that Christmas in Aspen isn’t going to happen. Nat’s sisters and the rest of my family are grounded, too, and we’ve been in touch with them to commiserate about best-laid plans.
We’re passing the time eating, sleeping and playing the board games we found in a closet in the main part of the motel, which also has a kitchen the starstruck owners made available to us. Even Rafe has been more enjoyable than usual, which is a relief as we’re stuck in close quarters. Despite the close quarters, I’m still getting plenty of time alone with Natalie, which is the best part of being stranded.
If I’m being honest, this is the most relaxed I’ve been in longer than I can remember. There’s absolutely nothing to do but be together, which is perfect in its own way. Aileen, who had a mini freak-out when she realized we’d be stuck here for Christmas, told the kids that Santa will find them, but it may not be right on Christmas Day since we aren’t where we’re supposed to be.
Thankfully, they seem to have accepted that explanation as they decorated the “Charlie Brown” tree the guys managed to find in a deserted tree lot down the street from the motel. The kids spent the day making paper snowflakes and other improvised decorations. The gifts the rest of us brought on the plane for the kids are underneath the tree for Christmas morning. As Aileen said, Logan and Maddie are far more accustomed to “sparse” Christmases than they are with a windfall, so they’re perfectly content with what they have.
Late on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, I find Natalie in our room, standing at the window, watching the snow that shows no sign of slowing down. I slip an arm around her from behind, resting my chin on top of her head. “How do you feel about Christmas in Saint George, Utah?”
“As long as you’re in Saint George, it’s fine by me.”
“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to give you a magical Christmas.”
“Maybe not, but it’s still magical. I don’t need a big fancy house in Aspen to be happy when I have you and Fluff and my best friends. I wish my sisters were here, but we’ll see them in a day or two when the weather clears.”
I think about the women I knew before her, including the one I was married to. None of them would’ve found magic at the Castaway Inn in Saint George, Utah, especially when they’d been promised a movie star’s home in Aspen. That Natalie can find the magic no matter where we are or what we’re doing is one of many things that make her the love of my life.
“In case I’ve failed to mention it today, I love you, Mrs. Godfrey.”
“Love you, too, Mr. Godfrey.” She looks back at me over her shoulder. “Can we come back here for Christmas every year?”
Smiling, I flatten my hand over the baby bump. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“How fun would it be to come back here year after year and recreate this first Christmas together?”
“It would be fun.”
“How long do you think it’ll take before we need all the rooms?”
We’ve rented ten of the Castaway’s seventeen rooms. “A year? Maybe two?”
She laughs. “If it takes that long.”
Last Christmas, I thought the biggest thing that might happen in the new year was my first acting Oscar. Funny how that turned out to be the least of what happened. With my arms around my wife and my hands curled around our unborn child, I’m content in a way I’ve never been before—and it’s all because of Natalie. She’s the key to everything.
Best. Christmas. Ever.
with Marie Force
Thanks for reading Joyous, a short story in my Quantum Series. Read Flynn and Natalie’s story in the first three Quantum books—Virtuous (an ebook freebie), Valorous and Victorious. And then get Hayden and Addie’s story in Rapturous, Jasper and Ellie’s story in Ravenous, Kristian and Aileen’s story in Delirious, and Emmett and Leah’s story in Outrageous. Watch for Famous, Marlowe’s story, the final book in the series, in 2019. For more information, go to marieforce.com/quantum and marieforce.com/books to view the complete list of available titles.
Marie Force is the New York Times bestselling author of contemporary romance, including the indie-published Gansett Island Series and the Fatal Series from Harlequin Books. In addition, she is the author of the Butler, Vermont Series, the Green Mountain Series and the erotic romance Quantum Series. In 2019, her new historical Gilded series from Kensington Books will debut with Duchess By Deception.
Her books have sold 7 million copies worldwide, have been translated into more than a dozen languages and have appeared on the New York Times bestseller list 29 times. She is also a USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestseller, a Speigel bestseller in Germany, a frequent speaker and publishing workshop presenter as well as a publisher through her Jack’s House Publishing romance imprint. She is a two-time nominee for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® award for romance fiction.
Her goals in life are simple—to finish raising two happy, healthy, productive young adults, to keep writing books for as long as she possibly can and to never be on a flight that makes the news.
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“Shit!” I say as I fall to the ground half inside the elevator and half in the hall. Humiliated, I force my eyes open, o
nly to see a pair of caramel-colored dress shoes and my dignity right there before me. Seriously, this is the worst day of my life.
This morning I found out the pitch I was going to give after the new year was moved to tomorrow, and then I found out it wasn’t Yamina who I was pitching against. Nope, it was the only person in the office who could actually kick my ass and get the account.
But that is nothing to me as I lie there in a stupid skirt for all the office to see.
“Here, let me help you.” A deep voice I’d know anywhere fills my ears a second before an offered hand drops into my line of sight.
Please, God, let this not be happening.
I lift my eyes and find that not only is it happening but also it’s happening in front of the hottest man in the building, my new enemy, the man I slept with a week ago. He’s also the man I have deep feelings for but pretend not to.
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to stop the heat from flooding my cheeks.
The doors close on my body, and I attempt to maneuver, but I can’t get up without showing all my glory.
“Holly,” Dean Pritchard says. “Give me your hand.”
Not wanting to make this any worse than it already is, I put my hand in his. “Thanks.” He helps me up, smirking at me, but at least he isn’t laughing.
“Are you okay?”
Like he cares. If he did, he would’ve called. He wouldn’t have ignored me since our drunken night of unbelievable sex. I wouldn’t have been invisible. “I’m fine. Other than being embarrassed.”
I smooth my skirt down, knowing that it lifted enough for everyone to see my bare ass.
“It looked like it hurt.”
Only my pride. “Press two please,” I say, desperate to get off the topic.
The last thing I want is to stand here and talk about the awkward fall.
“I never pegged you for going commando.”
“Not like you haven’t seen it already,” I say, adding another reason why I should get a do-over for today.
I had underwear on when I left the house, but they ripped when I went to the bathroom because I’m the biggest klutz ever and put my high heel through the crotch. That was ten minutes ago. Oh, how I wish I had a time machine.
“True.” He grins. “Still an interesting new tidbit about you.”
Yeah, I’m just full of them.
“Whatever, did you get the proposal done? I know it was last minute for you.” I’m still smoothing my clothes out as the elevator door shuts with me safely inside this time.
“I did. You?”
Nope.
“Yes.”
“Good. May the best man win.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
Dean laughs. “We’ll see. Maybe the winner buys the other some scotch?”
My eyes narrow. That was what we’d been drinking the night we got drunk and screwed against his office door, floor, and desk. “That will never happen again.”
Well, it will in my dreams because it has six times since then, but there’s no way I’ll admit that. That night was a huge mistake, but it was the best sex of my life.
He chuckles. “If you say so.”
I turn away, wishing the elevator would hurry up. My office is on the fifty-eighth floor. While the ride doesn’t typically feel like a million years, right now, I feel like I’m dying a slow death.
“Doesn’t this thing move faster?” The music isn’t helping. There’s nothing about this being the best time of the year.
The holidays do nothing but remind me that I’m alone. Every time I look at decorations, I try not to remember how much Troy would enjoy being out there on Thanksgiving night, stringing up the lights. He proposed to me on Christmas three years ago.
It was the perfect proposal. The one that girls around the world swoon over because it was just that romantic. And it was.
We were standing in our living room, dancing to “Silent Night,” and the fire was burning, giving me that perfect glow. Our beautifully lit tree was sending a shimmery white glow around the room as he held me in his arms. He leaned down, kissed my lips, and told me he wanted to spend every Christmas just like that.
Then he dropped to his knee, took out the ring, and I sobbed while nodding yes over and over.
I believed that Santa was real and he brought me the best gift ever.
A year later, when he decided he didn’t love me anymore, I learned Santa was a fraud and that the fat man had been fired, was on a diet, and shaved off his beard.
Troy ruined my favorite holiday, and of course, I don’t get to pretend it doesn’t exist because it’s almost my birthday. Therefore, Christmas is forever a celebration. Blah.
“Are you heading to the boss’s office?” Dean asks.
“No, you?”
“Yeah, I have a meeting today since I’m leaving for California. I figured it was better to do the pitch now.”
Oh, sure, he can go first, wow them, and then I’ll really be out. No way. I’m not going to let him weasel his way into this account like he always does.
Well, weasel is a strong word. He’s smart, cunning, and actually good at his job, which is just one more reason to hate him.
Oh, and he is really fucking good in bed.
Like, really good.
“That’s totally unfair—” The elevator slams to a stop, jerking up and down, forcing me to almost topple over. If it weren’t for Dean’s strong arms wrapping around me and stopping my second fall of the day, I probably would have.
The lights flicker and then the small emergency light goes on.
Great. This is just what I needed.
Fucking holidays.
“Are you all right?” he asks for the second time in the last five minutes.
My heart is racing from the punch of adrenaline and a bit from his cologne that fills my nose as I draw a deep breath. Damn, why does he have to smell so good?
“Yes, thank you—again.” I hate that, out of all the people in the building, this has to happen in front of Dean. Him constantly helping me up and catching me before I fall is so freaking contradictory. He’s the first guy I’ve thought about since Troy. I thought maybe he felt something for me, but then he brushed me off as if I were nothing.
How can he be both people in my head?
How can he be so sweet one minute but then ignore me completely?
It’s not as if he didn’t know about my past. In fact, that night we spoke about it. I told him about how this holiday would be hard because of my ex. We talked about work, life, our lives since both our breakups. It was great, but then he acted like I was nothing.
Although, that’s what we said before it happened.
I’m attempting to convince myself that was exactly what we both agreed to and he’s just keeping his word, but . . . I hoped.
I came in the next day, smiling with a coffee for him. He walked right past me and hasn’t said a word about what happened since then.
It’s incomprehensible to me that I finally let myself feel something other than rage toward a man, only to be . . . ignored after sex.
“Of course.” He smiles and presses the call button.
“Hello?” A man on the other end replies.
“Hi, this is Dean Pritchard and we’re stuck, can you get us going please?”
“Yes, is everyone okay?”
Dean looks back at me. “Yes, Holly Brickman and I are in here, but we’re not moving and the emergency lights are on.”
The man clears his throat. “Yes, we’re aware. There was a power outage due to the heavy snow, and unfortunately, it looks like a transformer blew, leaving the whole block out of power. The generator is broken as well, found that out late last night when we tested it, but as soon as we can get you both out, we will. Okay?”
“How long?” I yell. “I need to know!”
Dean looks back at me since the button wasn’t down and the guy on the other line couldn’t exactly hear me. He then presses it and speaks. “How long do you think that coul
d be?”
“Not sure, sir. I’ll get back to you when I can. We’re working on getting you guys out just as fast as we can.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Another thing to add to why I hate the damn holidays. And old buildings.”
Dean shakes his head, and his brows furrow. “Why the hell do you hate the holidays? No one hates this time of year.”
“Well, I have a ton of reasons. Snow. Santa. Stupid men. Power outages. Elevators being stuck. The list really goes on . . .”
He removes his suit jacket, revealing his tight shirt that hugs all the right places. I try not to remember how it felt to have him moving above me as I gripped those arms—I fail. The memories of that night flood me. The scotch, taste of his lips, and how amazing every moment we spent together was.
“Santa?” Dean asks. “You hate Santa?”
“Yeah, him and his stupid list, which apparently I landed on the naughty side of two years ago. My gift was to get dumped. It really changed my feelings on all things holiday related.”
“Ahh.” He nods. “Yes, now I get it.”
When it happened, it wasn’t something I was quiet about. Not that I could’ve been if I wanted to be. I sobbed all the time. I swear I should’ve carried around a sign that said: Caution Slippery When Wet. With the amount of tears I cried, I left a trail. Plus, half my company was invited to the wedding that would’ve been seven days from today. Sending out the I-just-got-dumped email was super fun.
“Not my favorite time of year thanks to a certain someone.”
“You mean that idiot of an ex you were engaged to?”
“Please . . . I don’t want to talk about him.” Especially not with him.
“Understood.” He nudges me. “I could help you forget him again.”
I roll my eyes. “No thanks. Besides, I don’t really think about him at all.”