All He Wants for Christmas

by Lisa Plumley

  To show you how new and improved I am. But Jason didn’t have a chance to say so before Chip interrupted him.

  “Danielle Sharpe and her three kids—that PR angle. It turns out that all five of you together are a social media gold mine. Customers love it.” Chip chortled. “We had the media monkeys amp up the storyline a little, of course. Play up the folksy angle. Boost the love-at-first-sight stuff. Show your supposed heart of gold, et cetera, et cetera. I’ve got to give you credit, though. Thanks to your smart use of Danielle and those kids—”

  Whoa. “I didn’t ‘use’ Danielle. Or her kids.”

  For a heartbeat, Chip was silent. Probably with disbelief.

  Then, “Come on, Hamilton. I know damn well you picked this woman and her kids on purpose. They’re adorable. They’re squeaky clean. They’re small town. They’re relatable. They’re—”

  “They’re not an ad campaign,” Jason pointed out tersely, beginning to regret sending that footage. It had wound up on all of Moosby’s social media accounts? Dizzy with an unwanted sense of déjà vu, Jason frowned. “You weren’t supposed to post those damn pictures to the whole world! You were supposed to—”

  Look at them and realize I’m a good guy after all, he was about to say. Just the way Danielle hinted you would.

  But Chip interrupted again. “You, more than anyone, know nothing is private anymore. Of course we made those pictures public! Did you think I was just going to ooh and ah over them? Make a scrapbook? Tell the board how freaking nice you are now?”

  Well . . . yes. He had thought that.

  Being in Kismet had wrecked his ability to think straight.

  “We both know better than that,” Chip went on. “You didn’t get to be CEO of a multinational company by being Mr. Nice Guy.”

  “You wanted me to be Mr. Nice Guy! That’s why I’m here.”

  “Only in public.” A pause. “Didn’t I make that clear?”

  Maybe he had. Maybe Jason had misunderstood. More importantly . . . “I don’t think Danielle would want those pictures posted online. Especially with her kids included.”

  “Danielle Sharpe knows what’s what,” Chip said confidently. “She’s smart. She’s ambitious. She’s a go-getter. She wants to get promoted, and she’s doing what it takes to accomplish that. She knows those kids are prime assets. So should you.”

  “They’re kids! Innocent, trusting kids.”

  “What are you, a bleeding heart, all of a sudden?”

  “No.” Yes. Jason swore under his breath. “Take them down.”

  His chairman of the board laughed. “The hell I will! In fact, we want more of the same. You know how easily the public gets bored. We need engagement. Thanks to this, sales are rising across the board. Hashtag sleighride is trending worldwide!”

  “No.” Jason paced. “No more pictures. No more video.”

  “Face it, Hamilton. Getting ‘involved’ with a hometown honey like Danielle Sharpe is the best PR move you’ve made all year. Especially now, at Christmas. It’s heartwarming shit.”

  “Danielle will never agree.”

  “You’re persuasive. Make her agree. Our sales and our stock prices are going through the roof. It’s all because of hashtag sleighride.”

  This wasn’t what Jason wanted. “I won’t do it.”

  “You won’t? Or she won’t? Because if you’re saying she won’t, I’ll call her. I’ll make it clear her job is at stake.”

  Shocked, Jason stared at Moosby’s back room. Not that.

  Losing her job would destroy Danielle.

  “Danielle Sharpe is more useful to the company as part of your image rehab than she ever was as a store manager,” Chip went on bluntly. “I want more photos. More videos. More footage of the five of you doing Christmassy things together. If you can’t make that happen,” he added ominously, “I can. And I will.”

  When Danielle arrived at Moosby’s, she was hoping to run into Jason—all the better to luxuriate in the morning-after glow they’d been so unfairly denied. Instead, the first person she saw on the toy-packed, customer-filled sales floor was Gigi.

  Her number-one salesperson gave her an impish grin.

  “Aha! So you can still get out of bed.” Gigi winked. “I thought maybe Jason had tired you out far too much for that.”

  Danielle’s cheeks heated. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oui, you do. Your rosy cheeks say so.”

  “This isn’t appropriate work conversation.” Danielle nodded at a pair of shoppers. “I got your text. What’s the emergency?”

  Whatever it was, she hoped Jason had already taken care of it. Not because she didn’t want to do the work herself, but just because she wanted him to be the responsible, go-to guy she knew he could be . . . especially after all the guidance she’d given him.

  “There is no emergency.” Gigi shrugged. “I just wanted to talk to you. I wanted to find out how it is going with Jason.”

  “It’s going . . . fine.” Unable to hold back a grin, Danielle rearranged a shelf full of stuffed animals as the toy store’s usual hubbub swirled around her. She paused. “Are these new? Did you get them from HQ? You know what I told you about swapping out the inventory. If we keep all these stuffed animals—”

  “—we will never sell them. I know.” Gigi shook her head, unbothered by the potential snafu in their midst. “Believe me, we received many, many more than those you see. I already have sent boxes of stuffed animals to the other regional managers.”

  Danielle nodded. “Good. Thanks.”

  Her Moosby’s store had no real control over their inventory. Initial ordering was centralized, as was replenishment. That meant that every week, she and her staff were stuck with merchandise they couldn’t sell—items that didn’t fit her store’s demographics. Kismet drew a lot of tourists with school-age and older children, yet HQ sent her infant toys and plushies by the truckload. Her town was full of outdoorsy kids who loved to skate, snowboard, and play outside, yet HQ sent her indoor toys like books, dolls, and board games . . . all while simultaneously overloading the Moosby’s stores in more urban areas with sports gear and other items that they couldn’t use.

  As the store’s manager, Danielle was supposed to sell whatever merchandise was allotted to her. But she’d noticed early on that where she ran out of snowboards, other Moosby’s ran out of board games. Where she couldn’t get enough bicycles and skateboards, urban stores saw those same items languish on the shelves. That’s when she’d devised her stock-swapping program, to better tailor all the regional stores’ selections.

  Not that HQ would have appreciated her efforts, of course. Moosby’s corporate was all about making alliances with big-brand toy makers, “optimizing” order turnaround, and paying consultants big bucks to devise new inventory and ordering metrics. Danielle had tried to tell the people in upper management that they were wasting their money, but she’d hit nothing but dead ends.

  That’s why she’d taken matters into her own hands. She’d trusted Gigi to handle the system, but (so far) not Henry.

  Speaking of whom . . . “How are things going with you and Henry?” Danielle asked. “Has he asked you out yet?”

  “Henry? Bof!” Gigi gave a Gallic wave. “I got tired of waiting for him.” Her expression turned puckish. “So I arranged to bump into him while closing the store one night. It all happened very accidentally, bien sûr. I had to hold on to him tightly to steady myself. Also, I happened to be wearing quite an attractive top at the time. Et voilà!” Animatedly, Gigi gestured. “Finally, Henry found the courage to speak to me about something besides ‘Where do the baby dolls go?’ or ‘Which of us is doing the Silly Putty demonstration for les enfants today?’”

  “Then you’re going out? Together?”

  “We have already been out together.” Nonchalantly, Gigi examined her fingernails. “We have another rendezvous planned for tonight.”

  “Gigi! That’s terrific!”

  “Eh, I knew that I would triump
h in the end. Women always do.” Her friend pouted. “However, I do not see why I should talk about my liaisons when you will not talk about yours.” She waggled her eyebrows. “If you want to know the scoop, g-friend . . .”

  “Fine. Jason is . . . great,” Danielle said, relenting. A smile bubbled up inside her, then broke free. “I mean, he’s really great. Of course, this is all just temporary between us, but—”

  “‘Of course’ it is temporary? Why is that?”

  “Well, it’s just a fling.” Danielle plumped up a stuffed penguin. She put it back on the shelf. “We’re not serious.”

  “Not serious? Is that really what you think?”

  “Why? Did Jason say something to you?” Danielle grabbed Gigi. “Spill! What do you know?”

  At her newly über-alert tone, Gigi laughed. “See? That is how I know you have really fallen for Jason.”

  Danielle scoffed. “I only mean that if he did say something to you, then it would be nice to know about it. That’s all.”

  “He said the same thing you said. That you are ‘great.’”

  “Oh.” Somehow dispirited by that, Danielle tried to switch her focus to the next pile of stuffed animals. Or to the holiday tunes playing in the store. Or to the adorable little kids who flocked the play table, getting ready for the next daily demo. “Well, ‘great’ is good, right? I mean, I couldn’t possibly ask—”

  Another laugh. “It was the way he looked when he said it,” Gigi clarified in her usual playful tone. She waggled her eyebrows. “He said it as though ‘great’ was . . . everything nice.”

  Danielle couldn’t help smiling. “Oh. I see.”

  “No, you do not see,” her friend disagreed. “Any more than Jason sees. The both of you, you are pretending right now that you do not care too much. But you really do. You care a lot!”

  Danielle relented. “He likes it here, Gigi. I think he might want to stay in Kismet. But you know me—”

  “You always are wanting to leave Kismet. But if you were in love, it would be different! If you were in love, Mark and Crystal would not bother you anymore. Because for getting over a lost love, there is nothing as good as finding a new love—”

  “That’s not it.” Not entirely, at least. “Really. I—”

  “—and smashing it right in the face of the old love!” her friend continued with old-world relish. Gigi pantomimed a gangsta-rap pose. “How do you like me now, mother-effers?”

  Her extra-enthusiastic delivery made Danielle crack up.

  “I don’t want to make Mark and Crystal pay,” she insisted. Then, for veracity’s sake, she added, “Much. But I don’t want to lead Jason on, either. I’m not sure I can commit yet. I need . . .”

  She spied Jason at the other side of the toy store’s sales floor, talking with a pair of bundled-up kids. Her voice trailed off as she watched him, wholly unable to concentrate on words.

  Gosh, Jason was dreamy. He was so nice, too. He was taking his time with those two little girls, explaining all about one of the More More Moosby’s! exclusive toys. His face shone as he picked up one of those toys, then demonstrated how it worked.

  If things did work out for them, she could really get used to having Jason in the store with her. The two of them were very in sync with their approach to helping customers. Just as they’d been in sync last night while kissing, undressing, stroking . . .

  Gigi cleared her throat. “Yes? You need . . . ?”

  Danielle started. Forcibly, she swerved her gaze away from Jason. “I need . . .” She frowned. “What was I talking about again?”

  “You were telling me why you cannot commit to the man who has stolen your attention so thoroughly that you cannot speak.”

  “I can speak!” Hoping to prove that she could do that and look at Jason at the same time, Danielle shifted her gaze back to him. Aw. Now he was making a silly face while pretending to drive a More More Moosby’s! toy race car along a toy shelf.

  Hey. That particular race car looked a lot like . . .

  “Yes?” Gigi prodded. “You can speak? Or do you mean you can stare at a handsome man and drool over his muscles? Because I do not want to burst your bubble, but I can do that one, too.”

  Danielle shook herself. “I need to go ask Jason something,” she informed Gigi with dignity. Then she smoothed down her sweater, checked her hair, ran her tongue over her teeth to check for lipstick smudges, drew in a deep breath, and . . .

  “That is a lot of primping for a simple conversation.”

  Argh. Caught, Danielle glanced at her friend. “Cut it out.”

  “You cut it out. I am only observing what you will not.”

  But Danielle knew that Gigi couldn’t possibly know her better than she knew herself. Which was why, as she sashayed over to where Jason stood, she felt completely confident . . .

  . . . about wanting to take him into her office and have her way with him. Nakedly. That wasn’t professional, but it was true.

  If Chip Larsen could have read her mind then, there would have been no quantity of carefully written memos that could have convinced him she was right about Jason and deserved a promotion. It was a good thing she had an insider on her side. Because she had Jason to put in a good word for her.

  Just look at how diligent he was being on the sales floor!

  “. . . he doesn’t really look like that, though,” Jason was telling the two little girls as Danielle approached. He pointed at the cartoonified image of Alfred Moosby on the package for the More More Moosby’s! exclusive race car. “For one thing, he doesn’t have crazy, sticking-up white hair. For another—”

  “He’s real?” one of the little girls breathed.

  “You know him?” the other asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Know him? Of course I know him.” Sounding introspective, Jason studied the packaging. “He’s like a father to me.”

  “I thought he was made-up,” one of the girls said.

  “Yeah, me too,” the other added with certainty. “Like Ronald McDonald. Or Chef Boyardee. Or Aunt Jemima.”

  Jason shook his head. “Chef Boyardee was real, too,” he told them. “Except his name was spelled differently. Sometimes companies need mascots. Sometimes they start as real people.”

  One little girl crossed her arms. Doubtfully. “You’re making this up. Mr. Moosby is just a cartoon. He’s not real.”

  “He didn’t used to be a cartoon,” Jason explained in an easygoing voice. “But the Moosby’s board of directors decided they needed a ‘friendlier’ face to represent the company. They hired an expensive artist to come up with this cartoon”—he tapped it—“then they put the real Mr. Moosby out to pasture. He didn’t want to retire,” Jason went on, “but they made him. So—”

  “So that’s the real inside story of Mr. Moosby!” Danielle said brightly as she stepped in, giving Jason a “What are you doing, you lunatic?” look. Kids didn’t care about corporate machinations. “How about that, girls? How would you like to have a cartoon version of yourself made? We’re thinking of bringing in a local caricature artist for the next demo day.”

  “Cool!” the little girls breathed in unison.

  They let themselves be led away from Jason to the play table where a seductive-looking Gigi and flustered-looking Henry were getting ready to lead the next demo session. After getting the girls settled in, Danielle made a beeline back to Jason.

  Curiously, she looked at him. “What’s the matter with you? That story started out so heartwarming and sweet, then it jumped right onboard the express train to Ranty Town.”

  “They don’t even believe Mr. Moosby exists!” Jason waved his arm in exasperation. “The board has erased him. They pretended to value him at first. But the minute he got ‘too old’ to be relevant—in their eyes, at least—they turned him into a cartoon. They raked in big profits while doing it, too. I didn’t like it then, and I’m not going to pretend I like it now.” He glowered at the nearest cartoonified toy package. “If I hadn’t stepped in when I
did, Mr. Moosby would have been stripped of all his leverage in his own company.”

  Apparently Alfred Moosby still had some influence, then. That was fair. He and Jason were legends in toy retailing.

  “Mr. Moosby is lucky to have you on his side.” Interested in this unknown side of Jason, Danielle studied him. “Do you really know Mr. Moosby? Are the two of you really close?”

  “I wasn’t kidding about him being like a father to me.” Idly, Jason rearranged a display of toy dump trucks. “If not for Mr. Moosby, my whole life would have been different.”

  “I thought you were the one who made a difference to him,” Danielle said. “That’s the way the Moosby’s handbook spins it.”

  “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like that thing.” Jason frowned. As he stepped aside to let a trio of browsing shoppers pass by, his unhappy expression deepened. “Speaking of which, I was in the back office this morning, taking a call, and I couldn’t help noticing that the boxes of inventory were all—”

  Inventory? Suddenly on red alert, Danielle changed the subject. “You should tell someone the real story of Mr. Moosby. Maybe contact that biographer and set the record straight?”

  As she’d hoped, Jason took the bait. “I can’t do that,” he told her. “It would make me look as bad as Bethanygate did.”

  “That’s impossible. You looked pretty bad because of that,” Danielle said. “Nothing in your past could make you look worse.”

  “Oh yeah?” Obviously interpreting that as a dare, Jason crossed his arms. He leaned nearer to her, as though to share a secret. Amid the bustling shoppers and the holiday ambiance and the underlying sugary scent of the vanilla Christmas cookies her staff were handing out as free samples that day, he confided, “When I was a kid, I had a knack for making things. Toys, mostly. I used to make them for my sisters, my brother, sometimes even the neighborhood kids. We were poor, so I had to scrounge for supplies. But sometimes, I couldn’t Dumpster dive for everything. Sometimes, I had to be more creative than that.”

  Danielle wasn’t sure where this was going. But at least it had veered directly away from her inventory manipulation.