by Sarah Morgan
Alarm bells rang in her head. “Tony—”
“Now it’s likely that accolade will go to you.”
“You’re still the golden boy. We work in separate divisions. Could we talk about this tomorrow?” Kayla delved into her bag for a report, wishing she could push herself inside and snap it shut until January. “I’m really busy.”
“Too busy to nurse my ego a little bit?”
She eyed the champagne. “I’ve always believed people should be responsible for their own egos.”
He gave a low laugh. “Coming from anyone else I’d assume there was innuendo in there, but you don’t do innuendo, do you? You don’t have time for it. Just like you don’t have time for parties or dinner or drinks on the way home after work. You don’t have time for anything except work. For Kayla Green, associate vice president of Tourism and Hospitality, it’s all about the next piece of business. Do you realize there’s a bet going in the office as to whether you sleep with your phone?”
“Of course I sleep with my phone. Don’t you?”
“No. Sometimes I sleep with a human, Kayla. A hot, naked woman. Sometimes I forget about work and indulge in a night of really incredible sex.” His eyes were on hers, his message unmistakable and Kayla wished she’d locked her office door.
“Tony—”
“I’m probably about to make a giant fool of myself, but—”
“Please don’t.” Deciding she might need both hands, Kayla gave up looking for the file. “Go back to the party.”
“You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”
Oh, shit.
“Tony—”
“When you transferred here from London straight into the AVP role, I admit I was ready to hate you, but you charmed us all with your cute British ways and you charmed Brett with your killer business instinct.” He leaned forward. “And you charmed me.”
Kayla eyed the glass in his hand. “How many of those have you had?”
“The other day I was watching you in the boardroom presenting to your client. You never stand still.”
“I think better when I walk around.”
“Yeah, you walk around in that tight little pencil skirt that shows off your ass and those skyscraper heels that show off miles of leg, and all the time you were walking I was thinking, ‘Kayla Green has the sharpest mind in the business, but she also has a great pair of legs—’”
“Tony—”
“‘—and not only does she have a great pair of legs, she also amazing green eyes that can kill a man from a thousand paces.’”
She stared hard at him and then shook her head. “Nope. Not working. You’re still alive, so that’s something else you’re wrong about. Now go back to the party.”
“Let’s get out of here, Green. My place. Just you, me and my super big bed.”
“Tony—” She tried to inject just the right tone into her voice. Firm, professional and absolutely not interested. “I understand how much courage it took for you to be honest about your feelings, and I’m going to be equally candid.” Well, not quite, but as close to candid as she ever came. “Quite apart from the fact I would never get personal with a colleague because it would be unprofessional, I’m totally rubbish at relationships.”
“You couldn’t be rubbish at anything. I heard Brett telling a client this week that you’re a superstar.” An edge of bitterness crept into his voice and she sighed.
“Is that what this is about? Competition? Because honestly, when Brett was giving you tips on how to be on top, I don’t think he meant you to take it quite so literally.”
“Hot, dirty sex, Kayla, and just for tonight.” He raised his glass. “Tomorrow doesn’t exist.”
As far as she was concerned tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. “Good night, Tony.”
“I would make you forget your emails.”
“No man has ever made me forget my emails.” Contemplating that depressing fact did nothing to improve her mood. “You are drunk and you are going to regret this in the morning.”
He sat down on her desk, flattening a stack of invoices awaiting her signature. “I thought I worked hard and then I met you. Kayla Green, public relations genius who never puts a foot wrong.”
She tugged at the invoices. “My foot will be in your butt if you don’t get off my invoices.”
“Butt? I thought you British called it an arse.”
“Butt, arse—call it whatever you like, just get it off my desk. Now go home before you say something you shouldn’t to someone important.” About to stand up and eject him physically, she was relieved when her office door opened and Stacy, her PA, walked in.
Her gaze fixed on the empty glass in Tony’s hand. “Ah, Tony—Brett is looking for you. New business opportunity. He says you’re the man to handle it.”
“Really? In that case—” Tony scooped up Kayla’s untouched glass and strolled toward the door “—nothing stands in the way of business, does it? Certainly not pleasure.”
Stacy watched him go, eyebrows raised. “What’s got into him?”
“Two bottles of champagne got into him.” Kayla dropped her head into her hands and stared blankly at the screen. “Was Brett really looking for him?”
“No, but you looked as if you were about to punch him, and I didn’t want you to spend Christmas in custody. I’ve heard the food is terrible.”
“You are one in a million and you’re in line for a fat bonus.”
“You already gave me a fat bonus. I treated myself to this top.” Stacy twirled like a ballerina and black sequins gleamed under the lights. “What do you think?”
“Love it. Just don’t stand too near Tentacle Tony.”
“I think he’s cute.” Stacy blushed. “Sorry. Too much information.”
“You think he’s hot?” Kayla stared at the door where Tony had exited a few moments earlier and wondered what was wrong with her. “Seriously?”
“Everyone does. Everyone except you, obviously, but that’s because you work too hard to notice. Why don’t you come and join the party?”
“Everyone will be chatting about the holidays. I’m fine talking about work but I’m useless with kids, pets and grandmas.”
“Talking of work, we have a potential new business lead. The guy is coming in tomorrow to brief us. Brett wants you in on that meeting.”
Relieved the topic had shifted, Kayla perked up. “What guy?”
“Jackson O’Neil.”
“Jackson O’Neil.” She filed through her brain. “CEO of Snowdrift Leisure. They own a handful of luxury hotels specializing in winter sports. Mostly European based. Zermatt, Klosters, Chamonix. Impressive track record. Very successful. What about him?”
Stacy gaped at her. “How do you know all this stuff?”
“It’s what I do when other people have a social life.” Kayla typed Jackson O’Neil into the search engine. “Do they want us to work with them? I can talk to someone in the London office.”
“It isn’t the European business. And it isn’t Snowdrift Leisure. He took a backseat in the company eighteen months ago so he could move back to the U.S. and focus on the family business.”
“Really? How did I miss that?” Kayla looked at the photographs that came up on her screen. Jackson O’Neil was at least two decades younger than she’d imagined him to be. Instead of the usual corporate head and shoulders shot, there was a photograph of him skiing down what looked like a vertical slope. Her head spun as she looked at the gradient. “Is that Photoshop?”
Stacy peered over her shoulder and made an appreciative sound. “That man is seriously hot. I bet he drinks vodka martinis, shaken not stirred. It’s not Photoshop. All three O’Neil brothers are skiers. Tyler O’Neil was on the U.S. ski team until he injured himself. They’re always flinging themselves off some cliff or other.”
“So I’d probably better not mention I feel dizzy at the top of the Empire State Building.” Kayla clicked off the picture. “Snowdrift Leisure is a fast-growing, successful company
. Why isn’t he focusing on that?”
“Family. The O’Neil family owns the Snow Crystal Resort and Spa in Vermont.”
Family. The most destructive force known to man. “Never heard of it.”
“I guess that’s why he’s contacted us for help.”
“If he’d wanted to run the family business, why didn’t he do that straight off instead of setting up his own company?” She clicked through the Snow Crystal website, looking at images. A large Alpine-style hotel and log cabins nestling in a forest. A couple, smiling adoringly in the back of a horse-drawn sleigh. Laughing families skating on a frozen pond. She quickly returned to the images of the cabins. “Maybe he’s a guy who prefers a challenge.”
“No doubt he’ll tell you why when you meet. He asked for you. He saw what you did for Adventure Travel.”
Kayla stared at the log cabins, and thought how peaceful they looked. “Are they putting the business out to pitch?”
“Brett thinks if you can impress Jackson O’Neil tomorrow, the business is ours.”
“Then we’d better make sure we impress him.”
“I’m sure you will.” Stacy hesitated. “Have you ever skied?”
“Not exactly. I mean, I’ve never actually worn a pair of skis as such, but I skidded on the snow outside Bloomingdales last week. I felt as if my gut was going to come up through my mouth. Skiing must give you a similar feeling.”
Stacy laughed. “My parents took me to Vermont when I was little. All I remember was ice. Even the trees were frozen.”
“That’s perfect because I love ice.”
“You do?”
“Absolutely. Ideally I prefer it crushed in a margarita or carved into a swan as a centerpiece on a buffet table, but I can go with it under my feet if I have to. I’ll be fine, Stacy. I’m helping them promote the company, not going on holiday there. When I worked on that African Safari account, did I have to hug a lion? No, I did not.” Kayla felt the familiar buzz that always came when facing a new business opportunity. Her fears of the dreaded Christmas period were soothed by the knowledge she now had a legitimate reason to bury herself in work. She’d get through it, as she always did, and no one would be any the wiser. “Be an angel and dig up as much information as you can on Snow Crystal and the O’Neil family, particularly Jackson. I want to know why he took a backseat in his highly successful business to return home and run a place I can’t even find on a map.”
“I’ll have it for you first thing tomorrow.” Brisk and efficient, Stacy made a note in her book. “Maybe you should take a break, Kayla. You’re forgetting it’s Christmas!”
“I’m not forgetting.”
She’d been trying to forget for a decade and a half. There was no forgetting.
Whenever she left her apartment or her office she walked with her head down, avoiding glimpses of glittering window displays and twinkly lights, but nothing helped.
Stacy tidied the stack of invoices. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind and join our team trip to see Santa?”
It felt as if someone were sawing through her stomach.
Dragging open her drawer, Kayla pulled out indigestion tablets and swallowed two. She wondered whether taking the lot would put her out until after Christmas. “Can’t, sorry, but I appreciate the invitation.”
“There will be Christmas trees, elves—”
“Oh, God, poor you.”
“Why poor me? I love Christmas.” Stacy shot her a puzzled look. “Don’t you?”
“I adore Christmas. I’m totally gutted I can’t make it. I meant poor me, not poor you.” The effort of smiling was making her jaw ache. “Think of me while you’re mingling with elves.”
“Maybe you should come anyway and talk to Santa. You can give him your Christmas list. Dear Santa, please give me the Snow Crystal account together with a massive budget, and, while you’re at it, I’ll have Jackson O’Neil naked. Hold the gift wrap.”
The only thing she wanted for Christmas was for it to be over as fast as possible.
Memories hit her with a thump, and Kayla stood up abruptly and paced to the window. All around her were reminders of Christmas, so she paced back to her desk and sat down again, vowing to book a cruise to Antarctica next year. Whale watching. Whales didn’t celebrate Christmas, did they?
The phone on her desk rang and she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness.
Stacy snapped into professional mode and reached across the desk, but Kayla stopped her.
“I’ll get it. I’m expecting a call from the CEO of Extreme Explore. I’d rather the man wasn’t deafened by the sounds of sleigh bells, or jingle bells, or whatever bells are ringing out there, so it would be great if you went back to the party and closed the door behind you. Thanks, Stacy. If anyone asks, you haven’t seen me.” Waiting until she closed the door, Kayla whimpered and leaned forward, banging her head on the desk. “Christmas. Crappy, miserable, horrible Christmas. Please be over quickly this year otherwise I’m going to need every last shard of ice in Vermont to chill all the alcohol I intend to drink.” Pulling in a deep breath she sat up, raked her hair away from her face and picked up the phone. “Oliver?” Afraid he might hear her desperation, she pinned the smile back on her face, thankful it wasn’t a video conference. “It’s Kayla. Great to speak to you. How’s it going? I read through your business plans for next year. Exciting!”
This, she thought, this she could do.
No Christmas. No Santa. No memories.
Just her job.
If she kept her head down and focused on winning the O’Neil account, it would eventually all be over.
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL kind of nonsense is this?” Eighty years old, but with all the energy of a man half his age, Walter O’Neil thumped his fist on the kitchen table while his grandson Jackson lounged in his chair, biting his tongue and reining in his temper.
Every meeting was the same.
Every battle they fought came back to the same theme.
This was why he hadn’t wanted to work with his family. It wasn’t a job—it was personal. There was no space to operate. Any hint of a new idea was strangled at birth. He’d built his own successful company from the ground up and now he felt like a teenager helping out in the store on weekends.
“It’s called public relations, Gramps.”
“It’s called a waste of money. I wouldn’t have done it that way and neither would your father.”
The blow landed deep in his gut. Jackson exchanged a swift glance with his brother, but before either of them could respond there was a crash. His grandmother stared in dismay at the shattered remains of the plate.
The puppy whimpered and retreated under the table for safety.
“Grams—” Jackson was on his feet, his own pain forgotten, but his mother was there before him.
“Don’t worry, Alice, I always hated that plate anyway. Ugly thing. I’ll clear it up.”
“I’m not normally clumsy.”
“You’ve been baking all morning. You must be exhausted.” She sent a reproachful look at her father-in-law, who glared right back, unrepentant.
“What? Are you saying I can’t talk about Michael? Are we all going to pretend this isn’t happening? Do we brush his memory under the rug like crumbs?”
Jackson didn’t know which was worse—the sight of his usually feisty grandmother so subdued or the shadow in his mother’s eyes.
“I need help decorating the gingerbread Santas.” She cajoled and soothed, keeping everyone happy while ignoring her glowering father-in-law, and within seconds she had Alice seated at the table in front of a rack of freshly made gingerbread men, various bowls of colored icing laid out in front of her.
Tyler sat at the far end of the table, restless and impatient. “I thought this was going to be a family meeting, not a family argument.”
“Argument?” Alice turned troubled eyes to Elizabeth. “Is it an argument?”
“Of course it isn’t. People are just having
their say.”
“Families are supposed to stick together.”
“We’re together, Alice. That’s why it’s noisy.”
“Happy to reduce the numbers.” Tyler half rose to his feet and Jackson shot him a look.
“Sit down. We’re not done here.”
“I’m done.” Always one to reject authority, Tyler’s gaze burned into his and then he looked at the set of his brother’s jaw and sat. “Remind me why I came home?”
“Because you have a daughter,” Walter barked. “And responsibilities. And there comes a point in a man’s life when he has to do more than tear up the slopes and chase after women.”
“You were the one who taught me to tear up the slopes. You gave me the genes and the skis and you showed me what to do with them.”
Jackson wondered how the hell he was supposed to run this place when his “staff” had more baggage than an airport departure lounge.
“We need to stick to business.” His tone got him the attention he needed. “Tyler, you’re going to help Brenna run the winter activities program.” And that was another problem brewing, he thought. He had a feeling Brenna wasn’t too pleased to see Tyler back at Snow Crystal, and he was pretty sure he knew the reason.
He waited as his mother added a bowl of white icing to the table and handed his grandmother a knife.
With Alice occupied, Elizabeth O’Neil turned her attention to the broken china on the floor.
Jackson felt as if he were walking over the fragments in bare feet.
“I intend to make this business work but to do that I need to make changes.”
His grandfather glowered at him. “It worked just fine when I ran it and when your father ran it.”
No, it didn’t. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the truth about the state of the business but then he saw his mother’s fingers whiten on the broom. Did she know what a mess his father had left behind?
