Deck the Halls

by Heather MacAllister

  Adam wanted to shake her. “Listen to yourself! You’re allowing them to wipe out five years of work.”

  “I won’t be starting over completely. I have the Christmas stock and I have contacts.” The word was a talisman.

  “That Fitzhugh woman has some kind of gall. You saved her neck.” Adam shoved his hands in his pockets—another gesture he’d been repeating for hours. “I suppose it’s pointless to ask if you had a contract?”

  Her eyes briefly met his.

  “Great.” Adam jiggled the change in his pockets for a minute. “Did you ever discuss a budget?”

  Holly shifted her legs. “No. I kept her informed of my plans, but she never questioned anything I spent.”

  Adam stared at her in disbelief. “That’s no way to run a charity ball. Then again, it was brilliant. Poor Holly. Don’t you understand? She set you up right from the start.”

  “Actually, I got the idea she was so happy just to have a ball that anything I spent was all right.”

  “Unbelievable.” Adam began to pace again. “What are you going to tell Ivy and Laurel?”

  Holly’s laugh was mirthless. “Big sister miscalculated.”

  “Let’s see by how much.” Adam glanced around the living room, before sitting down at her mother’s writing desk. “When you said you spent everything, did you mean a lot or . . . everything?”

  Holly gave a crack of laughter. “I spent it all and then some. I have bills coming in and I defrosted the charge card.”

  Adam didn’t laugh. “Get your receipts and any outstanding bills. I assume you kept records.”

  With a contemptuous look, Holly unfolded herself from the chair. “Start on this,” she said, handing Adam her notebook.

  Adam was working on that when Holly returned and dumped the contents of a file folder, a calculator and a frosty foil-wrapped package on the desk, then returned to the chair.

  “What’s this?” Adam held up the frozen package.

  “I overlooked that one. We found it last night when we put all that food in the freezer. It’s money.”

  Adam’s dimples appeared. “Your total, uh, liquid assets?”

  Holly nodded, watching as Adam studied the receipts and bills. She supposed she should feel really horrible, but she didn’t. She’d make all the money back, and it wouldn’t take her five years, either. This was an expensive lesson and one she didn’t intend to repeat.

  “Okay.” Adam stared at the figures. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Be quiet. We’re transferring some of your expenses. Today, you’re going to have a chat with the hotel conference manager. The dishes and the tables—where did you get those?”

  For the first time, there was a brief flicker of interest in Holly’s eyes. “From the hotel.”

  Adam held up a piece of paper. “This is a bill for white dishes. There isn’t anything unusual about white dishes—why did they charge you for them?”

  “The hotel’s had colored bands. I asked for plain white.” Adam smiled. “Fine. But supplying dishes is the hotel’s problem or the caterer’s problem—not your problem. You’re going to instruct them to add that to their bill to the Winter Ball committee.” He put it aside. “See how painless that was?”

  “But—”

  “Tables and chairs?”

  Holly began to smile. “The hotel.”

  Adam added to the small stack. “Labor?”

  “I used a set designer from a theater group.”

  “Did he hire the workers?”

  Holly sat up. “No, the hotel got them for me.”

  “Then let them bill the hotel. Claudia Fitzhugh isn’t about to tangle with the Landreth.”

  Holly slipped out of her chair and came across the room to stand beside Adam. “How does it look?”

  Adam turned the sheet he’d been writing on toward her. “That takes care of half your expenses right there.”

  “Thank you, Adam.” Holly bent down and wrapped her arms around him.

  The phone rang. Holly jerked. “You see? It’s started. I’ll pull out of this.”

  She ran to answer the phone, waving a piece of paper triumphantly when she returned. “A Valentine luncheon—what did I tell you?”

  “Is it for charity?” Adam asked cynically.

  Holly shook her head. The phone rang again.

  “Don’t these people go to church?” Adam grumbled. Holly skipped back. “I’m getting booked for all the holidays. Fourth of July at the country club.”

  “Have them sign a contract, which I’ll draw up. Then call Mrs. Fitzhugh, apologize for not making it clear that you were donating your services in a professional capacity, and offer to split your expenses.”

  “Adam . . .” Holly began, a warning in her voice.

  “That’s called compromise, my dear. My specialty. Everybody walks away with something.”

  The phone rang a third time. And a fourth.

  “I’m going home,” Adam announced, when it became apparent that he wouldn’t get any more uninterrupted conversation with Holly. “I’ll draft a standard contract for you so you won’t be in a mess like this again.”

  “What mess?” A rumpled Laurel put in her first appearance of the morning.

  “That’s my exit cue.” Adam kissed Holly on the cheek. “Hang in there,” he whispered and let himself out the front door.

  Her sisters handled the news the way Holly had expected they would. Laurel screamed and Ivy cried.

  “I don’t care what Mrs. Fitzhugh and those other biddies think,” Ivy declared. “We should go and demand our money. My college money.”

  Laurel nodded. “You always said we were in this together. Well, I’m with Ivy. You can’t decide all by yourself to write it off.” They’d moved to the kitchen and Laurel poured them each another cup of coffee. Ivy wrinkled her nose and diluted hers with three sugars and a generous slug of milk.

  “Look at this.” Holly picked up the notes she’d made from the morning’s phone calls. “We’re booked for most major holidays for the rest of this year. If I raise a stink, they’ll cancel.”

  Laurel stared at her a moment. “That might not be so bad.”

  Holly’s protest was cut off by the telephone. Laurel stood up quickly to answer it.

  Holly took another sip of coffee, careful not to gulp it down, as she observed Ivy’s stormy face. “I know what I said about your going to college and I’m sure that by September, you can.”

  “Really?” Ivy gave Holly a disgusted look and went to raid the refrigerator. It was packed with last night’s leftovers, which Laurel had sweet-talked out of the caterers. “Work on the Christmas trees now and go to college later. Look where that got me.”

  “Gripe, gripe, gripe. Adam says to check the society section and call Mrs. Fitzhugh this afternoon. She’ll be mellower then,” Laurel said, hanging up the phone.

  Ivy emptied a bag of once-elegant, slightly wilted party food as Holly dug out the Sunday newspaper society section.

  Laurel spread the paper on the table. The center two pages were devoted to candid photographs of the Winter Ball.

  “You see!” Holly stabbed the paper triumphantly. “There are as many pictures of the decor as there are of the personalities. That’s why I can’t sabotage this kind of exposure by whining about the money to Mrs. Fitzhugh.”

  “Whining!” Ivy protested. “We’re talking about thousands!”

  Her sisters were impossible. “That’s what we’re talking about if I lose these new jobs.”

  “Hey, here I am. Laurel Hall, Our Town’s aspiring actress—”

  “Actress?” Holly leaned over the paper and scanned the text. “You were interviewed and didn’t mention Deck the Halls?”

&n
bsp; Laurel looked surprised. “Admit I was the hired help?”

  “Would have solved a few problems,” Holly said dryly.

  “There are three pictures of Laurel posing with those old men in the sleigh.” Ivy pointed to them.

  “Oh, no,” Holly groaned. “She looks like she’s about to fall out of that dress.”

  “Oh, piffle,” Laurel said. “Those men were sweet. Their wives are on the committee.”

  Holly winced. “I’ll bet they just love this.” She sighed. “I’d better get to Mrs. Fitzhugh before they do.”

  As Adam had predicted, Mrs. Fitzhugh was all smiles, until she saw her caller was Holly.

  “Enjoying your success?” Holly asked as she led the way into Mrs. Fitzhugh’s study.

  “I was.” The unblinking matron declined to sit, forcing Holly to stand, too.

  Holly handed her a brown envelope. “This is a revised list of the ball’s expenses.” When Mrs. Fitzhugh made no move to take it, Holly carefully placed the envelope on the cherrywood desk. “I apologize for not making it clearer that you were dealing with me in a professional capacity.” The words nearly stuck in her throat.

  “I find that, in your inexperience, you have been wildly extravagant. The Winter Ball committee authorized none of the expenses.” Mrs. Fitzhugh’s smile was a mixture of triumph, pity and smugness.

  “I hoped we’d be able to reach a compromise,” Holly stated, looking into a watery blue gaze that was the twin of Mr. Steele’s.

  “It will cost you more than it’s worth.” The threat was implicit in each well-modulated word.

  Holly walked out of the study. “I’ll have all further invoices directed to the Winter Ball committee.”

  “Do that and you won’t work in Dallas again.”

  “I BELIEVE YOU’VE met my sister, Claudia Fitzhugh.”Adam smiled and nodded, taking in the rigid posture of Mrs. Fitzhugh and the rest of the Winter Ball committee stiffly perched on the leather furniture in Mr. Steele’s plush office. No one returned his smile. So Mrs. Fitzhugh was following through on her threats. This was not good for Holly.

  “Have you seen this?” Mr. Steele whirled around and thrust something at Adam, obviously hoping to catch him off guard.

  “A pinup calendar?” Grimacing with distaste, Adam shook his head and tossed the calendar back on the desk. “Not my style.”

  Mr. Steele retrieved it, flipped through the pages and turned it around to face Adam. “Care to comment?”

  It was the penthouse with the skyline view, Bianca, the fireplace tools and, unfortunately, Darlene, the receptionist.

  Mrs. Fitzhugh sniffed. “It appears Bernard has a penchant for hiring floozies.”

  “Claudia,” Mr. Steele warned as he awaited Adam’s reaction.

  Adam, drawing on years of lawyer-family upbringing, kept his face carefully neutral. “I know nothing about it.”

  “Kinda thing you find in army barracks—or service stations,” Mr. Steele said. “In fact, one of our clients found this in a service station. One of his. Wanted to know why he got a picture of a tree and his employees got her.” Mr. Steele laughed, but Adam wasn’t deceived. “We look like fools.”

  “Darlene is an excellent receptionist. This shouldn’t—”

  Mr. Steele waved away Adam’s comment. “I don’t blame her—it was that Hall gal. Brilliant. I underestimated her. She’s still mad ’cause I wouldn’t represent her after the crash. Purely a business decision, but she was too green to see it that way. Stood right where you are now and told me she’d never forget it. That I’d regret my . . . betrayal, I think she called it.” Mr. Steele smiled in remembrance.

  “Are you implying that this is her revenge?” Adam forced amusement into his voice.

  “Superbly planned, too.” Mr. Steele thrust out his lower lip and stared at his shoes. “Too bad she’s not a lawyer.”

  Claudia Fitzhugh could remain silent no longer. “My ball, Bernard! That girl and her strumpet of a sister used me and embarrassed the committee. And your new partner’s involvement in this entire—” She stopped abruptly as she noted the anger in Adam’s eyes.

  “Be very sure of yourself before you make accusations.” Adam’s words were chiseled, his face like stone.

  “It’s obvious to anyone!” Mrs. Fitzhugh thrust the Sunday society section at Adam and pointed a jeweled finger at the pages of color photographs of the ball. “Look how she insinuated her sister into these pictures. Look at that dress!”

  Adam found it difficult to control his mounting fury. “You should complain to the newspaper. They chose the pictures.”

  “It says she is an actress.” Mrs. Fitzhugh said the word in a tone that indicated she felt it was synonymous with call girl. “The ballet is hardly mentioned.”

  There was a whispered comment from the committee. Mrs. Fitzhugh nodded her head. “Do you know how many of the men were forced to pose in the sleigh with her instead of their wives?”

  Adam’s gaze flicked over some of those wives. “No,” he said blandly. “But it was for charity, wasn’t it?”

  “Tainted money,” Mrs. Fitzhugh declared. “And speaking of money—” she imperiously held out a hand and an envelope magically appeared in it—“this . . . this is a demand for payment. Not only did Ms. Hall use our ball to further her sister’s career, she actually wants the committee to pay for it!”

  Adam took the envelope from Mrs. Fitzhugh and glanced at the papers inside. Holly hadn’t varied from the figures he’d calculated. He nodded and handed the papers to Mr. Steele. “Everything appears to be in order.”

  “How can you say that?” Mrs. Fitzhugh quivered indignantly. “She was outrageously extravagant!”

  “Just on the silk, but she’s offering to split expenses down the middle there. You must admit, the room was spectacular.”

  More whispering from the committee. “Nevertheless, she must pay for her exorbitance. We’ll sue her if she refuses.”

  “Claudia,” began Mr. Steele heavily.

  “Stop waffling, Bernard. Are you with us or this poor besotted young man?”

  The challenge hung in the air. Mr. Steele’s faded blue eyes traveled from his sister and her friends, whose husbands represented some of his largest corporate accounts, to Adam.

  “Ladies.” Adam turned to the disapproving women, making an effort to sound conciliatory without being patronizing. “Let’s meet in a couple of days when tempers have cooled.” He smiled the devastating smile that could turn Holly’s bones to water. “I’m sure you want to avoid dragging this into the public eye.”

  “It’s already public.” Mrs. Fitzhugh abruptly changed targets. “Mr. Markland, since you are living in the penthouse, tell us when this—” she walked to the desk and picked up the calendar, holding it as if it threatened to contaminate her—“was photographed.”

  Barely controlled fury radiated from Adam. “I have said I know nothing of it.” His voice rang with the authority of two generations of Markland lawyers. “I will remind you that I am unaccustomed to having my word questioned.”

  “I believe you, Adam.” Mr. Steele’s attempt at conciliation failed with his next words. “But not everyone does. It looks to me like we’ll have to take this case. I’m still going to let you handle it, though.” Mr. Steele’s jowls stretched into a smile as if he had handed Adam a gift.

  Adam turned his piercing gaze on him. “I’m no longer a trial lawyer.” The brilliant blue eyes shaded by thick black brows were an intimidating Markland weapon. Adam used them now. “This can be settled out of court.”

  Mr. Steele backed off, as others had before him. “You’re right, Adam.”

  “Are you refusing?” trilled Mrs. Fitzhugh, with a furious look at her brother. “It appears you have something to hide, Bernard. A penthouse tryst with your receptionist, perhaps?�
��

  Adam watched Mr. Steele’s face turn a dull redbrick color. Mrs. Fitzhugh, bolstered by her committee, was in fine form. When Steele recovered, Adam knew he’d bend to the wishes of his sister. But if they intended to bankrupt Holly, they’d have to do it without him.

  “I’ve heard enough.” Adam’s voice sliced through the heavy silence. “I want it understood that before you accept this case, I am resigning my partnership in Swinehart, Cathardy and Steele. You’ll have a letter within fifteen minutes.”

  “Adam!” It was the first time Mr. Steele had raised his voice. “You’re thinking below the waist.”

  Adam lifted an eyebrow and turned to leave, quietly closing the door. He stood for a moment, his eyes tightly shut. Holly. He had to go to her.

  HOLLY SAW ADAM’S car from her bedroom window.

  “Hi,” he said softly, when she answered the door.

  He stood looking at her, but not really seeing her. Holly noted the lines of strain around his mouth and the bleakness in his eyes. Wordlessly, she opened her arms and he came to her, hugging her fiercely.

  “Let’s go sit down.” Holly began to rub his neck and back.

  Adam relaxed. “Feels good.” He smiled wearily at her and drew a gentle finger along her cheek.

  Holly turned her face into his palm and kissed it.

  Words began to pour out of Adam as Holly listened silently. He told her about his lawyer family and the challenge of growing up a Markland. He liked law, he said, but wasn’t a fanatic about it. He refused to separate the law from people and preferred arbitration over going to trial. His family had been subtle and then overt in their disapproval.

  Holly listened, conscious that she was learning more about Adam now than in the months she’d known him. As he talked, she began to understand what he’d meant about her not being in love with him. Quite suddenly, she realized she wanted to spend all the evenings for the rest of her life listening to Adam discuss his work and his feelings, and sharing hers with him. Adam was right—there was a difference.

  “What happened today?” Holly asked softly. For once, she forgot about Deck the Halls. There was only Adam and right now he needed her.