Table of Contents
Mistletoe & Molly
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press publication.
Mistletoe
& Molly
by
Jennifer Snow
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Mistletoe & Molly
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Jennifer Snow
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2012
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-153-1
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my parents—Annie and Robert O'Reilly
Chapter One
“I wish it would snow.”
“Bite your tongue.” Molly Bishop sat next to her friend and co-worker, looking out the large frost covered window facing Fifth Avenue. The lunch rush was over, and the café was quiet. “I need winter tires for the Jeep, and I have forty-seven dollars in my bank account. I can’t afford snow right now.” She took a gulp of her lukewarm coffee.
“I can loan you the money.” Cameron removed her apron and hung it over the back of the chair.
“No way. I couldn’t let you do that.” Molly bit into a stale chocolate biscotti, the first thing she’d eaten so far that day. “I’ll come up with something.” She toyed with the edge of the cookie wrapper.
“Forgive me for suggesting this, but…why don’t you just ask your dad for the money?” Cameron placed her hands over her face and waited for her friend’s verbal attack.
“You know I can’t do that. Not after last month’s speech about how I no longer need his advice or his money. No, owing my father money gives him the right to a say in my life. No thanks.” Not that she’d been doing a great job of running her life since moving to the city. Her degree in public relations went unused as she searched for a job in her field with no luck. Everyone in New York needing publicity already had a publicist. At twenty-seven, her resume consisted of coffee shops and bookstores and a three day stint as a pretzel sample girl at the mall.
“What about a bank loan?” Cameron dipped her chocolate chip cookie into her cinnamon latte.
“I tried, but without a co-signer I couldn’t qualify.” Molly lowered her voice. The only other person in the café was in earshot. A regular. Tall, handsome, Wall Street kind of guy. A man just like her father. Powerful, successful, and arrogant. Every day he wore a different designer suit, and the Rolex on his arm was worth more than Molly made in a year working at the café. He ate a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato every day for lunch.
“So what do you think you’re going to do?” Cameron fixed a strand of white Christmas lights drooping from the corner of the window.
“I have no idea…” Molly examined her chipped nail polish. “Do they still have those paid medical studies at the university? I don’t need two kidneys do I?” She dusted biscotti crumbs off of the table onto her hand and stood. The oven timer rang, signaling the pastries were done.
“Don’t be silly… What about another job? How’s your search for a P.R. job?” Cameron turned on the radio. The sound of Mariah Carey singing All I Want for Christmas is You filled the café.
“Still nothing. I sent out a bunch of resumes this week, so keep your fingers crossed for me.” Molly opened the oven door. “Actually there was one opportunity, an unpaid internship at Rollins and Clark, but who can afford to take one of those?” She shrugged and grabbed a tray of apple turnovers to refill it with pastries fresh from the oven. You can. If you’d swallow your pride and accept money from your father. She dismissed the thought and approached the cash register where Mr. Wall Street waited to pay his bill.
The phone behind the counter rang.
“Cameron can you grab that?” she called through the kitchen door.
“Can’t.” Cameron waved her hands full of dough through the window in the door.
Molly hesitated.
“Go ahead, and answer it. I’ll just leave the cash next to the register.” The man waved a twenty and slid the cash under the tip jar on the counter.
Molly smiled, gave a quick wave, and reached for the phone. “Fifth Avenue Café.”
“Molly, it’s Lana.”
The unreliable employee.
“I’m not feeling great.” The girl coughed. “I won’t be making it in tonight. Can you cover my shift?”
Forty-seven dollars in your bank account. “Sure, Lana, no problem. Feel better soon.” Molly replaced the receiver and sighed. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. This would be her third overtime shift that week. So much for a relaxing evening at home with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s—one of the few remaining items in her refrigerator.
“Let me guess…Lana’s sick.” Cameron poked her head out from the kitchen and rolled her eyes.
“Yes, but I could use the extra shift anyway.” Molly went to the cash register to ring in Mr. Wall Street’s lunch. She took the cash out from under the tip jar and gasped. A hundred dollar bill was wrapped around his business card. Aiden Ford, Consultant. He’d written something on the back. Call Bob about your tires, he’ll take care of you. A phone number was scribbled underneath.
“What’s that?” Cameron came through the swinging screen door from the kitchen, carrying a turtle cheesecake. The smell of dark chocolate and caramel filled the air. She slid the cake into the display case and turned her attention to Molly.
Molly handed her the card and the hundred-dollar bill.
Cameron let out a low whistle. “That was generous of him.”
“He eavesdropped on our conversation.” Molly punched the numbers into the till.
“We weren’t exactly whispering, Molly,” Cameron pointed out, handing her the bill to deposit into the open register.
Molly removed eighty-seven dollars and huffed. “He didn’t have to listen. I’ll run after him. Be right back.” She dashed through the door, not pausing for her coat.
“At least take a thirty percent tip!” Cameron shouted through the open door and shook her head.
Molly wrapped her arms around her thin frame and jogged through the puddles of slush on the busy sidewalk. Where had he gone so fast?
She spotted him at the corner, waiting on the light. “Mr. Ford!”
He turned at the sound of his name, but didn’t move toward her.
Breathless, she reached him a moment later. “Thanks for meeting me halfway…” She placed a hand under her ribs and took a deep breath. “Here, you left your change.” She extended the money toward him.
“Yes, I know.” The light turned to walk, and he stepped off the curb.
Frustrated, she followed. “Tha
nk you, but I can’t accept this or your help with the tires.” She thrust the handful of bills in his direction and stepped over a dark pile of slush on the street.
He ignored her and kept walking. He stopped once they reached the opposite corner and turned. “Holly, is it?”
“Molly,” she corrected, her teeth chattering. Why won’t he just take the money so I can go back inside? The wind whipped through her thin white V-neck sweater, and she shivered. People moved around them, shooting them looks that suggested they take their conversation inside and quit blocking the passageway.
“Okay, Molly, here’s the thing. I make that in about seven minutes, so it’s really nothing. Waiting for you to get off the phone would have cost me just as much.” He looked at his Rolex. “This conversation is costing me, so if you’ll excuse me, this is my building.” He ignored the money in her outstretched hand and her open-mouthed expression. He opened the door to the building and turned back. “Look, I’m a personal consultant. It’s my job to fix people’s lives when they can’t.”
Too stunned by his rudeness to speak, Molly stepped aside as delivery men carried heavy crates of vegetables into the market.
“And call Bob. There’s snow on the way.” He gave a quick, dismissive wave and disappeared inside the skyscraper.
Like hell she’d call Bob. What a rude man! Fix her life? Her life did not need fixing. Her life needed a good paying P.R. job. It needed a small bank loan to put new winter tires on her Jeep. And it needed a good excuse for missing Christmas at their family home this year, an ordeal she didn’t think she could handle, but nothing needed fixing. Especially not by Aiden Ford.
She jogged in the direction of the café and cringed as her foot landed in a deep puddle on the sidewalk. Okay, and now I need dry socks before I start the night shift.
****
“I make that amount in seven minutes? Could I have sounded any more arrogant?” Aiden tossed his briefcase onto the empty chair in his office and slumped onto the leather sofa. He raked a hand through his hair and stood near the large window above the busy Manhattan streets. And he’d called her Holly? He knew damn well what her name was. Too well. He knew too much about her and hated to admit he liked everything he knew. Smart and independent. He suspected she was the daughter of Mel Bishop, one of the most well respected men working in commercial real estate in the city. With her dark hair the color of chocolate, and her deep set emerald eyes, she looked just like her father. Her lips were full and rosy, and when she smiled… He shook the image of the woman from his head.
Over the last few weeks, he’d heard about her search for a job in public relations and her refusal to accept her father’s help. He admired her determination, but he wanted to shake her. Forty-seven dollars in the bank, and she wanted to return his money?
His receptionist buzzed a moment later. “Mr. Ford, your two o’clock appointment is waiting in the lobby.”
He hit the intercom button. “Okay, Lynn, send her in, in two minutes.” He removed his overcoat and straightened his tie. Tomorrow, he would apologize to Molly for his rudeness and convince her to go see Bob.
Opening his laptop, he skimmed through the profile of the client waiting in the lobby. Oh, this one is going to need work…and lots of it.
****
Stretching four hours later, Aiden stood and closed his laptop. He grabbed his coat from the hook on the door and shut the blinds to the office window. It was dark outside, and the forecasted snow covered the ground. The Christmas lights from the surrounding buildings created a warm glow on the city, and he looked forward to an evening in front of the fireplace with a glass of wine.
Beeep! The building’s buzzer rang.
Who was that? Lynn had already left for the day. He had no more appointments that evening. “Hello?”
“Delivery for A. Ford,” a gruff voice announced through the building’s intercom.
Delivery? “Come on in.” Aiden glanced at his watch. His favorite television show started in twenty minutes. This better not take long. He opened the door and waited in the hallway for the delivery man. He locked the door and turned. The man approaching him carried a brown cardboard box with the words Pet Adoption Center written on the side. Must have the wrong A. Ford.
“Aiden Ford?”
“Yes.”
“Sign here, please.” The man handed Aiden a delivery pad and pen. He motioned to the signature box.
Aiden studied the slip, a frown forming on his face.
A loud bark came from inside the box.
“There’s been a mistake. I didn’t order a dog.” Aiden handed back the pad.
The driver refused to take it, shaking his head. “You Aiden Ford?”
“Yes, but…”
“Then the pooch is yours…” He flipped through a notebook he carried and nodded. “Yup, says here a Miss Molly Bishop placed the order. Must be an early Christmas present,” he insisted as the box struggled and wiggled next to their feet.
The smell of urine hit Aiden’s nose, and he groaned. “Please return the dog to Miss Bishop. I’ll pay whatever fees are associated.” He took his wallet from his back pocket.
“No can do. There’s no return address.” The driver set down three plastic bags from Pet City.
“What’s in the bags?”
“Looks like dog food.”
About eighty-seven dollars worth would be his guess. “What am I supposed to do with this dog?” Aiden asked as he signed the delivery slip. “I live in a pet free building.”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me… Anyway, you signed for him, he’s yours.” The driver took the pad from him and bounded down the stairs. “Have a Merry Christmas.” He disappeared through the revolving door.
Aiden opened the box and peered inside. “What exactly are you? A rat?”
The mini Chihuahua barked in reply.
“Well, you sound like a dog at least.” He let out a loud sigh and stood. What the hell was he going to do with this dog?
Picking up the box and the bags of food, he turned off the lights with his elbow and exited the building. The crisp air took his breath away, and his footprints left a trail on the new snow as he approached his Land Rover.
Molly thought she was so clever. Well, tomorrow morning the dog went straight back to her. A Chihuahua did not fit into Aiden’s perfect life.
Chapter Two
“What is this?” Aiden demanded early the next morning. He stood in the doorway of the Fifth Avenue Café.
“It’s a miniature Chihuahua.” Molly smiled at the tiny brown and white dog at the end of the candy cane striped leash.
“Don’t play games with me, Molly. Why do I have him?” His cheeks were red, and she suspected it had nothing to do with the cold. He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him.
“Sorry, we don’t allow dogs in here,” she told him as she delivered a latte and cheese scone to a table near the stone fireplace.
“Neither does my apartment building,” he growled. “Get outside.” He lifted her jacket off of the hook and thrust it toward her as she passed.
She ignored the outstretched jacket. “I’m sorry, I’d like to talk but my time costs about ten cents a minute, so I have to get back to work.” She stuck her tongue out at him and placed her hands on her hips.
“Look, I didn’t mean to be rude yesterday. Please come outside.” The words were said through clenched teeth.
The dog danced at their feet, about to pee on the café floor.
“I’ll be right back, Cameron.” Molly took her coat and followed him outside. “What do you want?” She hissed once the door closed behind them.
“Why did you send me a dog?” He folded his arms and glared.
“Well, let’s see…How did you put it yesterday? I saw a problem with your life, so I fixed it.” Her anger rose at the memory of the insult.
“Hmph,” he grunted. “Trust me little lady, my life does not need fixing so if you’ll just take this dog, I’ll be on my way.�
� He extended the leash to her.
She shook her head and refused to take it. “Forget it. For three weeks I’ve watched you thumb through the classifieds section circling dogs for sale ads… Now you can stop looking. You have a dog. Merry Christmas.” She bent to pet the Chihuahua.
“This isn’t exactly the dog I had in mind.”
She grinned. She’d suspected as much. “This one needed a home…at least for the holidays,” she explained as she stood.
“I don’t understand.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, confusion clouding his ice blue eyes.
“I volunteer at an animal shelter. People take the animals home for the holidays. Layla belongs to you until January second, unless, of course, you want to permanently adopt her.”
“This is absurd. Of course I don’t want to adopt her. She isn’t even a full dog.” He paced back and forth on the slushy sidewalk. The little dog followed, tangling the leash around his feet.
“Shh. She can hear you.” Molly bent to pick up the dog as Aiden stepped through the leash. “And she’s cold. You may want to get her a sweater for walking her.”
“Where do I return her?” His voice was harsh, serious and unyielding.
Molly put the dog back on the sidewalk and stood to face his intense glare. She swallowed hard. “You can’t. You signed the temporary adoption form.”
“No I didn’t, you did. Which, by the way, is a crime.” He advanced toward her.
She refused to back away. “Look, you interfered with my life, I’ve interfered with yours. Just look after the dog for a few weeks, and we’ll call it even.” She lowered her voice as a few regular customers exited the café.
“Even? I do something nice for you, and you complicate my life with an animal. That does not sound even to me.” He was just inches from her.
The smell of his expensive cologne filled the narrow space between them. Soft and musky. Her pulse raced, and her heart pounded under her pale blue sweater. “I have to get back to work. Bring Layla back here on the second of January, and I’ll return her for you. That’s the best I can do, Mr. Ford.”
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