Marrying Miss Kringle: Frost

by McConnell, Lucy

  “Actually, you didn’t—” she started.

  He held up a hand to cut her off. “I thought the mail would take you longer, or that when you were done you would inquire after another task.”

  A tiny line appeared between her eyebrows. “Do you need more help?”

  He shifted. It wasn’t that he needed help so much. “I need you to do the job. I have several letters to compose.”

  A spark of interest lit her eyes and made him instantly wary. Why was she so interested in his correspondence? “Then let’s get to it.” She marched right past him, leaving a trail of sugar-and-spice scent for him to follow. Where workers had ducked their eyes when he walked by, they stared after Ms. Cratchit in open wonder. Like she really was some princess in their midst. She grinned at James. “Thanks for helping Mr. Cebu find me.”

  How had she known about that?

  “Y-you’re welcome.” James bent slightly, bowing as she passed. If the man had on a hat, he would have doffed it out of respect. His office was going mad.

  Tannon glared at James briefly.

  Ms. Cratchit snagged a mini candy bar from Cheryl’s desk with, “You are so kind. Thanks for the treats.”

  Cheryl’s cheeks glowed. “You’re welcome.”

  Ms. Cratchit stopped next to Bob’s desk and handed him the candy. “Here. You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

  He sighed. “Thanks. I just found out my daughter can’t come home for Thanksgiving.”

  Ms. Cratchit poked out her bottom lip and crossed her fingers. “Here’s hoping for Christmas.”

  Bob held up his crossed fingers too, a huge smile on his face. Had he always had that gold tooth? Tannon couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Bob smile.

  A few more encouraging smiles and one wink later and they were back in his office. He folded his arms. She’d wasted his time, and time was money. “You’ve been busy socializing, I see.”

  She looked innocently at him, her amethyst eyes broadcasting honesty. “I’ve never met these people before.”

  “Before today, you mean.” He motioned for her to follow him into his office.

  “Well, I guess if you count the last thirty seconds as today, then yes.”

  He rounded his desk and rifled through papers. “I expected more from you, Ms. Cratchit.”

  “More what?” She opened her arms, palms up. That darn adorable line was still between her eyebrows.

  “More work and less socializing.”

  “But I wasn’t—”

  “I don’t need your excuses.”

  “You need a good lump of coal in your stocking is what you need.”

  He snorted. “What I need is an assistant who cares more about her job than she does about handing out chocolate.”

  “Why can’t an assistant do both?”

  He reached for an answer. “Because it’s unprofessional.”

  “I disagree. In Lett—” She clamped her mouth shut, and her eyes zoomed back and forth as she thought briefly and began again. “At my old job, we had cookies and fudge on a regular basis, and everyone got their work done in a timely manner.”

  He puffed out a breath. “Ridiculous.”

  She cocked a hip and folded her arms. “Agree to disagree.”

  “I’m not agreeing to disagree at all. But I am tabling this nonsensical argument so we can accomplish something of use.” He motioned for her to take the chair in front of his desk. “I need the daily eco report sent to the National Emissions Standards Committee. You should be able to find their contact information in Mrs. Garron’s files. You’ll need to include the information from last week’s final report and our ID.”

  Ms. Cratchit nodded once.

  “David M-something in manufacturing had a question about the paper coating for the wrapping paper. Tell him to use a matte finish.”

  Ms. Cratchit made a small noise of disapproval.

  “I assume you don’t approve.” At this rate, he’d spend more of his day arguing than working.

  She pressed her pointer fingers together and then pressed them against her lips before speaking. “Christmas paper should be shiny.”

  “We’re starting a trend.”

  A high-pitched yeah-right sound came from deep in her throat.

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  She scooted forward. “You bet your bottom dollar I do. Christmas is all about traditions, and yes, there are trends. Like slap bracelets. Do you remember those?” Her nose wrinkled in silliness. “If you want to sell wrapping paper, go with the classics. And classic wrapping paper is always shiny. We’ve never used anything else.”

  Tannon bit back his desire to ask we who? “Regardless, this batch will be matte.”

  She quirked her lips as if saying, Your funeral.

  Tannon leaned back in his seat. He was used to people having a hard time talking to him. If they saw his half of a leg, they stuttered and stammered and fretted over saying something wrong so they often didn’t say anything at all. Or, they saw him as the grouchy boss and watched every word with care. Ms. Cratchit did none of those things. She hadn’t glanced at his leg, even when he limped along beside her. She hadn’t stared at his bald head and done mental calculations to determine if he was old enough to have lost his hair naturally or shaved it prematurely. And she didn’t back down from his surliness. Every weapon he used to keep people away, she blocked.

  “Is that all?” She examined her nails and brushed them against her shoulder.

  “For now. Please see me when the tasks are complete, and I’ll have something else for you to do.” Not being familiar with the reports, this should take her an hour or more.

  She was on her feet and to the door before he realized she hadn’t written anything down. With a low groan, he decided to skip lunch and waited for her to pop her head back in and ask him to repeat everything. While he waited, he worked on a presentation.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ms. Cratchit was standing in front of his desk. Just as he’d thought. She’d gone off half-cocked and cocky and fallen flat on her pretty little face.

  “What did you forget?” he asked, not looking up from the screen.

  “Nothing. I’m here for more work. Letters if you have them.”

  Her words tore his eyes from the screen. “You’re done?” No way. She must have done a half job and rushed through.

  She nodded. “I liked the letter to the NESC. Do you have any more of those I can write?”

  He clicked on the email she’d copied him on and scanned through the letter. It was articulate and included all the pertinent information. Fine. If she wanted a challenge, he’d give it to her. Leaning back, he reached to the bookshelf behind his desk and retrieved a three-inch-thick three-ring binder. “This is the quarterly compliance report from the Surface Coating Subcommittee. We need to be in compliance with their new rules by the first of the year, if we aren’t already. I need you to read this and create a bullet list of the changes we’ll need to make listed clearly.”

  She reached forward, her fingers dancing. “Oooh.” She practically snatched the folder away and skipped out the door.

  He shook his head. That should keep her busy for the rest of the day.

  An hour later, she was back with the requested information. He looked at the sheet on his desk with distrust. “There’s no way you read that whole report.”

  “I did.”

  “Don’t lie. I expected it to take you several hours.”

  She dropped the folder on his desk with a thud. “Ask me anything.”

  The challenging lilt to her chin was too much to pass up. He flipped open the folder to a random page. “What’s the Hap solvents used to the greatest extent in the manufacturing process?”

  “Mek, toluene, and MIBK.”

  “Okay.” He turned an inch of pages, moving more toward the back of the document. “What percent control do we have to have over air pollutants?”

  “Ninety-five percent. Although your plant operates at 9
7%.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I read the air quality report before I sent it out.”

  This woman was insufferable—and right. Two qualities that didn’t mix well. He narrowed his eyes. “How did you read this so fast?”

  “Speed-reading classes.” Something in her purple eyes dulled. It was the first time he really felt like she’d lied and not just suspected it. Though why she’d lie to him about something like speed-reading classes was unknown. Ms. Cratchit was beyond smart and he wasn’t sure where her alliances lay. He didn’t quite trust her, and yet, after her superb performance, he wasn’t sure what he’d do without her.

  “Sir.” James rolled himself through the door. “There are several reporters downstairs who want to ask you about closing the plant.” His wide pant legs quivered.

  “You’re closing the plant?” asked Ms. Cratchit, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Before Christmas?”

  And there it was. The reason this intelligent, beautiful woman had walked into his office in the first place. She was a corporate spy. He had orders to fill—orders that would finish the year strong enough to pad the sale of the company and land to the loggers. The more the company brought in, the higher the asking price. He could sign a contract a few days before Christmas and not have the money clear his account until the next calendar year for tax purposes.

  Sure, that would mean a lot of people were out of a job, but that was a small price to pay when it came to his son. He’d give anything for that boy—even the company his grandfather built. If news of the sale leaked before papers were signed, the protesters out front could make life difficult at best. Lawsuits would pile up, and the money he planned to live off of while he raised Brody would be sucked away in settlements and lawyer fees. He had to keep this under wraps and therefore had to do all he could to keep Ms. Cratchit from sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

  Pointing at James, he said, “You can tell those self-important busybodies that I have no comment. And you—” He pointed one finger at Ms. Cratchit. “—will mind your own business and leave all talk of Christmas out of this office.”

  She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “You can’t mean that.”

  He flung his hand towards the boutique she’d created. How on earth she’d managed to get the tree up here was beyond him. She must have had help. Who else was in on this plan to guilt him into keeping the company? “I do. Christmas at the Bison Paper Company is officially cancelled. No decorations. No gift exchange. And no party.” His pronouncement rang through the office like the loud clang of a church bell. “I don’t want to see a tree, a sprig of mistletoe, or so much as a … a nutcracker!”

  James worked his bottom lip.

  A fire lit in Ms. Cratchit’s eyes that burned shame right into Tannon’s soul. “I find you are quite different than I first believed, Mr. Cebu.” She dug her tiny fists into her hips. “You, sir, are a Grinch and a Scrooge and Old Man Potter all rolled into one.” Her hands flew into the air as she spun on her heel. “I can’t be here with you another moment, Tannon.” She said his first name as if it were a personal dig. Which it was, considering how many times he’d told her to call him Mr. Cebu. She stalked out the door, taking every ounce of cheer with her.

  Tannon found himself halfway out of his seat, an inner need to keep her from leaving propelling him forward. Halfway to the door, he wondered what he was doing, chasing after a woman as if she were his world. She was a secretary and nothing more.

  “Mr. Cebu?” James reached for Tannon’s arm and then pulled back. “The reporters?”

  Tannon ignored him. The reporters could wait. He didn’t owe Ms. Cratchit a thing—except for a day’s pay—and yet he felt as though he’d disappointed someone whose opinion mattered very much. He expected her to stomp her way out the door, grabbing her ridiculous Elvis nutcracker on the way. Instead, she left the bunting and the ribbons and the trappings behind. Doing so was like she was saying, If you want them gone, take them down yourself.

  Instead of scowling or grumbling, Ms. Cratchit smiled, working the room like a politician. Had there been babies, she would have kissed them. She stopped to hug Zuzu, and they had a quick conversation that ended in another hug and a scowl his direction from both women.

  Good sense overrode his impulses, and he sighed, turning away from Ms. Cratchit and her bright smile, pert nose, and eyes that could see right through his pain to the man he wished to be. That was why she’d disturbed him so. She knew there was pain and she lived as if there was a bubble around her where nothing went wrong, no one suffered, and Santa Claus was real.

  Except Santa was real. As real as Miss Kringle. Today was one of those days he wished had could go home and wrap his pen pal in his arms and kiss her until he forgot about everything else. Miss Kringle was the one person who understood him, and the longer they went without meeting, the lonelier his life became. He needed to convince her to meet.

  With a heavy sigh, he told James, “Tell them I’ve not received an official offer to buy the plant and that should one arrive, I will not enter into such an agreement without deep consideration.”

  Chapter 7

  Frost pulled into the rental house garage, her whole body weighed down by heartbreak. One day and Tannon had proven himself a complete Christmas cad. She could never truly love a man who banned Christmas from his company, who scoffed at nutcrackers and scowled at gingerbread houses.

  She rested her head against the steering wheel. And yet, a part of her still loved him. He was so handsome, much more so than she’d ever dreamed. His jaw was chiseled like Superman’s, and his eyes were so deep she could spend a lifetime swimming in them. Her feelings weren’t all superficial. There had been a few moments today when she thought he’d recognized her, seen appreciation and attraction in his gaze, and her heart had soared like Prancer through a sky full of stars. The man she knew was inside, hidden under layers of self-doubt.

  She groaned. Sitting in the garage wasn’t going to solve her problems, so she made her way inside.

  The garage door closed silently and she tiptoed down the hall, ready to have a good cry. Stella’s door was open halfway, and Frost looked inside to make sure the coast was clear before darting across the opening.

  “What the fruitcake?” She flattened her hand against the door and pushed it all the way open.

  Robyn jumped. “Frost!” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, but there was no hiding the black lace shirt and silver miniskirt. Robyn’s legs went on for miles, smooth and toned and hanging out there for the world to see.

  “What are you doing?” Frost crossed the threshold. The room was in the same state of disarray Stella left it each morning as she tried and discarded clothing options. “Where’s Stella?”

  Robyn moaned and buried her face in her hands. “She’s out with some guy we met this afternoon.” She threw herself on the bed as if she were going to make a snow angel in the piles of clothing and sighed heavily.

  Frost, feeling her disappointment, sat next to her and placed a hand on her arm.

  Robyn sniffed and swiped at an errant tear. “I just wanted to know what it feels like to be Stella for a minute. You know? To have guys look at me like they … want me.” She glanced at Frost, her face full of guilt. “Most days, I like who I am. But we went out to lunch and it was like I didn’t exist.”

  Frost lay down next to Robyn, staring up at the ceiling. Her broken heart leaned heavily against the back of her ribs. “Men are confusing,” she said quietly as she splayed her hands on her stomach and just ached for Tannon. All day she’d felt this frustration and unhappiness in him, which she’d used to explain his bad behavior. Maybe he didn’t like his job; he’d mentioned several times how stressful it was in his letters. And he’d talked about disappointing his dad and how that made him feel bad.

  But cancelling Christmas? That was … personal. If he’d cared about her—the woman he’d written letters to for most of his life, not the secretary he�
�d hired that morning—then he never would have attacked Christmas. To ban it from his company was more than she could bear.

  Robyn reached for her hand and clasped it with her own, resting them between their two bodies. “I don’t want a man who wants me to be something I’m not.”

  “And I don’t want one who says one thing and does another.”

  Robyn bolted to her elbows. “Where were you today?”

  Frost sighed. “I went to the paper company.”

  “Oh, Frost. There’s more to life than parchment.”

  Thank goodness her sisters didn’t know how badly she’d messed up her one chance at a Christmas wedding with the only man who had ever made her heart jingle. “I want to go home.”

  Robyn glanced down at her bare legs. “Me too. But I don’t dare leave Stella here on her own.”

  “There’s no telling what trouble she’ll get into.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And yet you let her go by herself on this date.”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice. I’m a horrible third wheel—the older, dowdy sister.”

  Perhaps taking her mind off her own problems and putting them on Robyn’s would help heal her heart and give her a chance to get over Tannon. Although, a woman doesn’t get over a man like that, not when he was her best friend, confidant, and promise all rolled up into one. She sat up and tugged at the silver sparkling skirt. “If you want to dress like a Martha May Whovier, I can totally help with that.”

  Robyn twisted her lips in contemplation. “I’m not sure I want to go that far, but maybe it’s time I stop dressing like Mom.”

  Frost nodded.

  Robyn smacked her arm. “You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

  “Oh, I kind of felt like you were in an honest mood.”

  Robyn rolled her eyes. “Your mood sensor is almost as bad as Ginger’s Naughty and Nice radar.”

  Frost forced her cheeks back into a smile. “It’s not something I can help.” She patted Robyn’s leg. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow and find you a new look. Something that will melt the walls of your room and have men falling at your feet. And then I want to go home.”