'Tis the Season for Romance

by Kristen Proby

  All of it was staged for endless parties lasting days before Christmas and well into the new year.

  I just . . . I couldn’t do it. Not this year. I couldn’t stomach the tacky—yet expensive—displays. The endless gifts. The hours of mingling with rich snobs and feigning smiles for pretentious guests. The only reason people spoke to me at those parties was because they thought I could get them an hour on my father’s elusive and jam-packed schedule. Or that by kissing my ass, it would help them earn a promotion.

  When Selene’s magenta invitation for the holiday lineup had graced my mailbox, I’d thrown it in the trash and booked a plane ticket to Montana.

  The elevator doors chimed as they opened and I hauled myself inside the car, inhaling a deep breath of pine and citrus. The mixture was soothing and special, the way Christmas was supposed to smell. There was no music as it whisked me to my floor, and when I stepped out, the same subtle scent carried down the hallway to my room. When I pushed open the door to room 410, I nearly cried.

  It was . . . perfection. Exactly as I’d imagined. Precisely what I’d hoped for.

  Delightful. Quiet. Airy, yet it held a cozy appeal.

  The bedside lamp was on and a black shoebox looped with a red satin ribbon sat on the foot of the bed. The curtains were drawn and beyond the window the night was black except for a faint glow coming from the surrounding businesses and homes in the small town. Unlike the lobby and common areas, the room didn’t have a hint of Christmas flair.

  I propped my suitcase against the wall inside the door, dropped my purse on the bed and untied the ribbon on the box. A pair of plush white slippers greeted me from inside. I pulled them out and ran my fingers over the soft faux fur.

  So this was why they’d asked for my shoe size when I’d called to make the reservation. “Score one for The Eloise Inn.”

  I popped open the top of the box Eloise had given me. Inside was a dainty chocolate truffle. “Score two.”

  I’d stayed at countless five-star hotels in my life, and so far, The Eloise was keeping up. Not to mention the price tag for this weekend escape was a fraction of what I would have spent elsewhere.

  Despite what everyone assumed about me—Cleo Hillcrest, only daughter of tech mogul and billionaire Ray Hillcrest—I wasn’t frivolous with my money. I was paying for this room on my own, with wages I’d earned, not inherited. I’d flown to Quincy on three commercial flights, though I had splurged for first class.

  This trip was the only vacation I’d taken in years and a Christmas gift to myself.

  My phone dinged in my coat pocket and I set the slippers aside to take the call. The bakery’s number flashed on the screen. “Hey.”

  “Hey. Did you make it?” Brynne asked.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off my heels. “Made it. How did everything go today?”

  “Just fine,” she said. “It was busy with all the people doing their Christmas-Eve Eve pickups. But we had a good day at the till. The display case is nearly empty.”

  “Oh boy.” A pang of guilt hit hard. “Do you think I left enough in the walk-in to get it refilled? You might have to make a new batch of sugar—”

  “Cleo.” She stretched my name as she cut me off. “Don’t worry. I can handle the shop. Come tomorrow morning, the display case will be full. You enjoy the next few days and let me handle it.”

  I sighed, sliding on a slipper. “I’m not doubting you. I’m just . . . I suck at vacations.”

  “Yes.” She laughed. “I know.”

  Brynne had worked at my bakery for three years. She was an incredibly talented pastry chef as well as a wonderful friend. She knew how much Christmas stressed me out, and this vacation to Quincy had been her idea. She’d come here once, stayed in this very hotel and promised me I’d love a few days in the charming town.

  “Okay. Call me if you need anything.” All I had planned for the next three days was burrowing deep into this pillow-top mattress and watching as many Hallmark movies as I could.

  “Unless the building floods or burns down, I’m not calling you,” Brynne said. “Have fun. Sleep. Relax.”

  I slid on the other slipper and scooted deeper into the bed. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Did you at least miss me a little bit today?” Searching for compliments wasn’t a good color on me, but in my defense, I’d had a really long day.

  “When I had a guy yell at me because he ordered a chocolate cream pie but wanted apple, yeah, I missed you. And when I burned my hand on the oven because I was in a hurry, I missed you a lot. You make the best ice packs. But today was a good day. And tomorrow will be a good day. I like that I can run this place alone. It’s a challenge but I’m up for it, so thanks for trusting me with this opportunity.”

  Oh, she was good. Now I felt guilty for not leaving her in charge of the bakery sooner. “You’re the best. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas. See you later this week.”

  I tossed the phone aside and glanced around the room. Coming here, leaving California, was like stepping into another world. Outside, the snow was falling, blanketing everything in a fluffy layer. It would be easy to stay for days and days, relaxing inside this room and pretending the outside world didn’t exist. But three days, that’s all I had. I’d missed today at the bakery and wouldn’t be there for Christmas Eve. We were closed on Christmas Day and my flight home was first thing the following morning. Three workdays was not a long break, but Brynne had been right.

  I hadn’t taken a vacation since I’d opened Crumbs five years ago. Mostly because I hadn’t had anyone to run the shop before Brynne, and even with her, I liked being tied to my confections and creations.

  Crumbs wasn’t just my job, it was my passion.

  I stripped off my coat, tossing it to the floor, and scooted into the pillows. The king-sized sleigh bed was a rich mahogany. The cream comforter was thick enough to swallow me whole—I planned on letting it. The pillows were fluffy and abundant. A television rested on a wide chest of drawers across from the bed.

  This room was bliss. It was classy and there wasn’t a bit that seemed hotel generic, even the furniture. When I’d called to make my reservation, the clerk—maybe it had been Eloise herself—had told me that I’d snagged the last room. Even though the inn was full, there wasn’t a noise beyond the door, likely because of the thick carpet in the hallway.

  The artwork on the wall over my shoulder was a black and white photograph of Quincy from 1950, according to the date in the corner. It looked similar to the town I’d arrived in, though it had been nearly dark when the plane’s wheels had touched down. Still, there was something peaceful about knowing that the town hadn’t changed all that much, decade after decade.

  I pushed myself up and off the bed, moaning with pleasure as my feet sank into the thick soles of the slippers. Then I picked up my coat, walking to the closet to hang it on a wooden hanger.

  My plan for the evening was to unpack while I waited for my champagne. Then I’d have a glass, peruse the room service menu and order dinner. Then I’d have another glass and a bath followed by more glasses until the bottle was empty.

  There’d be no need for a predawn alarm tomorrow, and maybe if I drank enough, I’d sleep through my body’s alarm too.

  I carried my suitcase across the room to the drawers and flopped it on the carpet, opening it slowly. The instant the zipper was free, the clothes inside exploded, spilling onto the carpet like they’d been holding their breath during the trip and could finally exhale.

  Want a chocolate soufflé or croquembouche? I could whip those up without breaking a sweat. Pack light for a three-day trip? Sorry, wrong girl.

  I carefully refolded pajama pants and tank tops before placing them in a drawer. The two pairs of jeans I’d brought plus a black dress—because Christmas dinner might demand a dress—were hung in the closet. And my collection of panties and bras, extra in case of emergency, were safely stowed in another drawer.
I took my toiletry case to the bathroom and was about to zip the empty suitcase closed when my phone dinged again. I swiped it off the bed and my heart dropped.

  Dad.

  “Damn it.”

  I scrunched up my nose, pacing in front of the door. Should I answer? Decline? The only reason he was calling was because I hadn’t shown up at the party tonight. He couldn’t know that I’d left California for the holiday, right? I’d left hours ago. But if one of his minion-spies had been trailing me, he would have known this morning that I’d left the state.

  Last year, when I’d threatened to disown him if he didn’t call off his hounds, Dad had agreed to no more bodyguards. Without them cataloging my every move, there was no way he could know I was in Montana.

  There was only one way to find out.

  “Ugh.” I hit the green circle. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Cleo.”

  Oh boy, he was mad. Shit. He said my name in that quiet, ominous tone I’d only heard twice in my life, once after I’d flunked math my junior year and once when I’d gotten caught making out with the neighbor boy in the pool house.

  “I’m sorry for missing your party tonight.”

  “Are you sick?” he asked.

  “No.”

  There was noise in the background, idle chatter and the clinking of glasses, but Dad remained silent.

  This was his signature tactic. One he’d perfected in the boardroom and brought home to test on his children. He would wait people out because eventually, the lack of conversation would make the other party break.

  And the other party always caved. Always. Why? Because I was the other party. And I spoke up every damn time.

  “I love you, Dad, but I can’t do another crazy Christmas.” It was better this way. I’d just come clean, tell him I’d miss the festivities, and then he wouldn’t worry. I’d make it up to him with his favorite strudel when I got back to California.

  “So you left to spend it alone in Montana?”

  The nagging guilt vanished in a snap. My spine stiffened. “How do you know I am in Montana?”

  “We’ll expect you home tomorrow. Selene has a big evening planned for Christmas Eve. Then we can enjoy a quiet Christmas morning before the guests arrive in the afternoon.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. How did you know I was in Montana?” I articulated every word.

  “Tomorrow, Cleo.”

  “No.” A raging fire spread through my veins. “First, let’s pretend like you didn’t go against my wishes and betray my trust by having me followed.”

  “Cleo—”

  “Second, let me repeat this so it is inescapably clear. I will not be joining you tomorrow. I’ve arranged for my gifts to be delivered. Merry Christmas.” I ended the call before he could protest, then held the button to power it down before shoving it into my purse.

  “Grr.” I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my fists.

  Liar. What a goddamn liar!

  Dad had promised he wouldn’t have me followed. He’d promised. So much for honesty. Had he put a tracking device on my phone? Had one of his henchmen followed me to the airport? I wouldn’t put it past him to monitor my credit card activity.

  For years, I’d put up with the bodyguards lurking around every corner. I’d humored Dad’s safety demands. After what had happened to my mother, I understood his concerns. But I wasn’t an eighteen-year-old girl heading off to college. I wasn’t twenty-one and staying out too late at night partying with her friends.

  I was twenty-eight years old and capable of taking care of myself.

  I was capable of planning my own fucking Christmas.

  Where is my champagne?

  My father and I had been so close once. He’d been my best friend. After Mom had died, it had just been the two of us. We’d clung to one another and become a team. His overprotective tendencies hadn’t bothered me then either because I’d been a child.

  But we’d drifted apart these past ten years. I’d grown up. Dad had met Selene and the entire dynamic of our home had shifted.

  She was twelve years my senior. It was a strange age gap because she wasn’t old enough to be my parent and most of the time it had felt like I’d been saddled with a big sister, not a stepmom.

  I loved my half-brother, Ray Jr., but I didn’t like him much. He was as spoiled and selfish as his mother. Last year, he’d thrown a tantrum because I hadn’t bought him a gift. Instead, I’d brought pastries and cakes for the entire household to share, doubling up on my brother’s favorite éclairs so he wouldn’t have to share his dozen.

  But who was I to call anyone selfish? Maybe it was just as selfish of me to disappear to Montana instead of spending time with my family. Maybe I was spoiled because rather than confront my father about the spectacle that the holidays had become, I’d taken the coward’s way out and disappeared.

  Except staying in California hadn’t been an option. Dad would have shown up at my doorstep and collected me himself.

  Maybe if he ever listened to me, I would have instigated that conversation.

  “Like he listened about the security detail,” I muttered to the room.

  He’d promised, to my face, and done whatever he wanted to anyway.

  Screw this. I was staying in Montana and having my own Christmas for a change.

  No bratty kids complaining because the thousands of dollars in gifts weren’t enough. No extravagant parties where I was forced into heels and a cocktail dress as I made small talk with Dad’s business associates. No vegan Christmas dinner because my stepmother was on a new diet.

  I was in Montana and I was staying.

  A knock at the door had me springing into action, salivating for my champagne. I grabbed a twenty from my purse to give as a tip, then ripped the door open. “Thank—”

  No.

  My stomach dropped to the fuzzy slippers on my feet.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Chapter 2

  Austin

  “Get your stuff,” I ordered Cleo. The last place I wanted to be two days before Christmas was Montana. Maybe she wanted to escape here for a white Christmas, but sunshine, palm trees and seventy-degree weather suited me just fine. “Let’s go.”

  “Why won’t anyone answer my questions?” she asked under her breath, her eyes narrowing at me. “Let’s try this again. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

  “Collecting you.” I pushed past her into the room and set my backpack down. Then I walked to the closet, ripping the door open and hauling out her empty suitcase before tossing it on the bed. I pointed toward it as it bounced. “Pack up.”

  “No.” Cleo crossed her arms over her chest, stepping away from the door to let it slam closed. “I’m not leaving, Austin.”

  “Yes, you are.” The sooner the better. The second to last place I wanted to be two days before Christmas was in Cleo’s hotel room, beside a bed. “Hustle up.”

  “No.” She huffed. “No, I’m not leaving.”

  “Damn, but you are difficult.”

  She jutted out her chin.

  The movement shifted the loose waves of her long, brown hair. The color always reminded me of the cocoa buttercream frosting she used on my favorite cupcakes. Her hazel eyes flared brighter, like they always did when she was angry, and the green flecks glowed.

  I sucked in a breath, willing my temper and self-control into submission, but all it got me was a deep inhale of her scent. Sweet honey infused with her favorite cinnamon gum. Fuck, I really needed to get out of this hotel room.

  There was a reason I avoided Cleo. There was a reason I made sure never to be alone with her in a confined space. Cleo Hillcrest was a beautiful, enchanting, infuriating woman and the daughter of my biggest client.

  Cleo Hillcrest was categorically off-limits.

  And she hated me to boot. Well, as close to hate as Cleo could come. She was too good, too sweet, to truly hate.

  But her brand of hatred was exactly how I preferred things between us. How I�
��d designed it. As soon as I hauled her home to California, we could go back to the way things had been. Me, pretending like she didn’t exist. Her, cursing the day I’d been born.

  Harmony.

  “This isn’t up for debate.” I mirrored her stance and jerked my chin to the suitcase. “Pack.”

  “Unbelievable.” She seethed. “I haven’t seen you in three months. The last time you spoke to me you criticized my work, my hair and my clothing. Now you’re here, ruining my vacation.”

  I had criticized her, and I’d do it again. I’d walked into Crumbs and she’d been behind the register. She’d given me a smile so sweet it had made my heart skip. So I’d told her that the croissant she’d given me the day before was dry, her hair was looking a little flat and that the flour covering her jeans and T-shirt was an improvement because it made them less boring.

  Not the nicest way to say hello but it had erased her sweet smile and the only thing in my heart had been guilt.

  I’d planned on apologizing the next time I saw her, but that same day, her father had called to inform me that my job duties were to change. He’d made an agreement with Cleo. No more bodyguards. No more round-the-clock security.

  It was all bullshit.

  The only deal Ray had made was with me. My team was to ensure Cleo’s safety from an unnoticeable distance.

  Without Ray’s business, my own would suffer. So for the past three months, a member of my team had watched her from afar. It had only been a matter of time before she’d spotted us or caught on to her father’s deception, though I’d expected it to happen in California, not Montana.

  It was going to be a cluster when we got home. If we got home.

  “You have thirty seconds to start packing,” I said. “Either you do it yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”

  “I hate you.” Her lip curled.

  A knock at the door interrupted her snarl.

  “Pack.” I brushed past her, desperate for some outside air, and flung the door open. A kid, probably eighteen, greeted me with a smile. It dropped when he met my icy glare.