Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
My ruse is as faultless now as it was when I accepted Peter’s marriage proposal, but I feel more fake than the thistle-free tree in the corner of Maryann’s office.
This isn’t me.
The woman sitting across from Maryann is the shell of the woman I am meant to be.
So, as much as I am grateful for the opportunity being bestowed upon me, I can’t accept it.
Magic won’t occur if I don’t strive to unearth it.
“I appreciate you bringing me in so close to Christmas, and I am incredibly grateful that you believe in me, but Ravenshoe is my home, so I am only seeking a position that will both keep me here and working toward my goal of establishing my own investment company.”
Maryann is shocked by my denial but hides it with a smile. Her surprise is understandable. The salary on offer is staggering. I’ve never seen so many zeros, but my parents gave up far more than financial security for love, and it worked out perfectly for them, so I’m willing to risk the same.
“Then I guess that concludes our interview.”
I nod, agreeing with Maryann. “I guess it does.”
I shake her hand before twisting to face the man watching our exchange from the corner of the room. After farewelling him with a chin dip, I exit an office double the size of any one Peter will ever have with my head held high.
The interview didn’t go as planned, but it proves what I’ve always known. I’m a damn good analyst, and when given the chance, will be an even better stockbroker.
As I exit Marigold’s head office, a familiar jingle makes me smile. “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.”
While approaching the Santa seeking donations for a local children’s homeless shelter, I pull a few notes out of a recently acquired purse.
He accepts my contribution with a grateful head bob before complimenting my outfit.
“This is my business attire. It isn’t as comfortable as yours, but beggars can’t be choosers.” When his rosy cheeks assure me he’s sweltering under layers of velvet, I say, “I saw a handful of alternative suits on a website earlier today. You could probably find something a little less weighted for the warmer climates. Cotton would—”
“Cotton?” He’s so good at his job that he sounds truly horrified while saying, “Mrs. Claus would have a coronary if I asked her to make my suits from cotton.”
“That’s because she knows the real Santa’s suits are made from velvet,” announces a toothless child at our right. “Hey, Santa?”
“That’s right.” When he bobs down to her level to tell her how his suit came about, I smile at the mother snapping a picture of her daughter with Santa before continuing down the path.
I only get a handful of steps before I’m stopped by someone calling my name.
It isn’t Maryann as I hoped, offering to invest in my startup company. It is Santa, who looks flustered from jogging the short distance I placed between us. “I missed Zane this morning when he left your apartment, so perhaps you could give him this for me. I’m running out of time for all my special projects this week.”
After a playful tap of his nose, he places a handwritten receipt in my hand before returning to his station. It is from Saint Nicholas to Zane for three hundred dollars and seventy-five cents.
Too curious for my own good, I ask, “Why does Zane need a receipt?” I’m silenced for the second time by an empty footpath. “Santa?” I call out while twirling in a circle. “Where did you go?”
“To the North Pole, silly,” shouts the little girl, who should be wishing for her two front teeth for Christmas.
When I crank my neck her way, eager to double her belief that Santa exists, I’m the one left reeling in Christmas spirit instead.
I knew I recognized this region of Ravenshoe, but I couldn’t pinpoint why until now.
Zane’s hotel is half a block up. I’m only feet away from him and too giddy with Christmas magic to ponder how unkosher it is to drop in on someone unannounced.
It’s almost Christmas.
People don’t mind if you visit unexpectedly.
Especially when you’re still wearing the racy red number the host picked out when you sent him a not suitable for work image to make sure you didn’t leave his thoughts for even a second during the absence you’re responsible for.
CHAPTER 14
Zane
“What do you keep looking at?”
I slant my phone so the glare of the undercabinet lights in my kitchen blocks the pictures Kelsey sent me over an hour ago. They’re X-rated and have me so eager to ditch my mother and sister for the umpteenth time this week that I used every skill I own to pull my mother off the ledge in an hour instead of a week.
I’m emotionally drained and could do with a twelve-hour nap, but Kelsey’s teasing snaps have ensured sleep is the last thing on my mind.