Page 66 of A Very Naughty Christmas

Grinning, he gave it a squeeze. “Baby, I need your phone to give you mine.”

“Oh,” she said sheepishly and fished it out of her deep coat pocket.

His brows slanted together as he flipped it open, though he didn’t say a word as he punched his number into her cheap ass, thirty-dollar TracFone with its outdated keyboard and pay as you go calling plan, which was all she could afford.

When he returned it to her, he leaned in again. “Next weekend, I’ll be attending the Annual Charity Gala for the Arts. I thought you might enjoy going.”

“A gala? Doesn’t that mean formal?”

“Yes, it’s held in the Vanderbilt Room at the Biltmore. There will be dinner, dancing, and the guest list will include many of the art patrons in the area. It will be a good opportunity to rub elbows with influential people who would be interested in your work and your friend Penny’s gallery.”

She peeped down at her shabby coat and scuffed shoes. Her wardrobe outside of work consisted of jeans and t-shirts, not designer ball gowns. “I’m not sure, I might bescheduled to work,” she lied, knowing full well she was on this weekend and would be off the day of his gala.

“See if you can swap with someone and I’ll give you the details when we talk this weekend.” He kissed her then, his lips warm and demanding, his tongue delving inside to thoroughly possess her, although much too briefly.

Dixie waved as he pulled away, her thoughts turning to Saturday and how she couldn’t afford to buy a nice dress, let alone shoes. She decided to hit up the consignment shop in town instead of immediately making an excuse or declining. She wanted to go for so many reasons, mostly to be out on the town on a real date with Kyle, but also to see the Biltmore House. She’d lived in the greater Asheville area her entire life and had never toured the huge Vanderbilt mansion. At Christmas time, it was supposed to be decorated with close to one hundred trees and thousands upon thousands of lights. Friends had told her they also had string quartets playing most evenings, carolers, and other seasonal attractions. And, as he’d said, it would be a chance to network with the local art patrons.

As she entered the diner, she calculated how much she had in savings, including her ceramic pink pig, but with rent due soon, it wasn’t nearly enough. Perhaps, in the spirit of the season, the Christmas crowd would tip generously this week and she could scrape something together; otherwise, she’d have to say no, as she had to do to so many things.

* * *

Saturday and Sunday came and went, without a word from Kyle. She checked constantly with her coworkers for a message, which eventually ticked them all off. And she called him, several times, getting his answering service every time. She didn’t leave a message, feeling awkward about leaving personal information on his work service.

By Monday, she was out of prepaid minutes and doubting every word he’d said, calling him a horn-dog as she had for years, in between nursing a bruised ego and a wounded heart.

When Wednesday arrived and he still hadn’t called, she was bitter, angry, and feeling used, yet again. And her work suffered. She mixed up orders, which wasn’t like her, and came up short on her cash float, twice. It was only a dollar and change, but she hadn’t ever been off before.

When Miss Emmaline arrived for lunch, she barely managed a smile for her friend as she brought her the special and her glass of tea. “We’re out of peach today, hon. Apple or pumpkin?”

She keyed in on her mood right away, and reached out for her hand. “What’s wrong, dear? You look frazzled and like you haven’t been sleeping. Are you ill?”

“No, only distracted. How about that pie?”

“Pumpkin with whipped cream, if you have it.”

“That we do. Coming right up.”

As she was slicing a hearty wedge, a courier came in with a huge white box tied with a bright red bow. “Delivery for Dixie Culbertson,” he announced.

“That’s me,” she replied, coming forward hesitantly. “There must be a mistake,” she added, seeing the Adrianna’s sticker. The Italian boutique downtown carried European fashions from above average to overly pricey, neither of which fit in her current budget. She’d gone browsing there in the past, then quickly moved on.

“No mistake if you’re Dixie Culbertson.” He held up a glossy shopping bag with the same logo. “This comes with it too.”

He didn’t wait for a tip or for her to sign anything, just left in a hurry.

“Open it, Dixie,” Janice said, peering over her shoulder.

“Such a pretty box; what’s inside is even lovelier, I bet,” Miss Emmaline said excitedly from the other side of the counter.

Tugging the ribbon carefully, not wanting to rip or damage it in any way, she set it aside. She then held her breath as she eased off the lid. Packed in tissue paper, a stunning gold beaded fabric peeked out between the folds.

“Ooh,” Jan said, clapping like it was for her. “I love presents.”

She lifted it from the box to a chorus of ‘ohs.’ The floor-length beaded gown was stunning. From a high rounded keyhole neckline that would show a hint of cleavage, the bodice and waist were form-fitting to the hips where it fell in soft folds to the floor.

“Check out the back,” Jan whispered.

Turning it, she saw that it dipped very low with a sheer overlay so she wouldn’t feel completely exposed. It was sexy, yet sophisticated.

---