Page 55 of No Business Like Snow Business

“No,” I said. “I’m calling to advise you of my resignation. I’m giving two weeks notice, but I’m also taking my overdue vacation days, effective immediately. I won’t be coming back into the office.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on line from James.

“What’s this about?” my father demanded. “Has Patrick gotten to you? What the hell sort of offer has he made you?”

“No,” I said. “I haven’t spoken to Patrick and this has nothing to do with him. I’m resigning because I no longer want to work for the company.”

Until I’d said them aloud, I hadn’t realized how right the words would feel. I literally had no idea what the hell I was going to do for the rest of the week, let alone my entire life, but it didn’t matter. Having no plan didn’t panic me. Instead, the sheer wealth of possibilities was intoxicating.

“You can’t justquit,” my father exclaimed. “You’re a Van Ruyven!”

I regarded the tartan stag’s head with a faint smile I was glad my father couldn’t see. Because Win had quit being a Van Ruyven, hadn’t he? And look what it had gotten him.

If I’d told my father that, and managed to fill him in on all the details before his head exploded, he would have sneered and askedwhat. What did Win have that was worth having? A small cabin outside a town nobody had ever heard of? Worn furniture and pipes that rattled? Worn jeans and plaid overshirts? Freddy Van Ruyven had vacationed in Aspen. Win went into town once a week to buy groceries. But only one of them was happy.

And there were no guarantees that my story would mirror Win’s, but I didn’t care, because the chance that itmight—that I might find happiness too—was more than worth the risk.

“I’ve made my decision.”

“Sterling! This is ridiculous!” He sounded caught between anger and genuine befuddlement.

“Of course I’ll be available remotely for the handover process for whoever you hire to take over my position,” I said. “As a gesture of goodwill.”

“Goodwill.” He spluttered. “You can’t quit. You are aVan Ruyven.”

Okay, so he wasn’t finished with the denial part of the process yet.

“Who the hell am I supposed to find to replace you?”

A more naive man might have thought there was a compliment hidden behind that anger, but I knew better. “If the name on the door matters so much, Sarah got her MBA from Columbia. You could always offer her the job.”

Dead silence, as though the idea was so wild it had never occurred to him before. It probably hadn’t; my grandfather had a long reach, even from the grave.

“I’ll be sending my official resignation by email this afternoon before close of business,” I said. “But I wanted to tell you first.”

“Sterling, this could not have come at a worse time,” my father said, and I could see him in my mind’s eye running through the numbers and wondering how my desertion would impact whatever bullshit Patrick was bringing to the next board meeting. Without me voting with him, my father might actually need to learn there was more to negotiating than shouting at people.

“And I apologize for that,” I said. “But as I said, the decision is final.”

“Is this a power play?” he asked. “If Patrick didn’t put you up to it, who did?”

“I think we’re done here,” I said. “You can expect my email by close of business, as I said. James, please take my father off the call.”

“Sterling! What the hell—” And then his voice cut out.

“Holy shit, sir,” James said, his voice shaky. “Should I get your sister on the line?”

This was why he was such a good P.A. He knew that if Sarah wanted my job, she’d need to act quickly, while my father was still off-balance enough to let it happen.

“Yes, please,” I said. “Let’s hope it’s a quick conversation. I have to go and meet my boyfriend for lunch.”

“Holyshit,” James said again. “Um, congratulations? If it’s appropriate to say so.”

“Thank you,” I said, warmth spreading through me. “And yes, for the record, ‘congratulations’ is very appropriate.”

I parked Win’s truck on Comet Street, across from Rudolph’s, and buttoned my coat up against the cold before I opened the door. The frigid air was invigorating, or maybe that was just the anticipation building inside me because I was just around the corner from the Festival Museum and Harvey.

When I crossed the street and rounded the corner, I had to yield the sidewalk to a bunch of carolers dressed in Victorian costumes. They were red-cheeked and cheerful, and I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face as they sang. A reindeer trotted down the street, pulling a sled occupied by a driver in an elf costume.

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