Page 29 of Wishing for Christmas
“Well tell that to him. Because he’s here now, and he’s asking for you.”
The reality of her situation hit her again: It was a year in the future. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Mr. Spencer! You mean, we got that account?”
“Yeah—and we’re going to lose it soon if you don’t get here and smooth things over with him.”
Clara squeezed her eyes shut, knowing what she needed to say next, but also knowing how much she didn’t want to say it. “I’ll be right there.” She put her phone back in her pocket and looked over at Brent.
He stood next to the truck, their perfect Christmas tree in the back. His arm rested against the edge of the truck bed, giving her a glimpse of his perfect physique. He wore a red-and-black flannel shirt, and his face showed the beginning of beard growth—one of the perks of post-deployment leave, he’d told her. He looked just like that gorgeous lumberjack guy from the paper-towel ads. Clara let out a puff of disappointment. The perfect tree, with her perfect boyfriend, on what should have been a perfect day. Instead, it was all such a mess.
She walked over to him, offering him a look of apology before he could even see it coming. “I’m so sorry, Brent, I have to go to work. Something has come up with a big client.”
His face fell. “That’s okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
She could see the disappointment all over him, and an immediate guilt enveloped her. But Brent, of all people, should understand that sometimes your job can cancel your plans. As far as inconveniences go, this was nothing compared to the one he’d pulled on her.
Seeming to read her thoughts, he winked at her. “I understand. Duty calls, right?”
She offered a thankful smile. She appreciated him for being so nice about it. Still, she felt awful.
“I’ll drop you off there now.”
Clara nodded and got into the truck as he held the door for her. He walked around to the back, shut the truck bed, and climbed into the driver’s seat. She glanced over at him with one last look of apology as he started up the engine. She felt terrible that she hadn’t known anything about the crickets or the newringtone. What must he think of her? Either that she had the world’s worst memory or that she was a total fake of a fiancée.
She supposed the latter was true.
How would she possibly explain any of this to him? She was about to tell himsomethingright before the call came in, although she hadn’t known exactly what. Perhaps it was for the best that she’d been interrupted. As welcoming a distraction as that phone call had been in the moment, though, Clara felt nothing but disappointment over having to end their date early. Brent didn’t deserve this after all the work he had put in to planning this outing. She should’ve kept the date scheduled for that evening as planned. Leave it to her to allow her impatience to get in the way. She rolled her eyes at herself. Typical.
The truth was, she was having a great time with him today. If only he’d stop bringing up memories from the past year. Clara cringed at the thought of those awkward moments. Still, she knew she needed to have a conversation with him at some point. He certainly deserved her honesty, if nothing else.
She watched Brent as he drove them away from the tree farm. His expression was difficult to read. He looked over at her, met her eye, and held it for a moment. She smiled at him. Later, she would think about how she should explain all of this. Right now, she needed to get to the Darlington.
Clara rushedinto the hotel and recognized Mr. Spencer right away. In his sharp suit, with his white hair, and thick glasses, he looked the same as he had in the video conference she’d had with him last week. Or, last year, rather. He paced back and forth in the center of the lobby. It looked the same as ithad the other day. At least she’d had the good sense to use that decorator again this year.
She took off her puffy coat and ran a hand through her hair that had been stuffed underneath a hat. She winced. She was dressed for a Christmas tree farm, not a client meeting. This was not the first impression she had wanted to make, but from Lucy’s tone, Clara had known she couldn’t risk a stop at home to change first.
She approached him with caution. She had never actually met the man in person.
Mr. Spencer met her eye and gave a frustrated shake of his head. “What in the world happened, Ms. Jenkins? I arrived this morning, and the conference room was empty. No chairs, no tables, and no food.” He looked at his watch. “I have clients here from all over the area for a one-day meeting. Their time is valuable.Mytime is valuable.”
“Of course it is.” Clara’s voice gave way to a slight shake. Her professionalism had already taken a hit with her attire. Now her status as a competent sales manager was at risk as well. “Please don’t worry, Mr. Spencer. I will get things fixed immediately.” She gave him an unconvincing smile and then motioned to the front desk. “I need to find out what’s going on.” Wasn’t that the truth?
Mr. Spencer tapped on his watch.
She rushed over to Lucy at the front desk, who was busy with a check-in. Clara pulled her aside. “What exactly is going on?” she asked under her breath.
Lucy’s ash-blonde hair was pulled into a neat bun. The polished navy-blue blazer and tailored trousers she always wore were a stark contrast to the casualness of Clara’s clothes.
Lucy gave a quick look of apology to the guest she had been helping. “Excuse me for a moment, please.” She turned back toClara and widened her eyes to ask what the sudden interruption was for.
Lucy had been a front-desk agent at the Darlington for years. Though she was twenty years older than her, Clara considered her a close friend in addition to a coworker.
She looked at Lucy with a desperate plea in her eyes. “I know Mr. Spencer’s account is my responsibility, but I truly am not feeling well right now.”
Lucy gave her a pointed look to indicate she wasn’t buying the “I’m sick” excuse one bit.
“Lucy, I need . . .” She wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. “I need some help with this,” Clara said with complete honesty.
Lucy nodded, her frown giving way to a bit of sympathy.
