Page 2 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
Felicity blinked. “The bank?”
“Yes,” Meena confirmed. “I found your office in the square — charming space, by the way. The sign said you were here.”
“Oh.” Felicity flushed. Her “office” was one small rented room above the hardware store, barely big enough for a desk and her glue gun arsenal. She really couldn’t afford it, but thought it might make her seem more professional. The sign she’d taped to the door that morning read: Meeting clients at Sugar Pine Sweets. Follow the cocoa scent. She hadn’t expected anyone important to actually follow it.
Meena smiled faintly, as if the detail had amused her more than annoyed her.
“I’ve been sent to Frost Pine Ridge to help rebrand the bank,” she continued. “And I need you. I’ve seen your work. The library. The town square. Brice Matthews’s tree farm—the garland at his welcome stand was inspired.”
Felicity’s cheeks warmed. Brice had paid her in maple syrup. “Oh. Thank you.”
“Your style is vibrant, accessible, joyful. That’s exactly the image the bank needs. Which is why I’d like you to handle the branch’s holiday transformation.”
Felicity’s heart thumped. A real contract. A real paycheck. Not bread. Not blankets.
“And,” Meena added, warming as she spoke, “corporate also wants the annual Winter Gala elevated into a signature fundraiser. Would you be interested in decorating for that and co-chairing the planning committee?”
Felicity’s triumphant samba of a heart stumbled. Gala planning? Budgets? Spreadsheets?
Spreadsheets are just craft projects with crying, she told herself.
But this was it. The chance to prove she wasn’t fluff.
“I can do that,” she said, voice steadier than she felt.
“Excellent.” Meena’s smile brightened, losing its corporate edge. “Your co-chair will be Grant Whitaker, the branch manager. He’s… traditional. But he cares about this town.”
Grant Whitaker. Mr. Beige himself. Felicity pictured his stern face in the teller line, every tie knotted to perfection, as if joy might unbalance his ledger. Ida once joked he looked like he’d swallowed an abacus.
Her chest tightened with nerves and determination. Fine. If Mr. Grumpystiltskin wants tradition, I’ll bury him in vintage tinsel.
“I’ll be there,” she said brightly.
Meena nodded, brisk again but still warm. “Nine a.m. briefing tomorrow. Bring your ideas. And Felicity?” She paused, softer now. “I think you’re exactly what the bank needs.”
With a swish of perfume and determination, Meena was gone.
The bakery fell silent until Jade let out a low whistle. “Wow.”
Felicity spun, grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. “Did that just happen?”
“It happened,” Jade said, smiling wide.
“A corporate job! A gala! A paycheck!” Felicity clutched the afghan to her chest and twirled. “I’m going to be legitimate. I’m going to have a 401k. I don’t even know what that is, but I’ll have one!”
Ruth clapped gently. “That’s wonderful, Felicity!”
Ida snorted into her cocoa. “The bank needs cheer. And Whitaker? He runs it like his father did—one paperclip away from apocalypse.”
Felicity stopped spinning, breathless but glowing. This was her big break. Proof she was more than barter payments and sparkle.
Her smile tightened with determination. Grant Whitaker wouldn’t be a problem. He was just a beige obstacle on her rainbow road.
CHAPTER TWO
Grant Whitaker stared at the tiny woman who looked like she'd been assembled from equal parts caffeine, determination, and designer accessories. "Excuse me, did you say decorate the bank for Christmas?"
Meena Patel—his former college friend, now a corporate strategist who'd somehow ended up assigned to his branch—beamed at him with the kind of relentless cheer that suggested his obvious dismay only encouraged her. She'd always been like this, even back at Cornell. Unstoppable.
