Page 8 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
That was one word for it. Grant could think of several others: chaotic, unprofessional, dangerous to the structural integrity of his carefully ordered world. What he couldn’t understand was why his treacherous brain kept circling back to the way her eyes had lit up when she talked about fairy lights, or how her laugh had sounded like... like...
Like trouble. That’s what it sounded like.
“Sir?” Mrs. Finch was looking at him with concern. “Are you feeling quite well? You seem a bit... distracted.”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly, then cleared his throat. “What’s the current status of the lobby?”
“Ida and Ruth are still holding court on the benches. They appear to be conducting some sort of post-incident analysis. I heard the phrase ‘romantic tension’ mentioned at least three times.”
Grant’s eye twitched. “Romantic tension?”
“I’m afraid so. You know how those two get when they sense... developments.”
This was a nightmare. Not only was he stuck planning a gala with a walking glitter bomb, but the town’s most notorious gossips had already identified it as entertainment. By dinnertime, half of Frost Pine Ridge would be speculating about his “romantic tension” with Felicity Adams.
The thought of Felicity Adams made his chest do something strange and unwelcome. Something that felt dangerously close to... interest.
He was clearly having some sort of stress-induced breakdown.
“Mrs. Finch,” he said, “I need you to document everything. Every mishap, every creative suggestion, every deviation from standard banking protocol. If this partnership is going to work, I need a paper trail.”
She nodded approvingly. “Very wise, sir. Shall I include photographic evidence of the glitter contamination?”
“Yes. And Mrs. Finch? If Miss Adams returns with any containers, bags, or craft supplies, I want to be notified immediately.”
“Of course.” She gathered her cleaning supplies with military efficiency. “Will there be anything else?”
Grant was about to dismiss her when his computer chimed with an email notification. His stomach dropped as he read the sender: Sterling-Midland Corporate Communications.
The subject line read: “Hometown Heart Campaign - Press Release DRAFT.”
He opened it with the same enthusiasm he might reserve for a root canal.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Sterling-Midland Financial Partners with Local Artist for Historic Bank Transformation. Frost Pine Ridge location chosen as flagship for new community initiative...
His name was mentioned. Twice. As was Felicity’s. And there, in black and white, was a quote attributed to him that he had definitely never said: “We’re excited to blend tradition with innovation, bringing fresh energy to our historic location while maintaining the trust our community has placed in us for generations.”
Fresh energy. That was certainly one way to describe a glitter explosion in the vault.
“Mrs. Finch,” he said, his voice slightly strangled, “on second thought, make that documentation as detailed as possible. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”
She paused at the door, studying his face with the sharp attention of someone who had worked in banking long enough to recognize when the numbers didn’t add up.
“Sir, if I may... that young woman, Miss Adams. She’s not the first decorator we’ve dealt with, but she’s the first one who made the lobby feel...” She searched for the right word. “Less beige.”
Grant stared at her. “Less beige is not necessarily an improvement, Mrs. Finch.”
“No, sir,” she agreed. “But sometimes, change isn’t entirely terrible. Even when it comes with... complications.”
After she left, Grant sat in the quiet of his office, staring at the press release on his screen. Somewhere out there, Felicity Adams was probably planning her next assault on his orderly world. The smart thing—the professional thing—wouldbe to establish clear boundaries, maintain strict oversight, and minimize the chaos.
So why was he already wondering what she’d suggest next?
And why, when he thought about those bright green eyes and that laugh that sounded like champagne bubbles, did his chest do that strange, warm thing again?
He brushed another piece of glitter off his sleeve and tried very hard not to think about how it caught the light the same way her smile did.
This was going to be the longest three weeks of his life.
