Page 2 of The Christmas Fix
Cat disconnected and leaned back in her chair.
“You shouldn’t yell at pregnant ladies,” Archie commented, holding Cat’s jaw in his hand as he swooped in with fake lashes. “Do not move a muscle.”
“I wasn’t yelling at Lauren. She allows me to freely express my displeasure at things that are stupid like a city manager refusing what could be a golden ticket to saving his town’s entire tourism income for the year.”
“Uh-huh.” His fingers deftly pressed the lashes in place.
“The town is devastated. Their huge money maker is the Christmas Festival every year, and government money isn’t going to get them back on their feet by December.”
“Mmm,” Archie said, sweeping a bronzer into the hollows of her cheeks.
Cat’s phone buzzed in her lap with a text from Lauren.
Lauren: “Here’s his number. Noah Yates. Be nice!”
“Be nice,” Cat mumbled.
“Stop pouting,” Archie insisted. He swept the cape off her and angled her toward the mirror. “You’re too gorgeous to be grumpy.”
She eyed his handiwork in the mirror. She’d trudged into the studio still half-asleep with yesterday’s hairspray wreaking havoc on her hastily tied ponytail, and now she looked like a cover-worthy model. Or at least a promo-worthy TV star.
“You’re a freaking genius, Archie. You and your god-like hands and your magical potions.”
“Nothing a gay man and his abiding love of Sephora can’t fix.” Archie checked his watch. “You’ve got five before they come pounding on the door demanding your hotness in front of the camera. Go make your call and eviscerate your city manager.”
Cat blew him a kiss, careful not to smudge the violet lip gloss he’d so expertly applied to her mouth. “Will do.”
She ducked out of the room into the hallway. They were shooting promos for her solo show’s second season to run in magazines. Apparently, hosting a home renovation show when you were a woman called for her to be decked out in four-inch Jimmy Choos and a gorgeous, fitted dress the color of cranberries. She didn’t mind it. If some designer duds—that she was totally keeping after the shoot—caught the eye of an audience and made even one little girl think that maybe she could wield a sledge hammer or a circular saw, then Cat considered her work done.
If people wanted to keep putting her in the pretty Barbie box, she was just going to keep cutting and smashing her way out over and over again until they learned their lesson. She may be pretty, but that didn’t mean she was stupid or incapable or the slightest bit dependent on anyone. Catalina King had clawed her way up the ranks of reality TV to not just star in her own show but produce it as well.
And there was nothing that she loved more than a chance to use her face to make a difference. Sure, it opened her up to public scrutiny. Two weeks ago, on a whim, she’d dyed her platinum locks a sexy caramel color with highlights. Twitter had lost its damn mind. People were still debating whether or not blonde was better.
Cat took the attention in stride. Her life was perfect. A challenging job, a jet-setting lifestyle, a never-ending parade of new, interesting men available for casual consumption, and a project in the new year that would take her beyond TV stardom into something that really mattered.
But between now and then stood Merry.
She dialed Yates and tapped out an impatient beat with the toe of her shoe as the phone rang. After a handful of rings, it went to voicemail. She disconnected and called back.
“This is Noah,” the man on the other end barked.
“Mr. Yates,” Cat began. “This is Catalina King.”
She heard an honest-to-God growl from the other end of the call. “I don’t have time for this,” he snapped.
“Frankly, Mr. Yates, your town doesn’t have time.”
Cat heard conversation happening in the background. “Listen, whoever the hell you are,” Noah snapped. “I’m trying to dry out an entire town here and figure out just exactly how extensive the damage is. I’ve got people who might not be able to return to their homes for months and a town that is losing hope. We don’t need some TV show coming in and churning out some sob story for ratings and advertising.”
“Whatdoyou need?” Cat asked coolly.
“I need you to take no for an answer so I can get back to work. You’re taking up my time that I need to dedicate to more important things.”
“Then maybe next time don’t answer the phone,” she suggested sarcastically.
“Great idea,” he snapped back.
“Before you continue your tirade, think about what you’re turning down here. We’re offering you a chance to rebuild quickly. The chance to get Merry back on its feet in time for Christmas. I know how much money comes into your town between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve. We can help make sure that the park is up and running—”
