Page 1 of The Christmas Catch
CHAPTER1
“What is it you want this project to do for the company, Cinnamon?” Every time Morgan said the woman’s name, she craved a cinnamon bun. Like, seriously. However, she was in the middle of a work meeting. It wasn’t the done thing.
She glanced at Cinnamon, her face folded in thought. With her blonde hair, white skirt and white jacket, she looked like you could pick her up and put her on top of your Christmas tree. All she needed was a pair of wings. However, in this meeting, she’d displayed admirable fighting qualities. There was no way Cinnamon would allow herself to be a tree-topper. She preferred to be on ground level, in the thick of it.
“I want it to get our name out there. To truly make this the brand on everyone’s lips.” Just like the taste of those rich, sweet buns were on Morgan’s.
Cinnamon raised her left eyebrow, asking if that was the right answer.
Morgan adopted her best poker face. She wasn’t here to give answers. She was here to facilitate. At least, she was for the next seven minutes and 54 seconds.
“And you, Antonio. What is it you want?”
Antonio shot Cinnamon a withering look, then turned on his charming smile for Morgan. “I also want what’s best for the company, just like my colleague.” He kept his eyes firmly on Morgan. “But if we do it my way, we’ll get quicker, more agile results.”
Morgan had to hand it to him. Antonio knew the right buzzwords to use. But it wasn’t going to win any points in this room.
“Agile results?” Contempt laced Cinnamon’s words. “This is what I’m talking about. Stop speaking in riddles, Antonio.”
Morgan raised a hand, looking from one to the other. “We’ve only got a few minutes left, and I think you’ve had time to air your points of view. You’ve both got valid concerns, but let’s leave it there. You can each write the three things you’ve taken away, and the three things you want to keep discussing. Then we’ll move forward and see if we can conclude when we get back in January.”
Cinnamon drew in a long breath and shook her head. “I’d rather get this sorted before the Christmas break so it’s not bugging me all holiday long.”
Morgan folded her arms across her chest. “You can, if you both do the homework and get in a room without me. In fact, there’s nothing I’d like more.”
“We tried that before you stepped in to mediate. There’s a reason you’re here.” Antonio gave Cinnamon a pointed look.
“Maybe you’ve come further than you think in the past three days we’ve been talking,” Morgan countered. “Maybe you could work it out just the two of you now.”
Cinnamon sighed. “You’re asking for a Christmas miracle.”
The timer on Morgan’s phone buzzed, and she stabbed it with her index finger to silence the beeping. “Okay, that’s time. Great work today. If you two could find it in yourselves to work out a compromise, it would make everyone in this office believe in Christmas magic. Including me. I’d love to stay around and help,” (she was lying), “but I have Christmas plans, and I have to get all the way home to Devon to do them.” She picked up her grey leather backpack and began packing up her laptop, wires and notepads. “If you manage it, you’re doing me out of work, but it’s money I’m prepared to lose.” She paused. “Why don’t you go for a mulled wine together and hash out the details?”
A strangled sound emerged from Cinnamon’s mouth. “Is that an approved tactic from the mediation handbook?” She didn’t look convinced.
Morgan gave her a sweet smile. “Nope, it’s a life tactic. A glass of wine makes most things better.” She shrugged on her navy-blue peacoat and pulled back her shoulders. “Merry Christmas, you two. I hope to not see you in the New Year.”
* * *
Morgan strode down Argyle Street,then pulled her scarf closer around her neck. The wind had teeth today. Would it be any better back home? It had to be. Four hundred and eighty-two miles, plus a few curled vowels and strident consonants separated Glasgow and her home town of Dartmouth in Devon, but it might as well be another galaxy. Yes, she’d grown up there, but Morgan hadn’t lived in Devon since university. But she was going home for Christmas, just like always.
Ahead, an illuminated reindeer towered over last-gasp shoppers determined to find that perfect gift. Morgan could feel their panic as the days to buy diminished. Conversely, all her shopping was done. What had her school report said all those years ago? ‘Morgan is always prepared, always ready’. Not much had changed in the two decades since. Was that a sad state of affairs? The jury was still out.
Morgan breathed in the smell of roasted chestnuts from a cart across the street. She stared up at the liquorice sky, the surrounding air crispy. The forecast was for light snowfall. She screwed up her face as her stomach twisted tight. Light snowfall she could deal with. Heavy snowfall that would ground her plane? Not so much. It happened often enough in Scotland for it to be a concern. But she wasn’t going to focus on that. The power of positive thinking was what she preached in her job. That would get her home, too.
She shifted her bag on her shoulder and felt in her coat pocket. Her phone was still there. She’d lost it twice this year, having never misplaced it before in her life. She had no idea what she’d done to offend the phone gods, but the upshot was she constantly checked her pockets now. She wasn’t going to lose another one. If nothing else, it was a mighty expensive habit to foster. She took her hand away, and her phone vibrated. She retrieved it. Her sister’s name flashed up on-screen.
“Hey sis.” Morgan walked left to avoid an oncoming loved-up couple who weren’t going to unlink their hands for anyone. What was it on pavements with couples and their territorial rights? It always irked her.
“Hey yourself,” Annabel replied. Morgan could picture her younger sister at their parents’ large marble kitchen island, her dark hair tied up in a messy bun. She also knew her sister’s belly would be touching the counter first, too. “Just calling to check everything’s still okay for tomorrow? Mum is beside me, making pastry for mince pies and fretting. She wants to check you haven’t agreed to fix the problems of any more companies as you normally do?”
Morgan smiled. Her job was relentless and there were always more relationships to be fixed and training to be given, but she’d carved out this Christmas holiday and made it clear to everyone that she wasn’t available from today. She was having a proper festive break. What’s more, she was going to spend the first week solely with her family. She couldn’t wait.
“Nope, no last-minute Christmas emergencies. Only that I still haven’t got a present for Josh. What would he like?” Her sister’s husband was a cycling freak, but Morgan had exhausted most cycling paraphernalia on previous birthdays and Christmases. A bike-wheel clock. Personalised bike tool kit. Leather, monogrammed bike coffee holder. Plus, there were only so many cycling-related socks, mugs and T-shirts a man needed.
Annabel sighed. “Nothing. He knocked me up and now my ankles are like puff pastry tarts, so he deserves nothing. Gruel. A vasectomy. You choose.”
Morgan smiled. Her sister was never one to mince words. “As a relationships specialist, I have to tell you that’s not a great starting point for a happy home.”
