Page 412 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
I’d been given a raise on the spot.
After that, I worked my way out of the retail sector, into the head office, and now I ran the events team at Bamford’s.
Was it my dream job?
Well yes. Yes, it was. Especially during Christmas time.
Aleena stood up and leaned over my computer to peer at my screen as I clicked open an email from one of my other leads on the event team. Attached to the email were pictures of the new Bamford’s in Times Square. The grand opening of the store was just days away, and I’d been spearheading the operation to get the store fully decorated for the holidays.
Aleena gasped when she saw the photos. “Oh my gosh, Tinsely, you’ve outdone yourself!”
I tried to hide my smile as I clicked through the photos. They were stunning and everything I’d hoped they’d be. Personally, I’d always believed that there was a fine line between too much and not enough when it came to Christmas. Everything had to be just right to capture that magical feeling that, for the young of heart, could suspend reality for the month of December. I loved magazine-worthy décor that catered to adults. However, Christmas wasn’t about that.
It was about magic, wonder, curiosity, generosity, and spirit. My décor strived to capture those feelings.
“You have to show these pictures to Alastair,” Aleena gushed. “This is definitely the right foot to start out on. Earn that salary, girl.”
One of the décor team members called Aleena’s name and she excused herself to go help. I told her I’d be right there before sighing dreamily and leaning back in my chair. The twinkling icicle lights over my head made me smile and I was filled with a rush of gratitude. There was nothing quite like the first day of December. A little knot of excitement slowly began to tighten in my belly that would be there all month long.
The days would be long and busy, and the nights would be snowy and cold, but I would be at peace embracing the cheer of the season.
CHAPTER 2
CHADWICK
“Mr. Bamford.” The doorman tipped his head in greeting as I passed through the front doors of Bamford Office Towers. I couldn’t recall his first name. Archie? Angus? Arnold? Whatever it was, I was fairly certain it started with an A.
“Thanks,” I said. My shoes left wet marks on the rubber mats meant to catch snow, and continued to leave little puddles across the glossy marble as I strode toward the elevators. Christmas had quite literally thrown up in the lobby, courtesy of our own elf, Tinsel Miller.
She hated when I called her that, but it was a succinct nickname.
The woman loved Christmas more than anyone I knew, and bless her little heart, she was good at bringing the holiday to life and sharing her enthusiasm with others. Ten years ago, my father had been a sour businessman who liked the holiday season simply because of the thirty-percent increase in revenue. After Tinsely Miller locked herself in the original Bamford’s department store in Manhattan, he’d realized that Christmas was what you make it.
Tinsely always made it magical.
Well, as magical as the most consumerist holiday could be, of course.
The security guard waved at me as I passed, and I tipped my chin to him before stepping on the elevator with three women who worked in an office on a different floor.
“Ladies,” I said.
They all giggled shy hellos. This sort of reception was nothing new to me. I’d been aware of the impression I made on women since I became a senior in high school. Every cheerleader wanted to date me even though I wasn’t on the football team, and every guy wanted to be me. Looking back, I supposed I couldn’t blame them. My family came from serious money. The Bamford legacy made us a known name in almost every household, and it also bought me a vintage Ferrari that attracted a hell of a lot of attention in the school parking lot.
And more girls.
“Going up, Mr. Bamford?” One of the women held a finger over the top floor elevator button, her ruby red nail glittering with gold on the ends.
“Always,” I said. “And please, call me Chad. Mr. Bamford is my father.”
The tip of her sparkly nail pressed the button and the doors closed. “Of course, Chad.”
The women got off the elevator on the eighth floor, and before the doors sealed behind them, they all looked back over their shoulders. I waved. They giggled.
Such was the way of things.
On the top floor I moved purposefully toward my father’s office. Twinkling icicle lights hung over my head, and I reached up and ran a hand through them. Another one of Tinsely’s ideas, to be sure.
“Chadwick, keep your hands off the décor,” Aleena Peele hollered at me from where she balanced on the top of a ladder. One of the event team members stood at the base of the ladder with an open box perched on their shoulder, from which Aleena drew faux Christmas greenery to add to the ceiling décor.
