Page 19 of Bad Boy Bachelor Christmas
Winter sighed dreamily, as if she’d just transported back to her six-year-old self. “Some of my favorite memories come from that first week of the month. When it was over, my mother and I would pack up the items I’d chosen to donate, and we’d bring them to a local charity in Portland that collected toys for kids in need. We’d clean them all first, of course. I’d brush all the dollies’ hair and put bows in them and try to make them as new and special as possible. Mom would always get me to thank them for the fun we’d had together. Then I’d let them go. I think, and correct me if I’m wrong, but Ithinkwhat you’re asking for is a way to make your clients feel that same feeling. The Christmas spirit,” she surmised simply.
“Yes,” Dana breathed.
“Precisely,” Michael agreed.
Norman slapped his hand on the table, startling us all. Winter yelped beside me and everyone chuckled at her expense. Except for me. My toes still felt trodden upon by her sharp heels.
“That’s exactly what we’re after!” Norman announced enthusiastically. “Do you think you can do it?” His attention was on my intern, not me, the man who’d loyally shown up in every capacity to all their prior Christmas events and delivered top notch products.
Winter turned to me, handing over the reins she’d stolen. “Mr. Waylon?”
“Yes,” I said, resisting the urge to growl out the word. “We can do it. When have we ever let you down, Norman?”
He let out booming laughter before getting to his feet. His children followed suit. They were all smiles and eagerness. Dana went over to Winter and shook her hand, thanking her for the story. Winter blushed and thanked Dana in turn for listening.
“When I have my own kids I want to do that,” Dana said. “Do you mind if I steal a page from your mother’s book?”
“Not at all,” Winter gushed. “It taught me the meaning of Christmas and giving. And, naturally, it took a load off my mother’s shoulders because she didn’t have to stay on top of cleaning up so many toys and having my collection grow too big.”
Dana laughed. “I can imagine. She sounds like a clever woman.”
“The best,” Winter agreed.
We walked the clients out, and as soon as the door closed behind them I turned to Winter and glared down at her.
She smiled up at me, batting her long lashes. “How’d I do?”
“When I tell you not to speak, I mean it. Did you think I was kidding around?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I knew you meant it.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Grumbling, I pushed out the door into the stairwell, barking at her to follow. We were done in the office today. Her heels clicked on every step of our descent. “Next time, you willtake notes. Do you understand?”
“I think I did a good job. They liked what I had to say, and I already have a dozen ideas of what I want to do for their trees. Among other things. What sort of budget do I get per tree? Is it based on size? Do I get to do the décor shopping? Is there a company credit card? Or do I get reimbursed? My limit is pretty low on my personal credit card, being a student and all. Do you have a print shop nearby? Do they take online orders? Does Marge have a portfolio of past parties I can compare to for their firm? Have they ever done anything new like this before, or are they more of a traditional Christmas sort of vibe? This is so exciting!”
Holy fucking jingle bells. This woman.
* * *
The next day, Winter stayed holed up in her cabin, claiming she was working and didn’t want to be disturbed. Worked for me. I needed a break after the shit-show that had been yesterday.
I’d given her what resources I trusted her with and asked her to come up with a pitch for me by end of day today. I wanted to see where that crazy brain of hers was taking things before I let her run full steam ahead. Norman and his firm were big cheese clients for us. Their business was consistent, and for the most part, they were easy to please. Their references had brought us copious amounts of business over the years. I wouldn’t jeopardize a future with them because of a starry-eyed intern.
No way.
I was passing through the living room, sipping on a glass of whiskey, when the back door abruptly opened and a cold blast of air nearly knocked me over.
“Son of a bitch,” I hissed.
Winter, who was bundled up fiercely against the cold with a beanie down almost over her eyes and a scarf over her mouth, giggled and pulled the knitted fabric away from her mouth. “Did I scare you?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “No.”
“Uh huh.”
