Page 20 of Bad Boy Bachelor Christmas
“You shouldn’t just walk into people’s houses like that.”
“Because I scared you?”
“Because,” I said dryly, “I could have thought you were a robber. What then?”
“You’d only think I was a robber if I scared you,” she said pointedly.
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.
She laughed. “You’re so easy, North. I just came up to present these.” She held up an iPad she had clutched in a gloved hand that I hadn’t even noticed. “I finished the mock-ups for the trees for the firm and I want to know what you think. I wasn’t sure what scale we were going with—you were kind of vague—so if I have to rein it in, you let me know.”
Without being invited, she pushed into the house, sat down at my dining-room table, and looked expectantly at the empty chair beside her for me to sit down.
Why did this college student make me feel like I was her employee half the time?
Sighing, I fell into the chair beside her.
She clicked a few pages on her iPad before bringing up what looked like a collage of pictures. She turned to me with a grin and hid the screen against her chest. “Okay, remember, they asked for bold. Unique. Sparkly.”
Dread filled the pit of my stomach. I held out a hand for the iPad. “Give it here.”
“I know this is probablywaydifferent than anything you’ve done before, but hear me out. I think this is the way to get to their clients’ hearts. I reached out to Mr. Cuthbert via email to ask the approximate age of the majority of their clients.”
“You what?”
“He said they were between thirty and forty, give or take, or fifty and upward.”
“Back up.”
She blinked innocently at me. “Yes?”
“You emailed him? Directly? Without my consent?”
“It wasjustan email. And strictly business related and within the scope of my job. What’s the problem?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “From now on leave communication with our clients to me, okay?”
She blew past the request as if I hadn’t made it. “I had this idea. My story spoke to all of them because they’re chasing a feeling. The spirit of Christmas. Well, when was the last time you remember feeling that?”
I stared blankly at her.
“Probably when you were a kid,” she supplied. “Same with me. I’ve been chasing that sparkly, twinkly, magical feeling of Christmas morning from my childhood every year, but it eludes me because, well, the veil has been lifted. I know the nibble marks on the carrot in the morning were from my dad. I know the flour on the floor in boot prints were with Dad’s work boots. I know the cards signed ‘From Santa’ were written by Mom. We all have those stories, but before we knew the truth, we knew themagic.And this is what Christmas looked like back then.”
Winter finally handed over the tablet, revealing a mishmash of tacky Christmas trees adorned in silver and gold strands of tinsel, bubble lights, hand-made ornaments, and tacky garland strands.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the catastrophe she’d copy pasted. “This is… this is…”
“Christmas circa 1990. I know. Brilliant, right?”
“Hideous.”
Winter stammered. “Hideous? What? Why?”
Shaking my head, I gave her the tablet back. “You can’t put pictures of a party like this in the newspapers. High-scale clientele donating hundreds or thousands of dollars to their haven event will expect more than a tacky blast from the past. They want high-end backdrops for their social media feeds.”
Winter pursed her lips. “I think a lot of people do, but I think that’s missing the point of this particular event. Norman said—”
“Mr. Cuthbert,” I corrected, “asked for a feeling, which we will deliver in an eye-catching, visually appealing manner. We will not roll over and give him mediocre work because we want him to feel like a kid again. You had your shot. I’m coming to Chicago with you to take the lead and show you how this is done in person. If all goes well and you prove yourself, maybe I’ll let you run the show for the next one.”
