Page 40 of Bad Boy Bachelor Christmas
Or we could just giggle and talk about other things like Christmas parties and gift shopping. Either sounded great to me.
She said she would pick me up at the office at half past five before North ushered me out the door to his fancy SUV parked in the drive.
Justin hollered after us. “Don’t forget about the Christmas party here tomorrow night! No jeans, North. I mean it. Dressnice. And Cami, are you sure you don’t want to be my date?”
Cami brushed past him, hips swaying, eyes rolling. “I’d rather go to every party solo for the rest of my life.”
North and I piled into his SUV, and he cranked the heat. As soon as warm air came out of the vents, I held my hands in front of them to warm up. I hadn’t heard too much about the party tomorrow night, only that it was going to be an elegant affair abounding with high-level clients and some of Justin’s closest friends to fill out the house and make it feel authentically like a Christmas party. It looked like North and I were among that category.
I’d have to find something to wear.
Snow still stuck to the ground from last night’s flurries, but it had melted away from the pavement from all the cars driving over it. I gazed out the window at the passing trees with fluffy white branches and smiled as snow fell away from them when little red cardinals landed upon them.
North parked at the office, and a few short minutes later we found ourselves in his conference room sipping hot coffees we’d picked up at a drive thru on our way. I dug into a toasted cranberry and turkey sandwich while he responded to some emails on his computer.
Even though we’d cleared the air about last night, things still felt a little pulled tight.
Tense.
Like I was crossing a tight rope trying to reach him.
“So, who are these clients?” I asked. Maybe we just needed to talk about something easy and impersonal. “What do I need to know about them?”
His eyes lifted from his laptop screen, and moments later, he closed it and sat back, getting comfortable. “Mr. and Mrs. Velton are long-standing clients of Waylon Farms and have used our Christmas trees for three decades. Basically ever since they began their Christmas Market in 1990.”
“Christmas Market?”
“They host vendors, entertainers, and a carnival on their property every December straight through to New Year’s Eve, and one of the main attractions is the Christmas tree they bring in to the center of the event. They’re a bit delayed this year getting the ball rolling. Mr. Velton had a health scare a month ago and they weren’t sure they were going to be able to proceed, but now that he has the all-clear, you and I can consider this a rush order.”
I gulped. “How rushed?”
“We need to select their tree, deliver it, and have it erected and decorated within the next four days.”
“Four days?!”
North flashed me a devilish grin. “What? You don’t think we can hack it?”
“I…” I trailed off and shook my head. “Four days isn’t a lot of time.”
“We’ve done it in less.”
Leaning into his confidence, I listened as he told me about the clients and their expectations. They never wanted a tree to look the same. Every year, ithadto be different. No excuses. And not mildly different, butwildlydifferent. He opened his computer back up, clicked to open a few folders, and turned it to me, showing me a file full of previous trees his company had done for them. With a history dating back thirty years, it was going to be hard to come up with something they hadn’t seen before.
I was chewing on that worrying fact when North’s receptionist guided a couple in their mid-sixties into the conference room. North rose to his feet and greeted them warmly before introducing me to them. The Veltons were plain, simple-looking people. The wife wore a ruby-red cardigan with pearls for buttons, and the husband had on a black sweater vest over a long-sleeved shirt. They looked stuffy and outdated, but as soon as they sat down and started talking, I discovered they were actually very amicable and warm.
“We’re so appreciative of you making time to see us, North,” Mrs. Velton said. “As you know we’ve had a stormy couple of months, but now that my darling Walter is out of the woods,” she paused to pat her husband’s hand, “we’re excited to dive into the Christmas spirit and make this the best year yet.”
The best year yet? In four days?
I forced my smile to stay on my lips and hoped it didn’t betray my nerves.
Walter Velton leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. He clasped his hands together to prevent them from shaking. “We’d love to hear what you’re thinking for the tree this year, North. What brilliant ideas are swirling in that head of yours?”
North turned, surprisingly, to me. “Actually,” he mused, “my new creative partner is the one who’s going to handle your design.”
I had half a mind to throw up on the spot with the pressure. Instead, I sat up a bit straighter, smiled until my cheeks hurt, and addressed them both. “I’m very excited to work with you both, and I think your event is spectacular. It deserves a tree that doesn’t have to compete with everything else you have on site. Carnival rides themselves are bright and loud, so I want to do something that will make the tree stand apart from everything else.”
The couple shared a pleased look.
