A Fairytale Christmas (13 page)

F
OR
as long as Gill could remember, one day had been the same as another. But, come Sunday night, she found herself finally understanding the phrase “weekend regret.”

The day had flown by. Not in a blurry haze, like when she was engrossed in work, but in a “the hours are too short” kind of way she remembered from childhood. In fact, today she felt like a kid again. Energized and carefree in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Skating had brought back memories, too. She couldn’t believe the stories she’d shared with the kids. Yet reliving her small-town roots hadn’t disturbed her the way it normally did. Maybe because the kids had seemed genuinely interested. They’d listened to her stories as if they meant something. As if
she
meant something.

Huh, imagine that.

And then there was Oliver. Flirty, sexy, amazing Oliver, whose encouraging smile made her feel like the belle of the ball. Who knew one person’s expression could make a person feel so special? Closing her eyes, she conjured up his face, enjoying the thrill the image sent through her.

Maybe Gwen’s romantic streak had a point after all.

That thought was still rattling around her head when she walked into the office Monday. She was ticking off her day’s
to-do list, trying to figure out what excuse she could use to stop by the center and see Oliver. She was so engrossed, she failed to notice the chaos whirling around her. That was until Elliot Rosenthal’s bellow ripped through the office.

“I’m going to kill her! Who on earth goes skiing four days before a major product launch? Gillian, get in here!”

The center was completely lit up when she stepped from the cab. Community league basketball. Oliver had mentioned something last night. Gill winced. She’d purposely waited until after pick-up time, so she and Oliver would be able to talk in private.

Oh, well, she thought with a sigh. It was the kids she was avoiding anyway. Adults she could handle.

She let herself in, noticing the kids had hung more snowflakes in the entranceway. Her enchanted forest was growing by leaps and bounds. Peter McNabb would have a terrific backdrop for his photographs. She looked forward to reviewing the coverage.

Oliver was in his office, going over paperwork. He must have had a meeting, because instead of his usual sweater and corduroys he wore a black suit and tie, looking every inch the businessman he’d chosen not to be.

She took some hope in seeing him look that way. Maybe she was blowing this out of proportion? After all, Oliver was a professional; he understood the demands of a career. He’d understand her dilemma.

“This a bad time?” she asked.

His face brightened from the inside out the second he saw her. “Never a bad time for you. In fact, I was just thinking about ordering takeout. Feel like a little Chinese? We can test our fortunes again.”

Gill could think of nothing she’d rather do than stay—especially with the way Oliver was smiling at her. Her stomach somersaulted at the knowledge she was about to let him down.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay. I have to get back to work.”

“Oh?” he replied with a frown. “What’s up that you had to come by personally? There a problem?”

“A small one. Stephanie DeWitt had a skiing accident. She hit a tree and shattered her pelvis.”

“That’s terrible. Who’s Stephanie DeWitt?”

“A co-worker. Actually…” She toed the floor with her boot. “She’s the other woman under consideration for the vice presidency. With her out, I have to handle her project. It’s a major aftershave launch for Remaillard Cosmetics. This means I’m pretty much a shoo-in for the promotion.”

“That’s great. That’s what you wanted, right? Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“But you didn’t come here just to share good news, did you?” His smile faded and his expression turned wary. The change made Gill uneasy. In that moment she knew her news wouldn’t be taken well.

Might as well deliver the blow quickly. “The product launch is Thursday night.”

“The same day as the McNabb Christmas party.” Wariness gave way to something darker, reminding her of the anger she’d seen the day they met. “You promised the kids you’d be there.”

And now she had to break that promise. Something, as he’d pointed out yesterday, he didn’t believe in doing. But surely he had to see there were extenuating circumstances?

“Remaillard Cosmetics is our biggest account; a successful launch means a lot of new business.”

He turned back to the paperwork on his desk. “What am I supposed to tell the kids? They think you’re coming.”

“Can’t you tell them something came up?”

“You mean like a better offer?”

Gill didn’t like where this conversation was headed. Or the coldness in his voice. Surely he had to understand that in the business scheme of things the Remaillard account had to come first? “I didn’t choose for the launch to be held the same day as the party.”

“No, you’re simply choosing the launch over us.”

“I have to. It’s my job.” Why was he making this sound so personal?

Because to him it was.
My kids. My center.
How many times did he use those phrases?

“Oliver, I didn’t do this on purpose.” She touched his shoulder. “I’ll make it up to them.”

“Sure you will. Unless another project comes up.” Disbelief laced his every word. What hurt most was that he had wouldn’t look at her. He simply shuffled the papers on his desk, his spine and his voice stiff and hard. “Look, I have a lot of paperwork to finish up. Do you need me to call you a cab?”

A cab? He was dismissing her? “Oliver—”

“What do you want me to say, Gill?” Finally he turned to face her. The look on his face made her wish he hadn’t. “That I understand. Fine. I understand.”

No, he didn’t. Otherwise he’d see she truly didn’t
have
a choice. She had to take this project. “Elliot Rosenthal is counting on me. I’ve worked too long and too hard to get where I am to mess up now.”

“Of course you have.”

He sounded so crisp and cold.

“This doesn’t mean I don’t…” She paused, unsure how to put her thoughts into words.

Before she could continue, Oliver held up his hand. “Don’t, Gill. I’ll tell the kids you had an emergency and couldn’t work on the party anymore. Don’t worry, they’ll take it fine. They’re used to disappointment.”

Oliver listened to the angry click of Gill’s boots fade in the distance. There was the slam of a car door, and he saw a pair of taillights disappear down the street. She’d asked the cab to wait. For some reason that only made him feel more annoyed. Feel more like a temporary stop.

“One more rung on the ladder of success,” he mocked. He should have listened to his gut the day Gill walked in here, all high-heeled and high-powered.

Of course it was the kids he felt bad for. He’d always known she wouldn’t stick around. That he and his center wouldn’t be enough.

Paperwork had lost what little appeal it held. He needed to go home, crack a beer, and lose himself in a Celtics game. Tomorrow he’d figure out what to tell the kids.

He did his nightly tour, making sure the windows and doors were all locked and bolted. On the way back through the community room he stopped. Over the past two weeks the dingy space had been transformed. Garlands draped the windows. Ribbons and snowflakes hung from the ceiling. Surrounded by mini-trees, the Teaberry tree bathed the rest of the enchanted forest in soft light.

Slowly, he walked over and touched one of its branches. The pine fragrance reminded him of Gill. Longing welled up inside him. Longing stronger than he’d felt in a long time.

It was for the kids, he told himself. He was sad for the kids.

“Magical tree, my ass,” he muttered, plucking a handful of needles. “If you’re so magical, then make things right.”

He let the needles fall on the floor.

The next two days passed in a blur of meetings and last-minute preparations. What Stephanie possessed in confidence and outward bravado, she apparently lacked in organization and follow-up skills. It took Gill half a day alone to figure out who was in charge of what task.

By the time she made it home to her apartment she was beyond exhausted. She crashed on her sofa. Even microwave popcorn was too much trouble tonight.

What she wouldn’t give for some Kung Pao Chicken.

No, she wouldn’t go there. According to Jeff, her stand-in on the center project, Oliver hadn’t so much as mentioned her name during their meetings. He was obviously still upset. Knowing the chip on his shoulder, he’d probably stay that way forever. Just as well. Relationships and career didn’t mix. If you could call what they’d had a relationship. What kind of relationship could you form in two weeks?

Gwen and Drew fell in love in four.

She wasn’t Gwen. She wasn’t in love. The hole in her chest was not a broken heart.

Her cell buzzed. Gill groaned. Not another text message. Couldn’t she get five minutes to breathe?

She looked at the screen.

The video was named “Claire Bear Snowman.”

Gill loaded it up, and instantly her mood brightened. Her niece Claire was making a snowman—or, to be more accurate,
Drew was making the snowman. Claire was helping by throwing handfuls of snow at him.

“Come on, help Daddy push the snowball,” she heard Drew say. He bent over to push, only to have Claire dump a handful of snow on the back of his neck. She could hear Gwen laughing behind the camera as Drew pretended to growl like a bear and chase Claire down. “This,” he said, giving his step-daughter a gigantic bear hug, “this is what it’s all about.”

Gill clicked off the video. Without the sound of taped laughter her apartment became very quiet and cold. She curled onto her side and stared at her mini-tree, unlit and browning from lack of water.

“I am a success,” she said. The mini-tree and the apartment didn’t answer.

T
HE
ballroom of the Fairlane Hotel looked like a Parisian bistro. Gill had taken Stephanie’s original idea, run with it, and with some last-minute tweaks turned it into a product launch for the books. The guests—members of the New York and Boston fashion elite—raved left and right. As did the executives from Remaillard.

“Magnificent!” one exclaimed, kissing her on each cheek Parisian-style.

Elliot Rosenthal was suitably blown away as well. “Nice recovery,” he said, handing her a glass of champagne. “The kind of results you expect from a top executive.”

There it was. He might as well have called her Madam Vice President. Tomorrow she expected he would call her into his office and bestow the title on her officially. Gill saluted his raised glass. She’d done it. She’d reached the next plateau.

The moment wasn’t as celebratory as she’d hoped.

Smiling and nodding at the crowd, she walked the perimeter of the room, pausing to adjust a poster that had slipped on its display.
“His Present, Your Treat,”
the ad read.
“Make Every Night Christmas Eve.”
Gill had bought a bottle for Drew. Someone might as well have fun.

“He’s made me take him to see Santa Claus three times. I swear the boy has the longest Christmas list in America.”

“Did you tell him Santa can’t fit everything in his sleigh?”

“When I did, he said, ‘That’s okay, Mommy. I asked for a trailer, too.’”

Behind the poster, two women laughed at the story. Gill tried not to listen in, but the minute she heard the word
Santa
she found herself tuned in. A quick look at her watch told her “Santa” would have just arrived at the center. Peter McNabb probably had his hands full right about now.

Stop, Gillian. You weren’t going to think about Oliver or the center tonight.

She continued on her route. Another poster on the other side of the room needed fixing. This time she overheard two couples.

“I try to be a disciplinarian, but one look at those big brown eyes and I melt. I can’t help it.”

“The way they look when you walk through the door at night. Makes coming home worthwhile.”

Coming home worthwhile.
The conversation continued—something about puppy school—but Gill was no longer listening. She was replaying Gwen’s video in her memory. Drew had said something similar. Her brother-in-law ran a successful worldwide corporation; he was worth millions. Yet she never saw him happier than when he was doting on Gwen and Claire. When was the last time she’d been truly happy, outside of visiting her sister?

Ice skating with the kids. She smiled. Sharing Chinese food. Every time Oliver smiled at her.

Makes coming home worthwhile.

What did she have to come home to? Work and a dying miniature Christmas tree.

All these years trying not to be poor Gillian McKenzie, and her life sounded more pathetic than ever.

A hand tapped her shoulder. “Stéphane Remaillard is about to make his remarks,” Ken the intern told her. “Elliot wanted you up on the dais with them.”

“Sure. Be right there.” Time for her moment of glory.

Worth coming home to.

You always succeed when you put your mind to it.

Gwen was right. Since when did she just let events sweep her along as if she didn’t have a choice? If life didn’t give you something, you went out and made your own magic.

Maybe it was time she followed her own advice and made herself happy.

Christmas music blasted from the DJ’s speakers. The community center had never been fuller or more lively. Kids, both the center’s and children of invited guests, ran amok, playing and laughing. Older kids danced. Peter McNabb, in Santa garb, glad-handed and posed for photos in front of the enchanted forest. Adults mingled and read literature on the center’s work. More than one had seen the feature on television and had promised a check upon an introduction.

“Mr. Oliver!” Jamarcus ran up, brandishing a candy cane and a stuffed teddy bear. There was chocolate rimming his mouth. “Look what Santa gave me.”

Oliver put aside his blues. “Good for you, Jamarcus.”

“I also got chocolate from Maria.”

“So I see.” He barely got the response out before the toddler was off, searching for the next activity.

He had to hand it to her, Gill had pulled together a triumph for McNabb and the center.

Too bad she wasn’t here to see her success. Then again, she was basking in another success tonight.

At least a dozen times he’d picked up the phone to call her, only to change his mind at the last minute. The problem was
bigger than just her career aspirations. Hell, he understood workaholism better than anyone.

No, it was a matter of priorities. If she chose her career over her promise to the kids this time, who’s to say she wouldn’t make a similar choice again? Who’s to say the next time he wouldn’t be the thing that came up short?

Face it, Harrington, you cut bait because you were afraid she won’t think you’re good enough for her.
Why not? Didn’t Julia come to that same conclusion right before she walked out? Right after he refused to give up working at the center?

Only Gill wasn’t Julia. She was far, far better.

And Gill didn’t ask him to choose anything. He made the choice for her. Without giving her a chance.

For a guy who preaches the sky’s the limit, you’re pretty jaded.
Maria’s words came floating back to him. It was true. What kind of example was he for the kids if he was too afraid to take a chance himself?

Or rather, give Gill a chance?

A hand tugged the back of his suit jacket. He turned to see Becky and two other girls. “Carlos keeps dragging us under the mistletoe,” they complained. “Can we slap him?”

“No,” Oliver replied. He had to fight his chuckle. Carlos had been carrying out his mistletoe mission all night, much to the chagrin of Becky and the other girls. Although they didn’t seem all that upset at the moment, despite their complaints. “I’ll go talk to him and tell him to knock it off. Where is he?”

A look passed between the girls. “Hanging out in the doorway,” one of them finally answered.

The better to catch unsuspecting girls; the kid wasn’t stupid. “Don’t worry,” he told them. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“We know you will,” Becky said, before the trio ran off giggling. Girls. They were a mystical lot.

He wove his way through the crowd to the doorway. The mistletoe had been the one part of the room he’d avoided until now. Looking at it only reminded him of Gill. A fresh bout of chagrin attacked him. As soon as he’d talked to Carlos he was definitely finding a phone. He’d leave a million messages if he had to.

Or maybe not.
Halfway across the room, he froze.

There, under the mistletoe, stood Gill.

He recognized her red dress as a designer number from Newberry Street. Simple, but elegant, it needed no adornment other than her long blond hair. His heart began to race.

She’d changed her choice.

Gill’s heart pounded in her chest. It had been ages since she’d sent the girls to get Oliver. What if he didn’t believe their ruse? What if he saw her and didn’t want to talk with her? Or, worse, what if she’d misread the emotions she’d seen in his eyes?

Suddenly she saw him. Standing stock-still in the crowd. Their eyes locked. Slowly, he began moving forward. Blood pounding in her ears, Gill counted his steps. Five. Six.

At last he reached her. “You came.”

Gill nodded. “I made a promise. I had to keep it.”

“The kids will be happy.”

“Just the kids?”

With a shake of his head, Oliver moved a little closer. “Not just the kids. Me. I owe you an apology.”

“You do?”

“For losing my temper. For misjudging you. I always saw this center as a sort of symbol of what I overcame. Except I’m beginning to realize I didn’t escape my roots as much as I thought. When you chose your project over the party I felt… I took it personally. I felt like you thought the center wasn’t good enough for you.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he dipped his head and toed the doorway threshold with that sheepish expression she adored. “That I wasn’t good for you.”

Not good enough? A lump rose in Gill’s throat. Her handsome, confident Oliver didn’t think he was good enough for
her?
He couldn’t be more wrong.

“I compared you to Julia and that was wrong. I should have given you a chance. Do you think you can forgive me?”

He looked up, and the emotion she saw brimming in his eyes brought a lump to her throat. The tightness that had been gripping her lungs slowly melted through her, filling her with an emotion too light, too wonderful to describe. Forgive him? For what? Letting his past color his actions? Hadn’t she been doing the very same thing?

“I can forgive you,” she said with a smile, “if you can give me another chance.”

“Oh, angel, I’ll give you all the chances in the world.” He paused, his happy expression suddenly growing confused. “What about the big product launch? Aren’t you supposed to be there?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then why aren’t—?”

Gill pressed her fingers to his lips. He was getting that inner glow she loved, and she was dying to touch him. “Being with you, being with the kids—it made me realize there’s a little more to life than working twenty-four-seven. There’s something to be said for having more in your life.
I
want more in my life.”

“Same here,” he replied.

Seeing the expectancy in his eyes, she knew without doubt what she needed to say next. He’d taken a chance and bared his soul. It was time for her to do the same. “I want
you
in my life.”

Oliver moved closer. Gill took a deep breath. His eyes shone with emotion as they searched her face. Finally, after what seemed a thousand years, he answered. “Same here.” Reaching out, he brushed her lower lip with his thumb. The caress reached to her heart. “I think I might be falling in love with you, angel.”

Gill let out her breath. She hadn’t misread those emotions after all. “Same here,” she whispered.

“You know something else?” Oliver whispered back.

“What?” Gill was on cloud nine. No promotion, no words, nothing could possibly be more wonderful than what she’d just heard. Oliver Harrington was falling for her.

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “You’re under the mistletoe,” he murmured against her lips.

“So I am,” Gill responded with a smile. “What should we do about it?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to claim my woman before Carlos gets here.”

Slanting his mouth over hers, he did just that.