Personal Shopper
Table of Contents
PERSONAL SHOPPER
TERE MICHAELS
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Will Nixon only has three days to whip up the perfect NYC family Christmas to impress his twin sister’s future in-laws. By chance he meets the charming and possibly perfect Hudson Smith, an out of town business man, who agrees to be his “personal shopper” in order to get everything done. In the middle of a whirlwind of prep, Will and Hudson find themselves doing more than shopping - they might be falling in love.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2011 by Tere Michaels
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Published by
MLR Press, LLC
3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.
Albion, NY 14411
Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet:
www.mlrpress.com
Cover Art by Deana C. Jamroz
Editing by Kris Jacen
Ebook format ISBN# 978-1-60820-504-2
Issued 2011
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.
CHAPTER ONE
Will Nixon had the excuses already churning in his head as he skated his four hundred dollar ergonomic chair across the slick floor and reached for the ringing phone—a compact slim line relic from the 70’s in a stunning avocado color. He loved that phone, except when it was ringing at eleven in the morning on the Wednesday before Christmas and he was three plus weeks past a deadline.
“Michelle, I love you I do but you can’t rush genius,” was his opening bid – faux cheery - and even as his voice echoed through the loft, he winced. His agent was not going to be charmed at this late, late, late date.
Really late.
“It’s not Michelle, it’s me,” his sister Veronica said, a touch impatient, and Will felt a brief pang of regret at his beautiful phone for its lack of glamorous high tech things like caller ID. He could blow off his sister and actually be asleep right now; another long night of not writing had left him fuzzy brained.
Small talk was not on his agenda.
“Sorry. I could feel her shoving a pin in my voodoo doll’s ass.” Will got out of the chair and gave it a shove back under the desk, blessing the phone’s extra long cord. Sitting there meant he’d look at his laptop, which meant a reminder of his writing inability at the moment. He settled down at the kitchen island, pulling his bathrobe a bit tighter. NYC lofts that were once factories – architecturally sexy but cold as Iceland in December. “I’m a little late.”
“Yeah, I know, Mom told me. I don’t mean to bother you but uh…I’m just going to bother you with my life problems and make you solve them.”
“Is this a twin thing?” Will rubbed his jaw and tried to remember the last time he’d shaved. Or showered.
“No, it’s a ‘you owe me’ for that time with the thing and the guy.” Veronica sighed. “Actually, I’m bashing my head against the wall in Paris. Can’t you feel it in New York?”
Will rubbed his forehead. He hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours and he was out of coffee. Yes, yes, he could feel a headache forming.
“What’s wrong?”
He could hear Veronica breathing on the other end of the line. Like a nervous prank caller working up their nerve to begin their joke.
“We were supposed to be staying in Paris for the holidays you know, but ugh, his parents are being…they insist on meeting my family, to check me out because you know – they think I’m a gold digger or a prostitute or something and I know they’ve had someone pull my file – which, did you realize I even have a file? What the hell could be in a file?! And so I called mom and dad and they were already on the stupid ship and…and…” Veronica unleashed the words in a furious rush, a barrage Will tried to decipher while she hyperventilated.
Paris was a lark, a change of scenery for his cellist sister, a job at a small music school owned by a friend from Julliard. She went for six months, stayed two years and announced – very suddenly – at Thanksgiving that she’d met someone the month before, they were in love and surprise! They were getting married on Valentine’s Day.
Normally the good twin, Veronica had single-handedly caused chaos for five straight holidays. When Will came out at sixteen, he’d only ruined the joint Passover/Easter dinner his grandmother insisted on. Veronica’s drama was epic.
Not to mention no one had met the mysterious Roan and they wouldn’t until after the New Year…except…
“So we’re flying to New York for the holidays and Mom and Dad are flying back from Bermuda so – oh God Will, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what exactly?” he asked suspiciously. He opened the cookie jar shaped like the genie bottle from “I Dream of Jeannie” and took out two Twinkies he had a strong suspicion he’d be needing for strength in the next few seconds.
“Sorry that you have to throw together a really nice Christmas for eight at your place on two days notice?” She had the good grace to cough apologetically at the end.
“No. Nooooo.” Will’s heart started to beat triple time. Organization? The Holidays? Responsibility and Adulthood? He’d rather be getting a verbal bitch slap from Michelle right now, while she was jabbing his effigy with a hot coal.
“Will, you’re the only person who can do this! We’re flying out on Christmas Eve! Mom and Dad won’t be able to get back from Bermuda until then!” The exclamation points flew. “Roan told them how wonderful our family was and how close we were – I need visual proof of this.”
“We have to fake normalcy for your fiancé’s parents?”
“Yes.”
“I hate Christmas.”
“You hate socializing and shopping. That’s not Christmas’ fault.” Veronica moved to mid-level wheedle. They both knew he’d cave because Will’s backbone was made of pudding, particularly when it came to his twin.
“I’m working,” he tried.
“No, you’re avoiding working. Think of this as a legitimate excuse to fuck off.”
How well she knew him.
“Ugh, enabler. So – a tree, presents, dinner? Is that what we’re talking about here?” Will sighed dramatically. “Everyone’s getting a scarf, just so you know.”
“Yes – but…” Veronica was gearing up for something more. He could feel it.
“But?”
“But, slightly more elegant, traditional and serious than you know, every holiday we’ve ever had.”
“You realize I’m gay, but not actually Martha Stewart?”
Veronica huffed. “Don’t you have friends? Cool artistic gay friends like on television?”
“I know other horror writers, gamers and the Korean family who owns the restaurant downstairs. And Lenny from across the hall. He’s gay but he’s an accountant. I’m guessing he won’t be a huge help.” Not to mention disinterested in helping Will with anything after that awkward New Year’s one night stand from last year - when Will called him “Larry” the next day and asked if he lived nearby.
“Unhelpful.” The quiver in his sister’s voice said tears imminent and if that didn’t scare him into action, nothing else would.
“Fine. I’ll…read an article on the Internet and get something going.” Maybe the switched up insanity of buying linen napkins—and matching china and adult food and a freaking tree—would shake the ending of his book free. “What time are you going to be here?”
“We should get to your place by ten in the morning on Christmas Day. Mom and Dad’ll probably get in a little later.” Veronica sniffled. “Thank you Will. I owe you everything.”
“I want something cool for Christmas, and it better not be a scarf.”
A guilt-ridden Veronica then proceeded to burst into tears. In between sniffles, Will learned about how hard Roan’s parents’ attitude was, and how worried her true love was, and how she was afraid it would break them up.
Will started to take this personally.
How dare anyone hurt Veronica’s feelings? That was his job, and one done with the love of one sibling to another. They could fight like Crips and Bloods but at the end of the day, it was the Nixon siblings against the world. And Will would punch the first rich French family who made his sister cry.
Every stupid thing Will had ever done, Veronica had his back. When he came out, she didn’t blink. When he left NYU junior year to write horror full time, she bought him macaroni and cheese by the crate and beer on Fridays. Tim and Nancy – artists, teachers, hippies – parented in a way not normally seen outside a sixties era commune, so sometimes it was Will and Veronica against the world. Or at least in charge of “normal” around their house.
He owed her.
And plus – she was totally right about the fucking off. If he did this, he could continue to avoid killing off Sheriff Black.
~ * ~ * ~
Will Nixon wrote a series of horror novels called “Wicked Children” which paid his bills, kept him in toys and fancy gadgets, earned him minor celebrity on the Internet and at comic book conventions, and put certain demands on him from his editor and agent.
Like a book in their hands every November for release in March. Like a novel with a dark and depressing ending, where the hero died a second before the cavalry arrived or maybe getting hit by the cavalry’s vehicle a second before a happy ending occurred.
Like the sheriff was supposed to die now. Violently and ironically, as previously leaked by anonymous sources—his agent, Michelle—on the Internet and which his fans were eagerly anticipating.
The words just weren’t coming.
So close – so very close to being done and putting a heartbreaking, dark, angsty coda to his biggest book to date. And yet, Sheriff Black just would. Not. Die.
Such hope and determination flew in the face of Will’s attempt to do him in. Sheriff Black was a loner, just like Will. Of course the Sheriff’s pain and suffering involved a horrific childhood of demonic possession and Will just didn’t like to bother establishing relationships. Slightly different.
But still – loner dudes without much hope for happy endings. Except for this one, when Black just wanted to live to fight another day.
“Son of a bitch,” Will groused as he pulled on jeans and a sweater after a long hot shower. The printer chugged out pages of lists and several articles on the “ideal holiday”, all of which would hopefully spur him into the correct shopping mood to make this all happen. He drank a pot of coffee to counteract the lack of sleep.
He contemplated calling his mother on the cruise ship for advice but frankly her idea of “Winter Holiday Celebrations” involved ordering Chinese food and serving Ambrosia, which was the only dish she could actually compile into something edible. She would be no help, and probably in a hellacious mood over having her vacation disrupted.
Will was better off with Connecticut housewives on the Internet. He wished he knew artistic gay people. Maybe he would start aggressively hitting on interior designers for one night stands, build up his database for just such emergencies.
Beanie, oversized puffy coat, snow boots, gloves.
He looked eleven and felt like a snowman.
Into the wilds of the Village, Will stepped out of his building into the gray crunch remains of last week’s snow storm. The garbage was piled up on the sidewalk and the renovation down the street meant double parking and the crashing sound of debris into a dumpster.
He hoped “Roan’s” parents had a sense of humor about progress.
~ * ~ * ~
Will’s first stop was a place called Highland Jack on Spring Street. The website mentioned fine European designers and an exclusive selection of gifts. “European” and “gifts” were exactly the words he needed at this moment. Plus? It was close.
He walked because he was still trying to figure out the Sheriff block and walking sometimes helped. Of course, given his mental state, his thoughts drifted to what constituted an elegant holiday.
He guessed he’d have to hide the toys in his loft—and how sad his life that toys didn’t mean anything sexual but referred to his collection of Marvel action figures. The framed animation cells should probably be replaced with actual art.
Would these fancy pants people from France mind sitting on a chair shaped like a giant leaf?