The New Year's Wish (2 page)

TWO

H
E HELD UP THE
umbrella she'd dropped on his foot in her mad rush to leave the elevator and laughed at the look of horror on her face. He couldn't help himself. She was a complete mess.

“Uhh . . . thank you. I . . . I . . . uh . . .”

He couldn't hold back the grin as she struggled for words. “Having a bad day?”

She blew a few loose strands of hair up off her forehead and rolled her eyes. “You don't know the half of it.”

He laughed again and held the umbrella out to her.

Her blush darkened to a shade close to purple. She grabbed the umbrella and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I really am sorry. I was running late and . . . I should have been looking where I was going.” She twisted the umbrella in her hands.

He stiffened as the sudden urge to reach out and tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear surged over him.
What the . . . ?
He ignored it and moved to sit behind the desk, creating a barrier between them. “Come on in and sit down.”

“But?” Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“I'm sorry. I'm Garrett Emerson, vice president of Harris and Harris.” He extended a hand, and she took it, but still made no move to sit.

“Please, have a seat.” When he gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk, she finally moved toward it. “Ms. Harris had a meeting, so she asked me to conduct your interview on her behalf.” What she'd actually said was,
“If that scatterbrain shows up, get rid of her,”
but he didn't have the heart to tell Olivia that.

He studied her as she moved hesitantly toward the chair across from him. She had dirt on her pants and stains on her blouse, and her hair had come loose of its tie and frizzed into a halo around her head. Yet she carried herself with grace and self-assurance and a certain level of confidence that belied her haggard state.

She didn't lean back, instead choosing to sit perched on the edge of her seat as if she might bolt at any moment, given the slightest provocation. “Thank you, Mr. Emerson.” A tentative smile lit her blue eyes until they sparkled. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and waited.

“Do you have a résumé?”

“Um . . . well, not exactly.”

“What do you mean not exactly?”

She tried to smooth her hair back, but it seemed to have a mind of its own. “Well, I have a résumé, but I left it on the table when I ran out of the house. I was afraid I would miss my train and . . . well . . . you know.” She gave up and settled on biting her lip again.

He leaned back. “You're applying for the receptionist position, right?” He shuffled through the thin folder Carol had shoved into his hands when she cornered him at the elevator.
Why did I stop? I should have just kept walking when she called my name. Oh. Wait. I couldn't. Someone was blocking my path.
He heaved in a deep breath and searched for patience. “Why don't you tell me a little about your work history?”

“Okay, well . . . um . . . I worked at a small boutique when I was in high school. Then I went to college for a while. Since then, I've started several businesses, but none of them really took off.” She fidgeted nervously, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap.

Hmmm . . . definitely a story there.
He'd let it go for now. It was obvious she was a nervous wreck. If he pushed her too hard, she might flee. Did that matter to him? He was surprised to find it did. Something about her touched him. She was, without a doubt, beautiful, but in more of a girl-next-door kind of way than any classic sense.

He tried to envision how she'd look with her hair down. From the strands that had escaped her bun, he imagined a mass of blond curls, filled with streaks and highlights of various shades of blond and brown. He tried to picture all that hair framing her delicate features, but her enormous blue eyes kept drawing his focus. There was something more there. Something in her eyes—depth, strength, determination. A subtle contradiction to the vulnerability exposed by her actions.

She blew out a breath. “Look, I'm not usually like this. I usually have my act together. I was thrown by having such a bad morning, but I really, really need this job. Could I maybe reschedule this meeting with Ms. Harris when she has more time?”

Fat chance. Charlotte the Hun would never give Olivia a second chance after she'd shown up more than an hour and a half late for an interview she'd already called to say she'd be an hour late for. He contemplated her disheveled appearance and lack of office experience as she worried her bottom lip. She didn't seem very together. If he was smart, he'd probably cut her loose and be done with her. She was obviously nothing but trouble, and he didn't have room in his life for trouble . . . or anything else, for that matter. “Actually, Ms. Harris won't be doing interviews in the near future.”

The light of hope in her eyes dimmed.

“Look, I'll tell you what.” He raked his hand back through his hair.

She lifted a brow and cocked her head to the side.

“My assistant is going out on maternity leave in the next week or so. I've been conducting interviews, but . . .” The glimmer of hope returned to light up her face. “It's only for six months, but if you'd be interested . . .”

“Sure.” Her smile brightened. “Actually, a temporary position is perfect, but what about the receptionist position with Ms. Harris? Won't she be upset I took a different position?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, but it didn't help. “Don't worry about it.” He grinned and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I've heard Ms. Harris is a tyrant to work for anyway. Besides, this position pays better.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She jumped from the chair and reached to shake his hand, knocking over a picture frame that sat on his desk.

She's going to be trouble.
He sighed.

“
Oh gosh. I'm so sorry. Let me fix . . .”

“It's okay. I've got it.” He righted the picture and shook the hand she still held out to him. He resisted the urge to press it to his lips. Barely. What was wrong with him?

She released his hand, grabbed her bag, and threw it over her shoulder. “You won't be sorry. I promise.”

Why do I have the feeling that's not true?
“Okay, then. You'll need to go downstairs to Human Resources and fill out your paperwork. Can you start next week?”

“Sure. No problem.”

He pressed the switch for the intercom. “Jill, could you come in here, please?” He rounded the desk and walked with Olivia toward the door. Jill pushed through the door and stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze locked on Olivia. Her frozen expression looked more like a grimace than a smile. Garrett resisted the urge to laugh.

“Jill, this is Olivia Calloway. She's going to take Marty's place until she returns to work.”

The two women shook hands.

“Would you please show Olivia around and then take her to Human Resources to fill out the paperwork?”

Jill's smile returned. “Sure, Garrett.”

“Thanks.” He turned to Olivia. “Can you be here next Monday at nine?”

“Yes. No problem, Mr. Emerson. Thank you so much.”

“Please, call me Garrett.” His gaze locked onto hers, lingered, and held a moment longer than necessary.

Jill cleared her throat.

“Uh . . . right.” A pink blush tinged Olivia's cheeks. “Thank you, Garrett.”

The two women walked off together, and he couldn't help but wonder what kind of pickle he'd just gotten himself into. The ringing of his cell phone jarred him from his thoughts. He fished it out of his pocket. “Emerson.”

“Garrett. It's Charlotte. Did my interview ever show up?”

“Yeah. She just left.” He shut the door and moved to sit behind his desk but stopped short when he spotted the umbrella sticking out from beneath the chair. He simply shook his head and massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Did you tell her the position was no longer available?” He knew Charlotte Harris well enough to know she was making small talk. She would have fully expected him to follow her instructions.
She must want something.

“Yes.”
Liar.
“But I did hire her as a temp until Marty returns.”

Her shrug was practically audible through the line. “That works.”

Okay, she wants something big.
He waited.

“I just spoke with Mortimer, and we've decided to have a New Year's Eve ball.”

Garrett would have dropped the phone if not for the white-knuckled grip he now had on it.
No, no, no.
The Harrises were famous for their extravagant parties. They invited everyone, from the custodians to the board members, and everyone was expected to show up. Hundreds of people would be in attendance. They considered it a mandatory camaraderie-building company event and kept a running list in their heads of everyone who failed to make an appearance.

“I know it's late notice, but we had originally planned on going . . .” Charlotte babbled excitedly, but he couldn't concentrate on what she was saying.

Gracie would be so disappointed. She wanted him to take her to Times Square for New Year's Eve. When they moved to New York last year, she begged him to take her, but he had to attend the Harrises' party. When he found out the Harrises would be going away this year, he'd promised her they would finally go.

“ . . . don't want Jill to do it after I had to intervene with the Halloween party.” Charlotte's voice intruded on his thoughts.

What is she talking about?
“Uh-huh.”

“If it wasn't for me double-checking on everything we wouldn't even have had a venue.”

“Yeah.” He struggled to focus on what she was saying.

“Great, then it's settled.”

Uh-oh.
“What's settled?” He wracked his brain for what she'd been talking about, but it simply wasn't there. He'd obviously not been paying even the slightest bit of attention.

“ . . . the new girl, if Marty's not back yet.”

New girl? Marty.
It hit him like a ton of bricks. “Oh no. I mean . . . uh . . . Sorry for the interruption, Charlotte. What were you saying?”

“I said, if Marty's not back, have the new girl do it. It's not like I don't oversee the whole affair anyway.”

Garrett cringed. Charlotte loved to throw parties, but she never planned them herself, always claiming she didn't have the time. Instead, she dumped it on some poor unsuspecting soul and then
oversaw
the entire project, which simply meant she double-checked everything, complained about each little detail, and then harassed the poor slob until they were ready to scream. Marty was the only one who'd ever been asked to plan a second event, and the only one who would have ever agreed to do it.

He thought of Olivia trying to plan one of Charlotte's parties. Jill had almost quit while trying to plan the Halloween fete; by this point, Charlotte had pretty much taken over, but that wasn't going to stop her from dumping the blame squarely in Jill's lap if anything went wrong.

“See ya, Garrett.”

Wait. What?
“Yeah, later.” With no idea what he'd just agreed to, Garrett stood and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
Great.
Now he'd have to pay attention to the rumor mill to find out what he was supposed to do. He glanced at his watch. No time to worry about it now—he was going to be late picking up Gracie.

THREE

“T
HANK YOU FOR TAKING ME
to Human Resources, I appreciate it.” Olivia smiled. “See you next week.”

Jill's answering sneer was all the warning Olivia needed. They wouldn't be friends anytime soon.

“Sure.” Jill walked away without a backward glance.

Fine. Who needs her anyway?
Olivia dug her phone from her bag and checked the time. Another hour before her train. She turned and headed back the way she'd come. They'd passed a restroom on the way from Human Resources. She'd duck in there and see if she could clean up. At least then she'd feel human again.

When she walked through the door, she headed straight for the large handicapped stall at the back of the room. “Perfect.” A sink and a hand dryer right in the stall. Just what she needed. She locked the door and quickly stripped off her shirt.

Someone pushed the restroom door open.
Oh no. I hope no one needs to get in here.
She used a little hand soap to scrub frantically at the worst of the coffee stains.

“. . . even believe this.”

Jill.
Olivia recognized the other woman's voice instantly. Not many adults could nail that whiny tone.

“Ms. Harris told him to send her on her way if she even bothered to show up.” This second voice was definitely the screechy rasp of the woman who'd called to Garrett at the elevator.

Olivia glanced up into the mirror in time to catch the blush creeping over her cheeks, but was sidetracked by the mess that stared back at her. No wonder the woman had looked at her like she was a street rat.

“Yeah, well, he obviously didn't listen. I can't understand why.”

Water running, followed by the hand dryer, briefly halted their conversation. Olivia rinsed the soap from her shirt and hung it on the door hook. She unwrapped what was left of her bun and dug a brush from her bag. Struggling to tame the mass of frizz into a ponytail, she waited for the two women to leave.

“With Marty out of the way, that job was supposed to be mine.” Jill's whine intensified as she became more indignant.

“Yup. It won't be easy to have your way with Garrett with someone else on the job.” Screechy's voice laughed at her friend's expense. “I don't know why you don't just give up. Garrett has made it very clear he isn't looking for a wife, a girlfriend, or anything else, for that matter. He must've been burned bad, that one.”

Olivia chanced a peek through the crack by the door. Jill stood, looking into the mirror, tugging a brush violently through her hair while her friend leaned against the sink with her arms folded and a smirk plastered across her face.
Some friend.
Jill had obviously confided her feelings to this woman, yet she continued to goad her. “Of course, maybe he hired that hot mess for some other reason.”

Jill turned on her, red-faced, but Screechy simply waggled her eyebrows.

Jill took a deep breath, obviously reining in her temper. “Yeah, well, don't you worry, that flake'll be gone by Thanksgiving. I can wait one month. I'll be on my way to being Mrs. Garrett Emerson by New Year's.”

“Hey, speaking of New Year's, did you hear the Harrises decided not to go away? They're throwing one of their giant soirees instead.”

Jill groaned. “Yeah, well, she better not ask me to . . .” The door fell shut behind the two women as they left.

Olivia yanked her blouse from the hook and held it under the hand dryer. “No wonder the woman hates me. She's got a thing for the boss.” She rubbed at the shirt to hurry the drying process along, but thought better of the idea when she realized she might not hear if anyone came in. That was all she needed, for someone to come in and find her mumbling to herself.
She'll be rid of me by Thanksgiving? Hah! I don't think so.

Olivia threw the still damp shirt on and buttoned it, then surveyed the wrinkled mess. She tried to smooth it but heaved a sigh and gave up.
Oh well. I guess that's as good as it gets.
She peeked through the crack once more to be sure the bathroom was empty and then pushed quickly through the doorway.

In her haste to get herself cleaned up, she'd missed the lush opulence of the room on her way in. Thick green plants decorated a small seating area with several chairs and love seats, and marble countertops held small samples of soaps, perfumes, and other accoutrements meant to make a woman's life easier. A back section of the bathroom she hadn't seen on her way in even housed several shower stalls. “Wow.” Maybe she could get used to working here after all. She shoved through the doorway and headed for the lobby, which was no less extravagant. “Yeah, I could definitely get used to this.”

Her heels clicked against the marble floors as she headed across the lobby toward the door.
Ugh . . . still pouring.
With thoughts of walking three blocks to the train station in the rain tormenting her, she reached beneath her arm for her umbrella. Nothing. Had she left it in the bathroom? She tried to think back. Human Resources, maybe? No. She couldn't recall having it with her when she went downstairs. Her blood ran cold. She'd left it in Ms. Harris' office.

She stood staring at the rain, briefly wondering if a three-block trek in a monsoon without an umbrella was more appealing than the thought of running back up to the office and risking another run-in with Jill. Then her thoughts shifted to Garrett. Did she really want to face him again? Her shoulders finally slumped with the weight of the day. She shoved through the doorway and trudged out into the rain.

OLIVIA SPENT A WEEK
second-guessing her decision to take the job Garrett had offered. She really didn't know anything about being a receptionist. It wasn't until last night that she decided she would at least give it a try.

She squared her shoulders and looked up at the five-story building. After an evening spent indulging in a glass of wine, chocolate, and a good book, followed by a good night's sleep, she was ready to face a new experience. She stood on the sidewalk for another moment, enjoying the feel of the sunshine cocooning her in warmth. It would be cold soon enough, but for today, the good weather put a spring in her step. The crackle of dry leaves skittering across the sidewalk followed her into the building.

The ringing of her cell phone brought her up short, and she paused to dig it out of her oversized leather bag. She glanced at the screen.
Oh no. Was it really five after nine? How had the time gotten away from her? Oh well. Five minutes was probably no big deal.

Her mind urged her to ignore the call, just as her finger betrayed her by pushing talk. “Morning, Dad.”

“Good morning, princess. You sound like you're up already.”

“Yup.” She pressed the button for the elevator. “I'm just running into work.”

“Work?” His warm, rich laughter flowed through the line, intruding on Olivia's good mood.

“Yes, Dad. I'm starting a new job today.” She stepped into the crowded elevator and moved to the side. “Can I call you later, when I get off?”

“Sure, dear, sure. I was just calling to tell you I ran into Chip last night.”

Her groan earned her a few glances from people exiting the elevator on the second floor.

“Dad.” She spoke quietly. “We've talked about this before. I'm not—”

“Yes, yes, I know, dear, but I'd really like you to reconsider.” Reconsider? What did he think this was, a business deal? “You and Chip really need to work things out.”

Work things out?
The ding of the elevator announcing their arrival at the third floor broke her out of the momentary shock at her father's remark. “Dad, please, you have to get over this. Chip and I are
not
getting married.” She stepped off the elevator and started down the corridor.

“You need to be a little more forgiving, Olivia. You and Chip were engaged for more than three years. You really should have married him. He's perfect for you.”

Yeah, right. You mean he's perfect for you, with his father
's connections.
Her hushed whisper forced itself through clenched teeth. “Look, Dad. I'm not going to keep going through this with you. I caught him cheating on me.”

“How can you be sure what was really going on?” Annoyance had begun to creep into her father's tone. It was time to go. Of course, she couldn't just drop this. Her father's loyalty to her ex-fiancé still stung a lot more than Chip's betrayal had.

“You know what? I might have been able to forgive him if I'd walked in on him snuggled up on the couch with
my
best friend, but the fact that it was
his
best friend kind of put a damper on things.” There was no way she was going to be a trophy wife—and a beard—to further Chip Gordon's political career. “I gotta go, Dad. I just walked into the office.”

“Sure, princess.” Warmth had returned to her father's voice, but it didn't quell the hurt she felt. “I'll see you tonight, then.” He disconnected without waiting for an answer.

Great.
She shoved the phone back into her bag and pushed through the doorway into the office. Just what she needed, to spend the night listening to her father carry on about how wonderful Chip Gordon was. Not that Chip wasn't a great guy, he actually was. And if she were to be honest with herself, she'd have to say their
engagement
hadn't really been much more than a friendship. She'd even remained close with Chip's “friend,” George. But still—

“Well, good morning.” Jill glanced pointedly at her watch.

Olivia plastered a smile on her face. “Good morning, Jill.”

“Mr. Emerson expected you in his office ten minutes ago.” She lifted a brow and waited as if Olivia would explain her tardiness.

Yeah, right.
“Thank you.” Fat chance she'd explain anything to this woman. She nodded once and headed down the hall.

A shrill voice greeted her as she pushed the door open. “—don't care.”

“Olivia.” Garrett stood as she entered the office.

She glanced at the older woman standing at the front of his desk, arms crossed, expression not amused. “Good morning, Mr. Emerson. I'm sorry I'm late . . .” No excuse would come, so she just waited through the awkward pause.

“Yes . . . well.” He cleared his throat. “Olivia, this is Ms. Harris.” He gestured to the woman and then winced behind her back when she turned to greet Olivia.

Olivia suppressed the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Harris. I'm sorry I missed our appointment last week.” She studied the scowl on the woman's lined face, the deep furrows around her mouth suggesting the frown was a permanent feature. Olivia's good mood returned at having missed the interview with this terrifying woman. Olivia wouldn't have lasted a day working for this battle-ax. Maybe she'd stop on the way home and get Barney a treat to say thank you.

Ms. Harris gripped Olivia's hand firmly as her scowl deepened. Olivia pulled out her warmest smile in response.

Ms. Harris' gaze held hers. “Yes, well then. I stopped by to talk to you.”

Olivia squirmed under the intense scrutiny, and her gaze flickered quickly to Garrett, who shook his head discreetly.

“Sure.”

“I intend to host a New Year's Eve party, and I'd like you to plan it.” She lifted her chin as if in challenge.

Hmmm . . . an event planner. There's a career path I haven't thought of.
A vision of empty trays and Barney's pitiful look flashed into her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. She'd been attending elegant functions with her father her whole life. Granted, she had no idea what went into the preparations, but she knew what the result should look like. She could do this.
How hard could it be?
She shrugged. “Sure, Ms. Harris. I'd love to.”

A grimace—or wait, maybe that was supposed to be a smile?—crossed the woman's face. “I don't suppose you have any experience with this type of work?” She lifted an elegantly arched brow.

“Umm . . . I guess I have some, if you count my catering experience.”
Liar, liar, liar . . .

Ms. Harris frowned.

“I've actually planned quite a few events.”
All right, so maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but I did plan my parents' anniversary party, and that went well. Sort of. Except for the table-collapsing incident, but that wasn't my fault. It could have happened to anyone.

Ms. Harris clapped her hands together.

“What? Oh, excuse me, I . . .” Jolted from her reverie, Olivia struggled to remember what Ms. Harris had been saying.

“Wonderful. Thank you.”

Thank you? What did I just agree to?

“I expect you will attend the Halloween party tonight to get a feel for the level of perfection I insist upon.” She crossed the room but then paused to look back. “You know, if this goes well, you might just earn yourself a permanent position with Harris and Harris.” She closed the door behind her, and Olivia turned back in time to catch Garrett's look of horror.