Liz Talley - The Spirit of Christmas

But she hadn’t gotten there yet. And she may never arrive at that particular destination if she let herself get sidetracked.

“I’m assuming you like coffee since my grandfather has sent us out on a playdate for the stuff?” Brennan asked, shrugging into his overcoat as the elevator descended. An older woman with puffy graying hair had handed it to him as they’d approached the lobby of MBH, making Mary Paige wonder how the woman had known he needed the coat. Psychic assistant?

“Uh, sure. Though I usually go for tea.”

“They have tea.”

And that was their brilliant conversation in the elevator.

They walked out of the building, greeted by a cold wind whipping around the corner. Mary Paige shivered and wished she hadn’t left her sweater behind that morning. Brennan quickly took off his coat and handed it to her.

“No, I’m fine. It’s a short walk.”

He jabbed it toward her again. “I insist.”

She tried not to sigh her frustration. He was already acting as though he had to babysit her. She didn’t need his damn coat because it wasn’t like they were in Minnesota. It was only forty-three degrees—she wouldn’t freeze walking three doors down. But she took the dark cashmere coat and draped it over her shoulders.

It was warm and smelled like expensive men’s cologne and for a brief moment, she felt safer.

Which was idiotic.

“Thank you. You’re quite the gentleman.”

He looked at her and stuck his hands into his pants pockets. “I try.”

Monday morning in New Orleans swirled around them with businessmen hurrying toward offices, tourists sleepily contemplating maps and street signs and the French Quarter homeless folks lolling in doorways, siphoning heat from open souvenir shops.

CC’s smelled like her mama’s kitchen, resplendent with the scents of comforting coffee and pound cake baking. Tinkling jazz was overshadowed by the hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.

She approached the counter and perused the menu board. She didn’t usually go to coffeehouses for tea because the prices added up fast. She was an at-home Celestial Seasonings kind of girl. “I’ll have a cup of green tea. That’s it.”

She pulled her wallet from her purse.

“I’ve got it,” Brennan said.

“No, you do not,” she said, shoving a five-dollar bill at the girl behind the register, who took it with an unsure look.

Brennan shrugged, ordered a plain black coffee then reclined in a chair at one of the wooden tables, crossing his legs and looking very intense even in a relaxed posture.

Mary Paige took the cup steaming with fragrance and sat opposite him. “So?”

He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Kind of an annoyed smile. A make-the-best-of-this smile. “My grandfather has an iron will, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I noticed,” she said, pulling the tea bag from the water and setting it on a pile of napkins. She added one sugar packet then took a sip. It warmed her instantly. “Oh, here’s your coat. Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

He waved a hand. “Keep it until we get back.”

She nodded, mostly because it seemed stupid to argue over a coat when they had more important things to iron out. “About this whole Spirit deal, I get the feeling you’re not on board with it, and I’m unsure exactly what it is I’m taking on and how I can do anything near what your grandfather wants.”

Brennan nodded, pausing a moment as if he were gathering the right words to say. She studied him in the yellowish light of the café…at the slight shadow of his beard, the intelligent gray eyes and the thick shock of brown hair, glinting with reddish highlights. He had nice broad shoulders and strong, blunt fingers, and though he wore a well-tailored suit, she could tell he’d look spectacular in athletic shorts and a T-shirt.

Something more than tea warmed her insides.

Okay, horny girl. Stop fantasizing about Scrooge as a man and see him for what he is—a not-so-nice person.

But could she really say that?

No.

She didn’t know the man, and judged him based only on his reaction to the crazy scheme his grandfather had dreamed up and his intent to make a buck from the campaign. That didn’t mean Brennan threw kittens in the lake or elbowed old ladies.

“I agree with you. This whole thing is absurd, but my grandfather’s nutty Spirit of Christmas idea isn’t a bad one. It could be brilliant for our company, bring in a load of customers buying into the whole true-meaning crap. It’s just bothersome to have to spend the time making it happen.”

Okay, he was a bit of an ass.

“Bothersome?” she asked.

“Well, don’t tell me you want to skip all over the city doing Lord only knows what for the entire season? With me?”

He looked hard at her and something crackled between them.

What if?

That question floated out there between them.

Mary Paige snatched it back. “So this is a no-go?”

“I didn’t say that.”

What had he said, then?

Mary Paige cleared her throat. “Listen, I have plans for my life. Plans that don’t include a crazy billionaire and five weeks of standing beside you pretending I want to be there.”

He frowned and looked sort of offended.

“But I like your grandfather. And I like what he’s trying to do. Christmas often feels so commercialized people lose sight of what is truly important.”

“Which is?”

“Family, friends, love.”

“Bah, humbug,” he said with a smile.

She arched an eyebrow she knew needed waxing. Why hadn’t she gone by the mall and attended to her wayward eyebrows? Because she hadn’t known she’d be sitting across from a hot executive having tea.

“I’m trying to bring some humor into this,” he said.

She rolled her eyes.

“Not working?”

She took another sip of tea. “You’re behaving much better.”

“Oh, goody.”

“If we do this, we need to set ground rules.”

“I know. You aren’t sleeping with me.”

She felt the blush sweep her face and wished she had more control of her body. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to—”

“So you will sleep with me?” His gray eyes sparked and for the first time she saw that Brennan’s charm might be way more deadly than expected. The man was downright gorgeous when he offered a genuine smile.

“Uh, that’s not what I meant. I meant I didn’t mean to imply that you were looking at my…uh…my butt in that way.”

“What if I were? You have a nice-looking ass.”

She snapped her mouth closed because it had fallen open again like the country bumpkin she was.

His eyes crinkled and she realized he enjoyed flirting with her. What’s worse, she enjoyed it, too. “Stop playing with me, Brennan.”

“Oh, I haven’t even begun playing with you yet, Mary Paige,” he drawled, his voice dropping an octave, making liquid heat flood her lower body.

Damn him. This man wasn’t anything she should be meddling with.

“Okay, are we doing this or not, Brennan?”

“Doing what?”

“This Spirit of Christmas thing your grandfather wants.”

“Oh, that.”

She didn’t bother with asking him what else he’d been talking about because she knew. And she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction he wanted. “Yes, that. The only thing on the menu.”

His short laugh stroked the imp inside her who really, really liked playing the sexy word games with him. “Actually, I usually prefer things not on the menu, but we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

“No.” She sipped her tea and stared out at people hurrying by the window. She wasn’t allowing herself to go off the menu…she was barely convinced by what was on the menu. Spending time with Brennan felt dangerous, and that appealed to her. Which was peculiar. She didn’t even like him all that much. “In all seriousness, should we do this thing your grandfather has in mind?”

“No,” he said, leaning back in the chair, taking a draw of the dark roast he’d purchased. “But my grandfather usually gets his way. He’s like that.”

“I’m thinking you’re both accustomed to getting your way,” she muttered.

His smile was almost predatory.

Yeah, dangerous.

“At first I thought the idea ludicrous, but the more I think about it the more I like differentiating our stores from the pack. It’s a good message for the holidays. A do-unto-others sort of vibe that seems right in this economy.”

“You’re back to thinking of it as a profit generator.”

He cocked his head. “I’m always thinking of the bottom line, Mary Paige. Always. I can’t apologize for doing my job. I want to be up front and honest here about the reason I’m considering throwing my hat into this promotion blitz—it’s good for the company. And that’s it.”

She nodded, not happy that his only motivation for standing beside her as she became the Spirit of Christmas for Henry Department Stores was money, but appreciating his honesty. It was disappointing a person would be self-serving in the opportunity to help others and revel in the joy of the season. Very sad.

“Okay, I’ll sign on as long as you promise to be a good boy.”

He shrugged. “Who, me?”

She nodded, a bit amazed she was giving directives to a Henry. It was probably the most power she’d held in her hand ever…which felt heady. “Yes, you. I can’t have someone standing beside me scaring the homeless with a frowny face as I serve them Christmas ham.”

“We’re serving ham to the homeless?”

“I don’t know, but whatever Ellen and Mr. Henry have planned for us may put you outside your comfort zone. I’ll be your Spirit of Christmas as long as you summon a little enthusiasm.”

“I can fake merry.”

“That’s really pathetic, but I’ll take that as a yes.”

He extended his hand across the table and she stared at it for a brief second.

Did she really want to commit to spending the next few weeks with this man?

Her brother’s sloppy grin popped into her head, followed closely by her mother’s expression when faced with the mound of bills on the counter.

And then her own towering student loans.

And the animal shelter three streets away from her rented duplex in desperate need of funding.

Yeah, she could suffer through Scrooge for the next month. It wouldn’t be bad. He’d be her shadow. Nothing more. And at the end of it all, she’d take that check and create good with it.

She took his hand, which was warm from the coffee, and tried to ignore how nice it felt as his fingers curled over hers. No stupid tingles or dumb electricity. Just a nice toasty shake that made her feel only slightly fluttery. “Deal.”

He pulled his hand away and stood. “I need to get back. I have a luncheon meeting in thirty minutes, and I’m sure Grandfather will want to go over particulars with you. I’ll let him know we’re in on this Spirit of Christmas.”

She rose, dropped her half-filled cup in the trash can and followed him out the door—which he held for her, of course. As they walked to his office building, she mulled over her decision to do this thing. Was she borrowing trouble? Probably. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, but an attraction to Brennan lurked at the edge of her consciousness. That’s why agreeing to Malcolm Henry, Jr.’s plan felt dangerous. Because of Brennan and the way she kept looking at his stormy gray eyes, his drool-worthy shoulders and the nice butt that peeked through the back slit of his suit jacket.

But she’s wouldn’t be one of his playthings. Oh, she knew his reputation—New Orleans’s own playboy, favorite of the jet-setters and a cousin to those alpha heroes in her mother’s British romance books.