A Mistletoe Kiss with the Boss Page 9

  But she still wanted him to kiss her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “DEAN TOLD ME you need a cocktail dress and that I’m to take you to lunch.”

  Eyes squinting, Kristen eyed the time on her cell phone and saw it was already ten o’clock.

  She sat up. “Yes. I’m sorry, Stella. I got up late or I’d be dressed by now.”

  “No sweat. I’m in the lobby when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kristen got out of bed, showered and put on the red sweater and jeans again. Then she called the front desk and made arrangements to have her black pants, white shirt and underwear cleaned that day. Housekeeping promised her clothes would be back in her room by that evening and she thanked them. Now there’d be no arguments about how she “needed” more jeans and a new sweater. She would fly home in the clothes she’d been wearing in Paris.

  She met Stella in the lobby. They took Dean’s limo to the boutique and found Jennifer waiting, ready with three red cocktail dresses. She tried on all three and chose a simple red lace sheathe.

  Stella said, “Now we just need new jeans and sweater.”

  Proud of herself, Kristen smirked and said, “For what?”

  “Dean said something about you needing clothes to go home in.”

  “The clothes I wore over from Paris are being cleaned by the hotel.” She smiled. “I’m fine.”

  Stella gaped at her. “Are you nuts? The man is willing to buy you an eight-hundred-dollar sweater. Take it.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  Stella sighed and looked at the ceiling as if seeking guidance from above.

  Kristen firmly said, “I don’t need it and I don’t want it. End of discussion.”

  Shaking her head, Stella said, “Whatever.”

  They had Jennifer send the red dress to her hotel and left the boutique for a restaurant.

  The snow from the day before had been shoveled away, but steam rose from the grates in the sidewalk, mixing with the frigid air and swirling toward street vendors who stood huddled by food carts.

  “Where do you want to eat?”

  She pointed at one of the carts. “A hot dog would be fine.”

  “No. Dean said to get you a proper meal.”

  Kristen laughed. “He’s probably the bossiest guy I’ve ever met.”

  Stella snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.” She pointed at the door of an Italian restaurant. “Do you like Italian?”

  “Everybody likes Italian.”

  “Great.” They took the three steps down into the lower-level restaurant and found there was no wait.

  Seated at the round table, holding her menu, Stella said, “So you’re okay with another date?”

  “Are you asking for Dean or are you curious?”

  Stella leaned forward. “Dean sounded as if he believed you were perfectly happy with tonight’s dinner. That’s what makes me curious.”

  “The dinner is actually for me. Mrs. Flannigan wants to talk about my charity.”

  Stella peered over her menu. “Well, good, then. Dean’s a difficult man even for pretend dates. I’m glad to see you’re getting something out of this deal.”

  “You mean aside from a gown, two dresses, a sweater, jeans, boots, a black coat and two pairs of black heels.” She paused, then cursed. “Damn it! He still hasn’t taken back that bracelet.”

  Stella laughed. “Lighten up. To Dean that’s not even pocket change.”

  The waiter, a short Italian man who must have come directly from Italy because he spoke with a wonderful accent, took their orders.

  As he scampered away, Kristen refused to let the subject of the bracelet die. “I’ve got to get that bracelet back to him.”

  Stella leaned forward again. “Why do you care? The man’s a surly bastard. He fires employees and drops lovers like the rest of us change shoes. The only person he really talks to is Jason.”

  “He talks to me.”

  Stella gasped. “Oh.” She considered that for a second, then gasped again. “Oh, no! I think I see what’s going on here.” She shook her head fiercely. “Sweetie, do not let that man get his hooks into you. You are too nice of a girl. And if you really want to start that charity you told me about the other day, you can’t have your reputation sullied by having dated Dean.”

  Annoyed, Kristen said, “First of all, he’s not that bad. From what I saw at the Christmas party and our lunch with his friends, he talks when he has something to say. At yesterday’s lunch he was a virtual chatty Cathy. Second, dating one guy isn’t going to ruin my business reputation.”

  Stella put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her closed fist. “Okay, I take the reputation thing back. And change it to the reality that he could ruin you with a broken heart. He is as hard-nosed as a businessman gets. Do not let a few nights out fool you into thinking he’s nice or he likes you.”

  Fiddling with her napkin, Kristen said, “I’m not that stupid.” But she’d wanted him to kiss her the night before. Really wanted it. And from everything Stella was saying, she didn’t know him. She had been dealing with a guy who was at first grouchy, then standoffish, then nicer and nicer, more open, willing to take a risk ice-skating. A guy who was either growing comfortable with her or changing...or something.

  The picture of Dean, sitting in the limo beside her, saying, Maybe you bring out the best in me, popped into her head.

  What if she did bring out the best in him?

  But what if she didn’t? What if he really was a snarky guy who needed her, so he was acting the way he had to, to keep her here in New York, available for appearances at his beck and call?

  Oh, that made so much more sense than to think a farm girl from Grennady could tame the New York City genius superstar.

  * * *

  When Dean came to Kristen’s hotel room to pick her up at seven, she was ready to go. Wearing a red lace dress, with her yellow hair swirling around her in big, loose curls, she looked amazing.

  But he’d almost kissed her the night before, so tempted he nearly lost the war inside his head, even though he knew kissing her was wrong. They had a deal. They weren’t really dating in spite of the fact that they’d set it up to look that way. He could not kiss her.

  Tonight, he would be smarter.

  He picked up her black wool coat from the back of the sofa and opened it so she could slide it on.

  “Thank you.”

  Was it just him, or had that thank-you seemed a little clipped?

  He opened the door for her. She stepped into the hall. “Thanks again.”

  That one was definitely stiff, too polite. Not Kristen at all.

  “You’re welcome.” He paused, then said, “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She wasn’t fine.

  “Did Stella say something?”

  The elevator arrived. They stepped inside. Standing face forward, Kristen said, “Stella and I had a great time.”

  “Well, you certainly picked out a nice dress.”

  “Jennifer picked it.”

  The chill of her voice and the way she wouldn’t look at him sent a sprinkle of apprehension up his spine. Stella could have told her a million things, all of which would make Kristen back off.

  But she should back off. He didn’t date. He took lovers. She didn’t fit that category. She’d be wise not to get close to him.

  And he would be wise to let her do whatever it was she felt she needed to do to protect herself.

  They drove to the Flannigans’ in complete silence, and, for once, it felt odd. He almost pointed out the decorated storefront windows, remembering how she’d loved the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, but held back, respecting her obvious wish to keep her dis
tance. But the more he held his tongue, the more the decorations popped out to him. Fat Santas in store windows. Elves. Bright Christmas ornaments. He hadn’t really looked at decorations since the year his grandmother gave him fifty bucks and told him to buy himself a gift. She didn’t want to decorate. Didn’t want to bake. Didn’t want to go out at all. Because Christmas was a holiday created by stores to get people to spend money.

  So he’d taken his fifty bucks to a pawnshop and bought some poor sap’s old computer. To stave off the sadness of missing his parents and wishing Christmas was real, he told himself his grandmother was right. Christmas was a sham. For foolish people who could be duped.

  The limo pulled up to the Flannigans’ building. Dean and Kristen said nothing walking into the building lobby, nothing as the doorman—who had them on an expected-visitors list—walked them to the elevator and used a key card to allow the elevator to take them to the upper floor and the Flannigan residence.

  As the elevator opened on the stunning foyer and a beaming Mrs. Flannigan and Arthur, Dean started to sweat, worried how Kristen’s unhappiness might affect the evening. And her charity. If she was quiet with Mrs. Flannigan, the potential donation could go sailing out the window.

  Worse, it was his fault because Stella had probably told her he was a bastard.

  Because he was.

  She stepped out of the elevator into Mrs. Flannigan’s hug. “Let John take your coats.”

  As Mrs. Flannigan said the words, her butler stepped forward for Kristen’s black wool coat and Dean’s charcoal-gray overcoat.

  As Kristen slid out of hers, Mrs. Flannigan gasped. “Oh, red! You look so lovely in red. I remember those days. I used to love to wear red.”

  Kristen laughed. “Used to? I’m sure you’re still stunning in red.”

  Mrs. Flannigan hooked her arm through Kristen’s and led her down a long hall, into a high-ceilinged living room replete with art. Furnished with simple ultramodern sofas and chairs, the room got its beauty from famous paintings hung on walls and sculptures scattered about. Red velvet bows and evergreen branches hung over paintings, a nod to the holiday.

  Kristen said, “Your home is lovely.”

  “Thank you. Some people,” she said, her gaze sliding to Dean, “use decorators. I prefer to make my home my home.”

  Though Mrs. Flannigan and Arthur looked at him, Kristen kept her gaze averted.

  She did that the whole way through dinner, through the discussion of her charity and the promise of a sizable donation from Mrs. Flannigan. Kristen mentioned inviting her onto her board of advisors, and, as Dean had predicted, her eyes sparkled with approval as she happily accepted the position and volunteered to find other board members.

  “Who will also make donations,” Mrs. Flannigan promised. She tossed out a few names, people famous enough to make even Dean’s head spin, but when that discussion was over she turned to Dean.

  “Now that our real business is out of the way, I think you and I need to have a chat.”

  The way she looked at him sent fear rattling along his nerve endings. She had too much life and energy to remind him of his grandmother, but she was so influential on Wall Street that one word from her could send his stock into a free fall.

  Seated on her sofa, with after-dinner drinks, he crossed one leg over the other and leaned back on the cushion as if totally unconcerned.

  “So chat.”

  “Winslow was right about you taking your staff somewhere now—right now—to motivate them to get this project done. I’ve had my assistant investigate Grennady and it’s quiet. Peaceful. But the country still has enough things for your employees and their families to do that it could be like a working vacation.”

  “It sounds great, but—”

  “No buts, Dean. This time next month my word isn’t going to be enough to stave off the inevitable.”

  “I know that.”

  “So you have no choice but to try something different.”

  “I’m just not convinced that taking them out of their work environment will jump-start their creativity.”

  “Look at it this way, keeping them where they are hasn’t worked in three years. I’m going to be bold enough to suggest that you have nothing to lose.”

  Kristen unexpectedly reached out and took his hand. It shocked him that she’d think he’d need support for what was, essentially, a simple business conversation. Then he realized how sweet it was—especially considering that she’d been protecting herself all night.

  When she thought he needed her, she was there for him.

  No one had ever been there for him.

  It didn’t matter that she mistakenly believed Mrs. Flannigan’s stern voice somehow cowed him. It hadn’t. No one cowed him. What mattered was she took his feelings into consideration over her own.

  An indescribable feeling invaded his chest. A warmth that rose until it filled his blood and every happiness-starved cell in his body.

  All the feelings he’d had skating returned. Especially the sense that his world was opening up and he could trust her.

  He couldn’t follow the feeling. He wouldn’t risk hurting Kristen. But for once in his life he wanted to soak it in.

  The conversation shifted to a painting over the marble fireplace. Kristen and Mrs. Flannigan walked over to it, with Mrs. Flannigan telling the story behind the purchase.

  Though he spoke with Arthur, Dean let his gaze follow Kristen around the room, knowing she wasn’t faking her interest in the art, or her immediate love of Mrs. Flannigan.

  And he suddenly, desperately wanted to kiss her. Even more desperately than he had the night before.

  The evening wound down. As they made their way up the hall toward the foyer with the elevator, John approached them, holding their coats. Dean helped Kristen with hers before putting on his own.

  “Oh, look at this,” Mrs. Flannigan said, pointing at a huge spray of flowers on the hall table. “You’re not exactly under the mistletoe in that arrangement, but you’re beside it.” She nudged Dean. “If you wanted to kiss her, Arthur and I wouldn’t mind.”

  A rush of need swooshed through Dean’s bloodstream. It was the perfectly logical way to get the kiss he’d wanted for nearly two days. He’d already vowed he wouldn’t get involved with her, wouldn’t hurt her...but didn’t he deserve one kiss?

  Of course he did.

  Kristen laughed. “Mistletoe has to be overhead for it to be a legitimate reason to get a kiss.”

  Then she strode toward the elevator, Mrs. Flannigan following behind, chuckling, and Arthur behind his wife.

  Dean glanced at the flower arrangement, then looked up at the group, all of whom had their backs to him. And he did something he had never done. He pilfered some mistletoe.

  In the limo, Kristen went back to being quiet. He let her because it was the right thing to do. They drove up Fifth Avenue, Christmas decorations glittering in the frigid night air, and he took a long drink of air. The same decorations that had reminded him of his past twinkled in the light of the streetlamps and unexpectedly warmed his heart, even as apprehension tugged at his soul.

  His time with Kristen was almost at an end. And he had some decisions to make in the few minutes left of their drive to her hotel.

  He debated a couple of things, but in the end, he knew Mrs. Flannigan was simply too powerful to ignore. He was going to have to take his staff to Grennady. He fingered the mistletoe in his overcoat pocket. But to keep things simple and protect Kristen, he also had to cut Kristen out of the picture.

  They got out of the limo and for the first time in two days there was no paparazzi following them.

  Kristen noticed too. “No press?”

  “It’s late and cold, and we gave them enough pictures yesterday to keep them happy.”

  She said, “Ah,”
as he held open the door for her.

  They walked to the elevator in total silence and waited for it to arrive in equal silence.

  She gave him a confused look when he followed her inside, but he said nothing. When the elevator reached her floor, he walked out with her, staying as quiet as they had in the limo.

  At the door, she turned to him with a polite smile. “Thank you very much for this evening. Heck, thanks for introducing me to Mrs. Flannigan. She’s wonderful. Perfect. I know that with her help my charity will be up and running in about half the time it would have taken me alone.”

  He smiled. “Probably even less than that. She’s very powerful.” He smiled again. “And she likes you.”

  “I like her too.”

  Pride for her surged through him. Not because she was great, but because she was honest. She genuinely liked Mrs. Flannigan, and with her assistance Kristen probably would changes the lives of hundreds of thousands of women, maybe millions, over her lifetime.

  “You’ll make a good team.”

  “Thanks.”

  For the first time all night, she looked him in the eye. The effect was instantaneous. Dean’s heart swelled again. His breath froze in his lungs.

  And he knew this had to be the last time he saw her. If he let her stay in his life, he wouldn’t be able to resist this pull.

  Digging her key card out of her purse, she said, “I’ll be in touch when it comes time for the computers.”

  “Good.”

  She turned to open her door, but he stopped her. “Not so fast, Cinderella. You want me and my company in Grennady, and it looks like you’ve got us there.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “You heard what Mrs. Flannigan said.”

  She frowned. “Yes, but everybody’s been saying that and you didn’t appear to have taken any of them seriously.”

  “Mrs. Flannigan’s a brilliant businesswoman. And she wields a lot of power. Not taking her advice would be like asking her to downgrade my stock.”

  “So you’re moving your company to Grennady?”

  “Temporarily. If my staff can finish this project before the first of the year, I will consider a permanent move.”