Margaret Allison: Mistletoe Maneuvers

“Make a wish and we’ll see if it comes true,” Gran suggested.

Lessa laughed for the first time that day. “I wish for my own company. A successful company with employees who actually like me.”

“Now it’s my turn,” her aunt said, taking the mistletoe and closing her eyes. She opened her eyes back up and said, “There.”

“You’re not going to tell me what you wished for?” Lessa asked.

Gran shook her head. “No. Now help me decide where I should hang this.”

“How about in the closet?”

“Now, that’s not optimistic of you.”

Lessa smiled. She appreciated her aunt’s enthusiasm. Usually, she loved Christmas, but this season was proving to be especially difficult. The stress of work was getting to her.

“What else is in that box?” Lessa asked, spying the small black writing on the side. As she walked toward it, the words came into focus: Christmas Ornaments. She suddenly remembered that she had promised to pick up a tree on her way home.

“We were supposed to have our tree-trimming party tonight,” Lessa said apologetically. Every year she and her aunt celebrated the season by decorating the tree together. Lessa had been so distracted by work that she had completely forgotten.

“We’ll do it another time.”

“I’m sorry, Gran. I feel terrible. I know how much you were looking forward to putting up the tree.”

“Oh, please,” her aunt said, brushing it off. “I don’t care about a silly tree. What I care about is you.” Her aunt sighed. “I’m worried about you, Lessa. You’re young and beautiful. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have someone to kiss under the mistletoe.”

“Maybe next Christmas,” she forced herself to say. She didn’t want to disappoint her aunt but she knew the possibility of her having a boyfriend next Christmas was the same as it had been this year and the year before-slim to nil. As much as she might like to have someone special, it wasn’t in the cards anytime soon. How could she get involved with someone when she typically worked thirteen hours a day, six or seven days a week? “Not this Christmas, I’m afraid.” She absentmindedly picked up the mistletoe as she thought once again about her situation at work. “This Christmas I’ll be lucky to still have Lawrence Enterprises.”

Her aunt sighed. “Well then, go do what you need to do. Go confront this Rick Parker in person.”

“Go to his apartment?” She didn’t like the idea of going to see him in such a personal location. She had been there once before, a decade earlier, when her father had sent her to deliver some files. She remembered how nervous she had been, remembered the way her heart had jumped into her throat when he answered the door. He had just returned from a trip and his shirt was untucked and halfway unbuttoned. Stubble of a beard along his jaw added to his dangerous charm.

Although Rick had been twenty-seven years old, eleven years her senior, she had fantasized about being invited inside. “I know you’re young,” he would say, “but I’m willing to wait.” And then he would take her in his arms and give her a kiss she would remember for years. But in reality, he barely looked at her. He took the files and was perusing the information when she heard a woman laugh. She looked around Rick and saw a woman leaning against the couch. She was wearing a long, silky robe and thumbing through a magazine. She reminded Lessa of a gangster’s moll, with tousled platinum-blond hair and bright pink lipstick. Rick had signed the papers and Lessa had left, feeling envious of the woman wearing the beautiful lingerie. Lessa thought her the luckiest woman in the world.

“I don’t know that I can go there without an invitation.”

“What choice do you have?” Gran asked.

Her aunt was right. She didn’t have a choice. As much as she hated to admit it, she had a feeling the board was right. Only one man could save Lawrence Enterprises. Rick Parker.

Rick was not surprised to hear that Alessandra was waiting in his lobby. In fact, he had been expecting her. After all, forcing a personal meeting was exactly what he would’ve done under similar circumstances. What else was there to do when your nemesis refused your calls?

The truth of the matter was that he had been too busy to speak with her. His phone had been ringing all day. The stock had dropped significantly, and board members, furious with Alessandra, had been pleading with him to come back. But it wasn’t the loquacious board that had prevented him from speaking to Alessandra. It was the fact that he himself was one of those gobbling up discarded stock for a discounted price-all under various business ventures, never his own name. By firing him, Alessandra had given him the power to do what, as CEO of Lawrence, he was legally forbidden-buy stock.

It was all part of his plan to regain power and rid himself of Alessandra Lawrence for once and for all. The plan was simple. He would purchase stock without Alessandra’s knowledge. When she was forced to ask him back, he would negotiate a deal in which she gave him whatever stock he still needed for a majority. Once he had a majority, he could do whatever he liked. And his first order of business would be to fire Alessandra.

The elevator doors opened and Alessandra stepped into his apartment. He had to give her credit. In spite of the hellish day he knew she must have suffered, she looked remarkably composed. Her long red hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing a gray overcoat. She held her head up high, making her look like a regal queen who was blessing him with her presence.

“Hello,” he said as she walked toward him. “This is a surprise.”

“Is it?” she replied, meeting his gaze directly. “I would’ve assumed that you knew very well this meeting would happen.”

He held back a grin as he motioned toward the couch. “Please,” he said.

“What are your terms?” she asked quietly, standing right where she was.

“Terms?”

“I’m not here to play games, Rick. I assume you knew about the hostile takeover. You orchestrated your own firing yesterday simply to terminate your contract in the midst of a corporate upheaval. You knew that I would be forced to rehire you on your own terms.”

“And are you?” He knew better than to waste his time by attempting to deny the accusations. She wouldn’t believe him anyway. And he cared little what she thought.

She snapped open her briefcase. “I’m prepared to give you a ten-percent raise and a one-year extension on your contract.”

She handed him the contract but he didn’t accept it. “I’m not interested.”

“What do you mean?”

He could hear the nervousness in her voice and see the fear in her eyes. Without realizing it, she was giving away her hand. She knew she needed him.

“Ten percent and a one-year extension are not enough.”

She swallowed, taking a deep breath. “What do you want?”

“I want the raise, the extension, and…” He paused, noticing the way the her slender hands clutched the papers. “Half of your stock.”

The color drained from her face. No wonder. It was an outrageous request. So outrageous that he had not even pondered it. But since she seemed so desperate to have him return, why not?

“No,” she said.

He took another step toward her. He was so close, he could smell her slight flowery scent. “Well then,” he said in a soft whisper, “I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

Her eyes were full of fire as she tightened her lips. “This was my father’s company. He always intended that I would one day be at the helm.”

“And maybe you will. In the meantime, I’ll own half of your stock. We’ll be partners.”

“Partners?” she asked quietly, her voice ragged.