Maxine Morrey - The Christmas Project

Christmas in the city has never been more magical!

Professional organiser Kate Stone has never – NEVER – been tempted to hit a client over the head with a snow shovel, but Michael O’Farrell is the most obnoxious – and heart-stoppingly gorgeous – man she has ever met. If he weren’t her best friend’s brother, she would not have waited on his doorstep in the freezing cold for five minutes, let alone an hour.

Kate knows, however, that her job isn’t just about tidying up, sometimes she needs to be part therapist too, and Michael clearly needs her help to declutter his heart as well as his home.

But with the festive season just around the corner there isn’t much time to get Michael’s house ready for the O’Farrell family celebrations, but everyone knows that at Christmas anything can happen...

The Christmas Project

Maxine Morrey

HQ

The Christmas Project

© 2016 Maxine Morrey

by HQ, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

ISBN: 9781474057394

Version: 2018-01-24

MAXINE MORREY

has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember and wrote her first (very short) book for school when she was ten. Coming in first, she won a handful of book tokens – best prize ever at the time!

As time went by, she continued to write, but ‘normal’ work often got in the way. Finally, she decided to go for it, and wrote. Really wrote. And after a while she had a bunch of articles, and a non-fiction book to her name.

But her first love is novels, and, in August 2015, Maxine got the call to say that she had won Carina UK’s ‘Write Christmas’ competition, with her romantic comedy, ‘Winter’s Fairytale’

Maxine lives on the south coast of England, and when not wrangling with words, can be found tackling her To Be Read pile, sewing, listening to podcasts, and walking.

Her website is: www.scribblermaxi.co.uk

You can also find her on Twitter @Scribbler_Maxi

On Facebook www.facebook.com/MaxineMorreyAuthor

On Instagram @Scribbler_Maxi

On Pinterest @ScribblerMaxi

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the team at Carina UK/HQ, especially my amazing Editor, Victoria Oundjian, without whose incredible support and continued belief in me, this book may never have come to be.

I’d also like to say an enormous thank you to the very wonderful Emma Dellow for her friendship, kindness and support. All of it has meant so very much to me, especially this year, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I value you. Big, big hugs.

Another huge thank you goes to all the absolutely incredible book bloggers whom I met through their support of my Carina debut last November. You are all such fabulous people and your support is valued so much. I was very much in at the deep end last year and you all were so kind and helpful and supportive, and I am incredibly thankful for that. You’re all complete superstars.

And finally, I’d like to thank James – for everything.

Dedication

To Mum and Dad

Thank you for introducing me to the joy of words and reading from such a young age. Even though I know now how precious little time you had to call your own as you both worked so very hard, library trips and encouragement in my reading was never in short supply. Thank you.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Excerpt

Chapter One

I peered down at my feet and wondered exactly how many toes I’d have left when I finally got home this evening. It was totally possible to get frostbite in North London, right? The snow that had been threatening all afternoon had finally begun to fall about half an hour ago, right around the same time I’d lost all feeling in every single one of my extremities. It had already started settling and the heavy flakes now falling looked set to continue all night. And yet, here I was, huddled under an umbrella that was doing very little for the bottom half of my body, still waiting.

Had I known I was going to be stood outside, freezing my backside off whilst waiting for a client who was, at this point – I checked my watch – exactly fifty-seven minutes late, I would have worn my fur-lined boots rather than the gorgeous four-inch heeled Mary Janes that currently adorned my feet. Still, on the upside, I was at least fully colour-coordinated: My nose now matched my scarlet shoes and lipstick, and my hands and feet were likely a fetching shade of blue to tone perfectly with my tailored navy wool coat. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked the screen again - no new messages or missed calls. I’d give it precisely three more minutes and then I was off.

I gave another glance up to the house. In contrast to many others I’d passed down this avenue, there was no clue here that we were in the midst of the countdown to Christmas. No tree twinkled with fairy lights in the beautiful bay window, no decorations or cards lined the windowsill. Outside, in the tiny bit of garden that was left from making it into a parking space, instead of illuminated reindeer and snowmen, the border was filled with blackened, soggy annuals left over from the summer. The other houses looked warm and welcoming. This one appeared cold and impersonal.

I stamped my feet, trying to kick-start the circulation, all the while hoping not to break off any icicled digits. Next door, a late model 4X4 pulled up and two designer-clad children tumbled out the back doors, laughing as they charged up the path. From the driver’s seat emerged one of the yummy mummies the area was well-known for. I surreptitiously admired her crocheted beanie as she busied herself unloading the car. She wore it with the assured style of Kate Moss, and looked fabulous. I knew from experience the moment I put one on my head it magically transformed into a tea cosy. Bit unfair.