Kate Hoffmann - Unexpected Angel - Unexpected Angel / Undercover Elf

“Nothing to do?” Meg asked. “We’ve got six new commercial installations with mechanized reindeers and sleighs to maintain and you know how temperamental those singing reindeer are. And that tree we did for Farley’s courtyard on Park Avenue is going to take a lot of maintenance. If we get a stiff wind, all the decorations will end up in the East River. Plus we’ve got a list of corporate Christmas gifts we still need to shop for.”

“We can’t afford to turn this job down,” Holly murmured. “I’ve already spent my inheritance keeping this business afloat and my parents aren’t even dead yet!”

“So how are we supposed to know who we’re meeting?” Meg asked.

“The check was from the TD One Foundation. And the letter says he’ll be wearing a sprig of holly in his lapel.”

That very moment, Holly saw a tall gentleman approaching with the requisite holly. She jabbed Meg in the side and they both smiled graciously. “No more cracks about the mob,” she muttered.

“Miss Bennett? Miss O’Malley?”

“He knows our names!” Meg whispered. “He probably knows where we live. If we make a run for it now, we might be able to get to the train before he sets his goons on us.”

He held out his hand and Holly took it, noticing the fine cashmere coat he wore and the expensive gloves. Her gaze rose to his face and she felt her breath drain from her body. If this man was a mobster, then he was the handsomest mobster she’d ever seen. His dark hair ruffled in the wind and his patrician profile looked like carved marble in the dim light from the street lamps.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “And thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Mr.—I’m sorry,” Meg said, holding out her own hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

His cool expression didn’t change as he brushed off her indirect question. “My name isn’t important or necessary.”

“How did you know it was us?” Meg asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I just have a few minutes to talk, so why don’t we get down to business.” He reached for a manila envelope tucked beneath his arm. “All the information is here,” he said. “The contract is for $25,000. Fifteen for your time, ten for expenses. Personally, I think $25,000 is entirely too much, but then, it’s not my decision. Of course, you’ll be required to stay here in Schuyler Falls until the day after Christmas. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

Startled by the odd demand, Holly wasn’t sure how to respond. Whose decision was it and what decision was he talking about? “Usually we suggest a budget after we’ve done a design, and once that’s approved, we work out a timetable for installation. I—I don’t know what you want or where you want it and we’re up against a tight deadline.”

“Your brochure says ‘We make Christmas perfect.’ That’s all he wants, a perfect Christmas.”

“Who?” Holly asked.

“The boy. Ah, I believe his name is Eric Marrin. It’s all in the file, Miss Bennett. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must go. I have a car waiting for you just over there. If you have any problems with the contract, you can call the number listed on the front of the folder and I’ll hire someone else to do the job. Miss Bennett, Miss O’Malley, have a merry Christmas.”

With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd of shoppers strolling through the square, leaving both Holly and Meg with their mouths agape. “Gorgeous,” Meg murmured.

“He’s a client,” Holly said, still stinging from his abrupt manner. “And rude! Besides, you know I’m engaged.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “You broke up with Stephan nearly a year ago and you haven’t seen him since. He hasn’t even called you. He’s not much of a fiancé if you ask me.”

“We didn’t break up,” Holly replied, starting off toward the car parked on the other side of the square. “He told me to take all the time I needed to decide on his proposal. And he has contacted me. I had a message on my machine a few weeks ago. He said he’d call me after the holidays and that he had something very important to tell me.”

Meg grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. “You don’t love him, Holly. He’s snooty and self-absorbed and he has absolutely no passion.”

“I could love him,” Holly said, a defensive edge to her voice. “And now that my business will be in the black, I’ll have some independence. I won’t be marrying him for his money, for a secure future. We’ll be equals.”

Meg paused for a long moment, then groaned. “Oh, I didn’t want to tell you this,” she muttered, “especially right before the holidays. But I read something in the papers last month and—”

“If this is another story about underworld crime, I—”

“Stephan’s engaged,” Meg blurted out. “That’s probably what he wants to tell you. He’s marrying the daughter of some really rich guy. They’re getting married in June in the Hamptons.” Meg slipped her arm around Holly’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t have told you like this, but you have to put Stephan out of your life. It’s over, Holly.”

“But—but we were engaged,” Holly murmured, stunned at the news. “I finally made my decision and—and—”

“And it wasn’t right. Holly, why do you think it took you a whole year to decide? It’s because you didn’t love him. Someday you’ll meet a man who’ll sweep you off your feet, but that man wasn’t supposed to be Stephan.” She patted her back sympathetically. “So, let’s just focus on work, all right? We’ve got a new job that pays $15,000. Open that envelope and let’s hear what we have to do.”

Numbly Holly tore open the envelope. In her heart, she knew Meghan was right. She didn’t love Stephan, she never had. She’d only decided to accept his proposal because no one else had bothered asking. But the news still stung. Being rejected by a man—even a man you didn’t love—was still humiliating.

She drew a shaky breath. So she’d pass this Christmas as a free woman—no family, no fiancé, nothing but work to occupy her time. Holly pulled out a sheaf of papers from the envelope. Clipped on top was a letter, written on wide-lined paper, in a childish scrawl with smeared lead pencil. She skimmed through it, then moaned softly, her troubles with Stephan suddenly pushed aside. “Oh, my. Look at this.”

Meg snatched the letter from Holly’s fingers and read it aloud. “Dear Santa, my name is Eric Marrin and I am almost eight and I have only one Christmas wish.” She glanced at Holly and grinned. “W-U-S-H. I would like you to bring me a Christmas like me and my dad used—Y-O-U-S-T—to have when my mom lived at our house. She made Christmas…” Meg frowned at the spelling. “Seashell?”

Holly sighed. “Special.” She flipped through the rest of the papers, long lists of items suggested for Christmas gifts and decorations and special dinners and activities, all to be paid for by an unnamed benefactor.

Meg waved the letter under Holly’s nose, her apprehension suddenly gone. “You have to take this job, Holly. You can’t let this little boy down. This is what Christmas is all about.” She glanced around the square, then fixed her gaze on the department store. “Dalton’s,” she murmured. “You know, I’ve read about Dalton’s, last year in some upstate newspaper. The article said their Santa grants special wishes to children, but no one knows where the money comes from. Do you think that guy was—”

Holly shoved the papers back into the envelope. “I don’t care where the money comes from. We have a job to do and I’m going to do it.”

“What about our clients in the city?”

“You’ll take the train back to the city tonight and take care of them, while I do the job here.”