Unexpected Angel. Kate Hoffmann
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She’d started off small, with residential installations, decorating New York town houses both inside and out. Her designs became known for unique themes and interesting materials. There’d been the butterfly tree she’d done for Mrs. Wellington, a huge Douglas fir covered with colorful paper butterflies. Or the decorations she’d done for Big Lou, King of the Used Cars, combining gold-sprayed auto parts ornaments and nuts and bolts garland. Over the next few years, she’d taken on corporate clients—a string of shopping malls on Long Island, a few boutiques in Manhattan—and the demand for her services had required a full-time assistant.
Holly had always loved Christmas. From the time she was a little girl, she’d anticipated the start of the season, officially beginning the moment Thanksgiving was over and ending on Christmas Day—her birthday. No sooner had her mother put away the Indian corn and Horn of Plenty centerpiece than she’d retrieve all the beautiful Christmas ornaments from the dusty old attic of their house in Syracuse. Next, Holly and her dad would cut down a tree and the whirl of decorating and shopping and cookie-baking wouldn’t stop until midnight on the twenty-fifth, when she and her mother and father would tumble into their beds, exhausted but already planning for her next birthday and the Christmas that came with it.
It was the one time of year she felt special, like a princess, instead of the shy, unpopular girl she’d been. She’d done everything to make the holiday perfect, obsessed with the tiniest details, striving for perfection. Holly’s mother had been the one to suggest that she turn her degree in interior design toward something more seasonal.
At first, Holly had been thrilled with the strange path her career had taken and she’d doted over the designs for her earlier clients. But lately, Christmas had become synonymous with business and income, profits and pressure, not happy memories of her childhood. After her parents had moved to Florida, Holly usually spent the holidays working, joining them once all her clients were in bed on Christmas night.
Without a family Christmas, she’d gradually lost touch with the spirit of the season. But it was impossible to make the trip to Florida and still keep watch over her business. So Christmas had turned into something she barely tolerated and had grown to dread, filled with last-minute details and loneliness. She sighed inwardly. What she wouldn’t give for a real family Christmas this year.
“I’ve got it!” Meg cried. “This guy we’re working for is in the witness protection program and he’s left his family behind because he doesn’t want to burden them with—”
“Enough,” Holly interrupted. “I’ll admit, his request for an immediate consultation is a bit unusual. But look at the bright side, Meg. Now that all our other holiday installations are complete, we really don’t have that much to do.” She could certainly find time to make Christmas perfect for a client who chose to pay her a $15,000 retainer for a two-week project, even if he was in the witness protection program.
“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