Christmas With Her Millionaire Boss. Barbara Wallace
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don’t want Orion House to think I don’t appreciate the honor. The project meant so much to Ned.”
“I know,” replied Noelle. After Kevin’s death, her father-in-law had channeled his grief into helping as many veteran programs as possible. Orion House had topped the list. “He was very passionate about wanting to help.”
“That he was,” Belinda said, getting the faraway look she always got when they discussed Ned. The family had been through a lot these past years, and yet they continued to channel their energy into the community. Their dedication in the face of grief made her proud to bear the Fryberg name.
“Would you mind stepping in instead?”
“Not at all,” she told her. “I’d love to.” It’d be an honor to accept an award for them.
“Thank goodness.” The older woman let out a long sigh. “I was afraid that because of our words earlier... Never mind.” Whatever her mother-in-law had been about to say she waved away. “Let me pull my car around. I’ll help you get Mr. Hammond settled, and then go home to change.”
Help her...? Wait... What exactly had she agreed to do?
Noelle opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Nothing came out though. That’s because she knew what she’d agreed to. As surely as the sickening feeling growing in her stomach.
Somehow, James Hammond had become her responsibility. She looked over to her mother-in-law, but Belinda was busy fishing through her purse. And here she thought she would be free of the man. Talk about your sick karmic jokes. If only she’d been the one hit in the head.
“Do you need an extra copy of the discharge instructions?” the nurse asked her.
“No,” Noelle replied with a sigh. “I know what to expect.”
There was only one consolation, if you could call it that. Hammond looked about as thrilled over this change of events as she was.
Goodie. They could be miserable together.
* * *
A few minutes later, James found himself being wheeled outside behind a tiny bundle of annoyance, who marched toward the waiting sedan with her arms yet again wrapped tightly across her chest. A voice behind his headache wondered if they were permanently attached to her body that way.
“Why don’t you take the front seat?” Belinda opened the passenger door. “I’ve pulled it all the way back so you’ll have plenty of leg room.”
Front seat, back seat. Didn’t make much difference. Neither were the cockpit of his private plane. His head felt split in two, the world was tipping on its axis and he wanted nothing more than to be in his bed back in Boston. Damn drone.
He pushed himself to his feet only to have the world rock back and forth like a seesaw. A second later, an arm wrapped around his biceps, steadying him, and he smelled the sweet scent of orange blossoms. The elf. He recognized the perfume from the confines of the elevator. Funny, but he expected her to smell Christmassy, not like Florida sunshine. Maybe they were out of sugar cookie perfume this week.
“Something wrong?”
Turning his head—barely—he saw her frowning at him and realized he’d snorted out loud at his joke. “Do you really need to ask?”
He was being an ass, he knew that, but with stitches in his scalp, surely he was entitled to a little churlishness?
The frown deepened. “Watch your head,” she replied.
James did as he was told, and as his reward, the orange blossoms—as well as her grip—disappeared. In their absence, his headache intensified. He found himself slumped against a leather armrest with his fingers pressed against his temple to hold his head up.
“Fortunately, we don’t have to drive too far,” he heard Belinda say. “Noelle only lives a short distance from town.”
“Great.” What he really wanted to say was that two feet was too far what with the lights outside dipping and rocking as they passed by. Thankfully the sun had set. If those were buildings bobbing, he’d be lurching the contents of his stomach all over his Bostonians. He closed his eyes, and did his best to imagine orange blossoms.
“The nurse seemed to think the worst of the dizziness would pass by tomorrow,” Noelle said from behind him.
“Thank God,” he whispered. If true, then maybe he could snag a ride to the airport and fly home, doctor’s orders be damned. He bet the elf would drive him. After all, she didn’t want him at her house any more than he wanted to be there. He’d caught the look on the woman’s face when Belinda foisted him on her.
Foisted. What a perfect word for the situation. Stuck where he didn’t want to be, dependent on people who didn’t want him around.
Story of his life.
Great. He’d moved from churlish to pity party. Why not round out the trifecta and start whining too?
How he hated this. Hated having no choice. Hated being weak and needy. He hadn’t needed anyone since he was twelve years old. Needing and foisting were incompatible concepts.
“It’s too bad you can’t look out the window,” Belinda said. “The town looks beautiful all lit up.”
James pried open one eye to see building after building decorated with Christmas lights. Ugh. One in particular had a giant evergreen dripping with red and green.
“That’s the Nutcracker Inn. The Bavarian market is next door. It’ll be packed on Friday for the festival.”
“I doubt Mr. Hammond is very interested in a tour, Belinda.”
“I’m merely pointing out a few of the landmarks since he’s going to be here all weekend.”
Not if he could help it, thought James.
“The man can’t remember what kind of soup they serve—I doubt he’ll remember what the place looks like.”
“There’s no need to be harsh, Noelle Fryberg.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Actually, James rather liked the harshness. Beat being treated like a patient. “Pumpkin,” he replied.
“Excuse me?” Belinda asked.
“The soup. It’s pumpkin.”
“You mean gingerbread,” Noelle replied.
“Oh. Right.” He knew it was some kind of seasonal flavor. His cheeks grew warm.
Belinda patted him on the knee. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Hammond. I’m sure you’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”
“Let’s hope so,” he heard the elf mutter.
James couldn’t have agreed with her more.
THE NEXT MORNING James woke to what had to be the best-smelling candle in the universe—sweet with traces of allspice and cinnamon—which was odd since he didn’t normally buy candles. Maybe the smell had something to do with the stinging sensation on the back of his head and the vague memories of dark hair and kitten eyes dancing on the edge of his brain.
And orange blossoms. For some reason, the first thought in his mind was that as delicious as the candle smelled, it wasn’t orange blossoms.
Slowly, he pried open an eye. What the...?
This wasn’t his Back Bay condo. He sprang up, only to have a sharp pain push him back down on the bed.
Sofa, he amended. He was lying facedown on a leather sofa, his cheek swallowed by a large memory foam pillow. Gingerly, he felt the back of his skull, his fingers meeting a patch of gauze and tape.