Christmas With Her Millionaire Boss. Barbara Wallace
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eased the tension between his shoulder blades.
Once the vertigo abated, he surveyed his surroundings. Given her slavish devotion to Fryberg’s vision, he pictured his hostess living in a mirror image of the Christmas Castle, with baskets of sugarplums and boughs of holly. He’d been close. The house definitely had the same stucco and wood architecture as the rest of the town, although she’d thankfully forgone any year-round Christmas motif. Instead, the inside was pleasantly furnished with simple, sturdy furniture like the large pine cabinet lining the wall across the way. Brightly colored plates hung on the wall behind it. Homey. Rustic. With not a chandelier or trace of Italian marble to be found.
“You’re awake.”
A pair of shapely legs suddenly appeared in his line of vision, followed seconds later by a pair of big cornflower-colored eyes as the elf squatted down by his head. “I was coming in to check on you. I’m supposed to make sure you don’t fall into a coma while sleeping,” she said.
“I haven’t.”
“Obviously.”
As obvious as her joy over having to play nursemaid.
She looked less elfish than yesterday. More girl next door. The red dress had been shucked in favor of a white-and-red University of Wisconsin sweatshirt and jeans, and her short hair was pulled away from her face with a bright red headband. James didn’t think it was possible to pull back short hair, but she had. It made her eyes look like one of those paintings from the seventies. The ones where everyone had giant sad eyes. Only in this case, they weren’t sad; they were antipathetic.
He tried sitting up again. Slowly this time, making sure to keep his head and neck as still as possible. He felt like an awkward idiot. How was it that people in movies bounced back from head wounds in minutes? Here he was sliding his legs to the floor like he was stepping onto ice.
“How did I end up here?” he asked.
Her mouth turned downward. “Do you mean the house or the sofa?”
“The sofa.”
“Good. For a minute I was afraid you didn’t remember anything.” She stood up, taking her blue eyes from his vision unless he looked up, which didn’t feel like the best idea. “You collapsed on it soon as we got through the door last night,” she told him. “I tried to convince you to go upstairs to the bedroom, but you refused to budge.”
That sounded vaguely familiar. “Stairs were too much work.”
“That’s what you said last night. Anyway, since you refused to move from the sofa, I gave you a pillow, threw an afghan over you and called it a night.”
Out of the corner of his eye, James saw a flash of bright blue yarn piled on the floor near his feet. Tightness gripped his chest at the notion of someone tucking a blanket around his legs while he slept. Cradling his head while they placed a pillow underneath.
“Wait a second,” he said as a realization struck him. “You checked on me every few hours?”
“I had to. Doctor’s orders.”
“What about sleep? Did you...”
“Don’t worry—I didn’t put myself out any more than necessary.”
But more than she preferred. He was but an unwanted responsibility after all. The tightness eased, and the familiar numbness returned. “I’m glad. I’d hate to think you had to sacrifice too much.”
“Bare minimum, I assure you. Belinda would have my head if you died on my watch. In case you hadn’t guessed, she takes her responsibility to others very seriously. Especially those injured in her store.”
His store now. James let the slip pass uncommented. “Good policy. I’m sure your lawyers appreciate the extra effort.”
“It’s not policy,” she quickly shot back. Her eyes simmered with contention. “It’s compassion. The Frybergs have always believed in taking care of others. Belinda especially. I’ll have you know that I’ve seen her literally give a stranger the coat off her back.”
“I apologize,” James replied. “I didn’t mean to insinuate...”
She held up her hand. “Whatever. Just know that lawsuits are the last thing on Belinda’s mind.
“You have no idea how special the Fryberg family is,” she continued. Driving home the point. “Ned and Belinda were...are...the best people you’ll ever meet. The whole town loves them.”
“Duly noted,” James replied. Must be nice, having a family member care so much they sprang to your defense at the slightest ill word. “I’ll watch my language from now on.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They both fell silent. James sat back on the sofa and rubbed his neck, an uncomfortable itch having suddenly danced across his collar. Normally silence didn’t bother him; he didn’t know why this lapse in conversation felt so awkward.
Probably because the entire situation was awkward. If they were in Boston, he would be the host. He would be offering to whip up a cappuccino and his signature scrambled eggs, the way he did for all his overnight guests. Instead, he was sitting on her sofa, feeling very much like the obligation that he was.
And here he’d thought he was done feeling that way ever again.
Noelle broke the silence first. Tugging on her sweatshirt the way an officer might tug on his jacket, she cleared her throat. “I’m heading back into the kitchen. You might as well go back to sleep. It’s still early. Not even seven-thirty.”
“You’re awake.”
“I have cooking to do. You’re supposed to rest.”
“I’m rested out.” Headache or not, his body was still on East Coast time, and according to it, he’d already slept several hours past his usual wake time. “I don’t think I could sleep more if I wanted to.”
“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “TV remote’s on the end table if you want it. I’ll be in the kitchen.” The unspoken Stay out of my way came loud and clear.
She turned and padded out the door. Although James had never been one to ogle women, he found himself watching her jean-clad rear end. Some women were born to wear jeans, and the elf was one of them. With every step, her hips swayed from side to side like a well-toned bell. It was too bad the woman disliked his presence; her attractiveness was one of the few positive things about this debacle of a trip.
He needed to go back to Boston. It was where he belonged. Where he was...well, if not wanted, at least comfortable.
Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. The room spun a little, but not nearly as badly as it had yesterday, or even fifteen minutes earlier, for that matter. If he managed to walk to the kitchen without problem, he was leaving. Grant him and Noelle a reprieve.
Plans settled, he made his way to the kitchen. Happily, the room only spun a little. He found his hostess in the center of the room pulling a bright yellow apron over her head. The delicious aroma from before hung heavy in the air. It wasn’t a candle at all, but some kind of pie. Pumpkin, he realized, taking a deep breath.
His stomach rumbled. “I don’t suppose I could get a cup of coffee,” he said when she turned around.
She pointed to the rear cupboard where a full pot sat on the coffee maker burner. “Cups are in the cupboard above. There’s cereal and toast if you want any breakfast. Do you need me to pour?” she added belatedly.
“No, thank you. I can manage.” He made his way over to the cupboard. Like everything else in the house, the mugs were simple, yet sturdy. He was beginning to think she was the only delicate-looking thing in the house. “You have a nice place,” he remarked as he poured.
“You sound surprised.”
“Do