Holiday Hell Read online

  “Yeah. I’m looking for a Miss Molly doll.” One of the man’s hands slipped into his pants pocket, casually pushing his suit jacket back and revealing a trim waist.

  Stop staring. Right now. Stop it.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “A Miss Molly doll?”

  “For my daughter,” he added hastily, his little impish smile doing weird, wonderful things to her insides. “You know… For Christmas.”

  “Oh, right, yeah, sure…” Smooth as ever. “Of course.” If only the ground would open and swallow her whole right then and there. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” She gestured to the sea of scattered boxes. “Obviously.”

  He chuckled, a sound she’d probably hear again late tonight when she had totally inappropriate dreams about this gorgeous specimen.

  “Did a tornado just pass through?”

  “Twins,” she said, sighing as she held a hand up to her hip, “about this big. Might as well have been a tornado.”

  When they stared at each other, Elise focused very hard on making sure she didn’t continue to gawk. Seriously. Model material. He must have just come off a shoot or something.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” she managed after an awkward pause. “I’m sure you can find something for your daughter in this mess.”

  She crouched down and started turning the boxes the right way around. Even if they weren’t in their proper places on the shelves, at least he could see them. Then, much to her surprise, Model Man crouched down beside her to help. As they worked, she took a good look at his left hand. No wedding ring. Divorced? Widowed? Not that it mattered. A guy who looked like that didn’t need to explain his history—he just had to tell her when and where they were getting drinks.

  At twenty-six o’clock in Fantasy Land, of course, where Elise wasn’t a department store stooge and she had her dream job in New York and the world wasn’t a swirling pit of suck.

  “She said she wanted one with blue hair,” he admitted after about a minute of perusing. Elise had started to separate the Barbie from the Miss Molly boxes, hoping to make his search a little easier. He then stood, towering over her again at some six-plus feet of solid man, and planted his hands on his hips. “Actually, she was pretty damn clear that Santa had better bring her a blue-haired Miss Molly, or Santa might be in a bit of hot water.”

  “We can’t have that, can we?” Elise said, laughing. Kids could be so particular about their toys—it didn’t surprise her that he had a daughter who knew what she wanted. After all, she had seen little princesses absolutely lose their minds over the nail polish colour on the doll Mom was trying to shove on them, so a blue hair preference didn’t seem all that ridiculous. Clearing her throat, Elise started sifting through the few boxes that were still left on the shelves. “Let’s see…”

  Model Man helped her again, standing so close she caught a hint of his cologne. It smelled…rich. She wasn’t sure how else to describe it, but she’d smelled enough of the cheap crap in the beauty department to know the difference. It made her feel like she was back in Manhattan again, surrounded by gorgeous guys in pricey suits who had ambition, purpose, and charisma: the kind of guy Fort Trent sorely lacked.

  Her cheeks warmed—he smelled fantastic. Understated. Worldly. Like he had a private jet waiting for him in the pothole-ridden parking lot outside.

  “A lot of green hair around here,” he muttered under his breath, almost sounding surprised.

  “Why don’t I just go check in the back?” Elise flashed him a quick smile before purposefully putting a bit of distance between them—otherwise she might dive right into his neck and take a big whiff. Model Man nodded, seemingly pleased.

  “Ah, yes, the infamous back.” He chuckled. “Where you have everything anyone could possibly want like you’re a bunch of wizards.”

  What? They stared at one another again, Elise’s smile faltering one moment and spread wide the next to hide her reaction to whatever the hell had just come out of his gorgeous mouth. “Right.”

  “Anyway.” He cleared his throat, cheeks tinted. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

  “No problem at all,” she assured him. Just before she could turn around, she ended up tripping over a few of the remaining boxes behind her—stupid Barbie. Model Man rushed forward, as if to catch her, but Elise waved him off, her voice high and squeaky, cheeks pink, as she said, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  Model Man stopped, hands outstretched like she was a baby deer caught on a slick patch of ice. Mortified, she all but ran for the Employees Only door at the back of the store—which was just a few flaps of thick, hanging plastic. She shoved through and pressed her hands to her cheeks. Of course Model Man was a total gentleman. Of course. The heat of her blush warmed her clammy fingers, and she headed for the toy section of the immense warehouse attached to the back of Bennington’s, head down so that the stock guys wouldn’t see her expression. The few who greeted her received an embarrassed half smile and wave, which just made everything worse.

  Thankfully there was no one working in the toy section. Taking a few deep breaths as she massaged her cheeks, Elise went straight for the Miss Molly stock—she had become quite intimate with its section, given she had spent most of the day there anyway when she’d had to stock shelves the first time around. Sure enough, there was a whole skid of blue-haired Miss Mollies just waiting to be unloaded. Grinning, she tore into the plastic wrap.

  “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

  She froze with the doll’s box in hand, colour rushing to her cheeks again.

  “Elise. Seriously.”

  She closed her eyes tight at the feel of her manager Penelope’s beady gaze burning holes in her back. Where had she been hiding? Elise could have sworn the aisles were empty in this section of the warehouse; did Penelope just materialize anytime she wanted to rip Elise a new one?

  Sighing, she turned around slowly. Sure enough, there was Penelope—tall, blonde, lips plumped with filler. Somehow managing to avoid wearing the hideous Christmas vest that stooges like Elise were forced into. Her name tag—metal and polished, to highlight that she was a step above all the underlings who just had plastic name tags—gleamed in the fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

  “There’s a customer looking for a blue-haired Miss Molly,” she explained, hating the way the woman stared at her like Elise was something she’d just scraped off her shoe. “There are none on the floor, so I thought—”

  “You thought you’d just come back here and rip into stock that isn’t supposed to go out yet?” Penelope snapped. She snatched the box out of Elise’s hand and placed it back with the others, then smoothed the torn plastic over it like that would meld it back together. Flushed, the woman scowled at her. “The blue-haired doll is the main character on the commercial. She’s going to be the lead in the TV series they’re creating based around the collection.”

  Elise’s brow furrowed in the silence that followed; apparently Penelope expected a response.

  “Cool?”

  “She’ll sell out in a second,” her manager said snippily before consulting her clipboard and scribbling something in the corner. “And then we’ll be sold out before the rush.”

  “But—”

  “Our stock team works very hard to keep this ship sailing, Elise.” Penelope’s blue eyes locked in on her, like a predator fixed on its prey. “You do not work back here. You have no clearance to dig through unopened skids!”

  Elise pressed her lips together and swallowed a snort. Clearance. Like this was some elite government agency.

  “You are not to touch any of these Miss Molly dolls until they are ready to go out. I thought I made that very clear when I assigned you to stocking the others this morning.”

  At no point had anyone, Penelope or otherwise, specified that a certain hair colour couldn’t go out on the floor. Elise had been shown a skid to unload and that was what she did. Biting down hard on both cheeks, she held in the biggest eye roll of her life.

/>   “Okay,” she said stiffly.

  Penelope lifted a hand to her ear and leaned toward her. “What was that?”

  “Okay.” She knew the woman expected an apology, maybe a bit of groveling like everyone else, but she wasn’t about to get that. Not today. Not from Elise.

  “I need to get back to the customer.”

  She fumed all the way back to the doll aisle—until she discovered Model Man had picked up all the fallen dolls and appeared to be trying to put them back in the correct spots. Elise’s jaw literally dropped—a first in her life, as she’d always thought dropped jaws were best reserved for soap operas. Model Man had about six boxes tucked under each arm, and he appeared to read the sticker on the back for the PLU, then search the shelves before finding the right spot.

  “You… You don’t have to do that,” she stammered. As cute as it was to watch, she didn’t feel right about it. A man dressed like that, with looks to kill, like he was gearing up to be the next James Bond, absolutely should not stock shelves.

  He shrugged, setting another box down where she assumed it belonged.

  “Better than checking my phone,” he told her. “There are a thousand things to respond to. This seemed less likely to make me want to blow my brains out.”

  “Wait until you do it every day,” she said as she strolled down the aisle, smirking. “You’ll get there.”

  She took the remaining boxes from him, not able to watch a second more of this stunning creature stocking shelves. What did not go unmissed was the way his gaze flickered down—maybe to her chest, but more likely to the lack of blue-haired Miss Molly in hand.

  That or the hideous Christmas vest. He wouldn’t be the first to openly gape at the tinseled-out nightmare.

  “So, no luck in the back, huh?”

  “We…” She hesitated. In the past, telling customers the truth had worked in one of two ways. The first was that the customer instantly sympathized with her and let their issue go. The second was that they flipped out and demanded to speak to a manager, then tore into them for whatever “truth” Elise had divulged. In this case, while Model Man was gorgeous, she had seen parents lose their minds for less than a staff member refusing to hand over the doll their kid wanted. So, while it pained her, she went with a white lie instead. “We won’t be getting our shipment in until next week. Apparently the blue-haired one is really popular.”

  “She… She sings on the commercial,” Model Man offered, his cheeks colouring again. Elise bit back a grin.

  “So I’ve heard.” She noted his slightly defeated posture after the news, and tried to smile as brightly as she could. “Next week though, right? You can grab it then. Still lots of time before Christmas.”

  “Yup, I’ll be back next week. Any day in particular?”

  “Thursday,” she said, assuming the stock would be set out by then.

  “Thursday it is.” His gaze briefly dipped down again. “Elise.”

  Just hearing him say her name… It did naughty things to her. She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yup. That’s me. I’m sure I’ll be here.”

  “Good. I’ll be on the lookout for you.” Model Man cocked his head to one side, as if considering her. “You’ve been very helpful, but I need to get that doll. I’m trying to earn my title this year.”

  “Your title?”

  “On my coffee mug,” he told her. “The… Maya got it for me last year. It…er…”

  Fumbling again. Somehow that made her feel like they were on even footing: even if she wasn’t supermodel gorgeous like the man standing in front of her, at least she hadn’t babbled too horribly.

  “Is it one of those World’s Best Dad ones?” she offered, sensing he needed a bit of help. He nodded, beaming.

  “That’s the one.”

  Fuck, he’s adorable. She swallowed the desire to blurt out just how adorable he was. “That’s sweet. I’ll keep an eye out for you, then. Thursday.”

  “It’s a date.”

  His phone chirped noisily, an ear-piercing screech that made Elise wince—and totally shifted the focus away from what had just come out of his mouth. He appeared relieved by the distraction.

  “I’m Jack, by the way,” he said after he tucked his phone back in his pocket, cheeks still tinted. Then, much to her surprise, he held out his hand for her to shake. Which she did, though only after subtly wiping her clammy cold sweats away on her pants. His grip was firm without being bone crushing—a good sign.

  “Elise,” she said, more out of habit than anything, and he chuckled as they broke apart.

  “I know. It’s on your name tag.”

  A nervous laugh slipped out of her mouth. “Right. Yeah. I knew that.”

  “See you next Thursday, Elise.” He flashed a charming smile, then strolled out of the aisle.

  Once he left, the usual Bennington’s buzz of the in-store radio station, playing the same Christmas tunes over and over again, filtered back in. With Jack, it was like she had been temporarily transported to another dimension, where Bennington’s wasn’t soul-sucking and hot guys were plentiful.

  However, the sight of those mischievous twin girls at the end of the aisle snapped Elise straight back to reality—as did the appearance of their mom, who, horrified, launched into a huge apology and demanded to know if her girls had broken anything.

  And if so, will it be sold at a reduced price?

  Elise plastered on her customer service smile, the one that hurt her cheeks, and got back to work.

  Three

  Elf Hawk Down

  “This is fucking ridiculous…” Jack peered through the windshield of his black Mercedes-Benz, scowling. How on Earth was every single parking spot taken? Fort Trent had an enormous Bennington’s Department Store, and an even bigger parking lot. Fort Trent itself could fit ten times over inside this damn parking lot, yet there wasn’t a free space in sight. Teeth gritted, he floored it down this section and turned sharply to have a go at the next one, ever alert for the sign of brake lights and cars hedging out of their space. He’d find one eventually. No one was there to live in Bennington’s. They all had to leave at some point.

  A quick check of the dashboard told him he had an hour to shop, maybe less, before Maya was finished with her Christmas concert practice. Why a bunch of kindergarteners needed to go to school on a Saturday just to dance around and sing off-key escaped him, but she had seemed excited about it that morning, so he kept his opinions to himself.

  But weekends were their only time together. It was Dad and Maya time. Jack couldn’t help it if it bothered him to be missing out on three precious hours of Dad and Maya time.

  Two rows over, a station wagon slowly backed out of a spot, and he blitzed through the lot, taking the turn just a little too fast, tires skidding slightly on the slush-laden pavement, and slamming on the brakes to allow for the beat-up wagon to get out. He waited, flicking on his turn signal when cars started to line up on either side of the lane. No way was he letting someone sneak in there because he hadn’t signaled his intention to park. Fuck that.

  But this was what he got for coming here on a Saturday in December. That breathtaking sales associate, Elise, had told him the doll shipment would be ready on Thursday—which told him they were already in stock and for some reason she hadn’t been allowed to give him one the last time he had come looking, but whatever. Unfortunately, work had consumed him all week long, which meant the only time he could get over to the department store was a Saturday.

  Which was, of course, a mistake. Every other sap who worked during the week also used Saturday to shop for Christmas gifts this time of year. It was a fucking madhouse and he wasn’t even inside yet.

  As soon as the station wagon was clear, he whizzed into the spot, cutting off the car across from him—who, he might add, had arrived after he did—that tried to lurch in ahead of him.

  Ha. He glanced in his rearview mirror at the sound of a long, pronounced honk, then waved as the driver flipped him off. Let him be angry. This was J
ack’s spot. Another check of the time told him he had about forty minutes to get in, grab the doll, wait in some obnoxious line at the register, then get back to Maya’s school.

  Luckily for him, the elementary school was a quick two towns over, a breezy twenty-minute drive down country roads where there usually wasn’t another car for miles. While Bennington’s might have been a madhouse today, Fort Trent and the villages around it were the same as always: quaint, quiet, and peaceful. He and his ex-wife had chosen the region for the wholesome family values vibe it had, both of them wanting to raise Maya somewhere safe. Sure, it took him an hour to get to and from work every day, but Maya loved her school and her friends and the outdoors, so it was all worth it.

  He might think otherwise, however, after today. While a total nightmare for cars, the Bennington’s parking lot was even more chaotic for pedestrians. Carts everywhere. The air cold and crisp, the crunch of thick salt pellets underfoot and fucking up his shoes. Cars whizzed around—something he’d contributed to, sure. Kids blitzed through the lot while haggard parents tried to keep up.

  It wasn’t until he reached the front doors that he realized why, on top of it being the Christmas season, it was so nuts today.

  Santa was in town—at this very store, in fact.

  “Perfect,” he said, sighing. Maya would have loved to sit on Santa’s knee and tell him all about the blue-haired Miss Molly she saw on TV, but there was no way in hell Jack was coming back here. Mom could handle the Santa visit this year. After today, Jack was done with anything even remotely resembling a shopping mall until next year.

  As soon as those sliding doors opened, an onslaught of conversations, shopping carts crashing, and kids screaming assaulted every one of his senses. He would have retreated had a crowd not formed behind him, herding him into the belly of the beast. The parking lot might have been madness, but this was hell—literal nine rings, fire burning, lakes of lava hell.

  Working here must have been a nightmare.

  The notion made him think of Elise, and he hurried to the toy section, hoping she might be working today. After all, she had promised to be there on Thursday, and Jack was the one who had bailed.