Chapter 4 - Holly Snow
“ Y eah, he just grabbed my arm like I was a child or something,” I told my best friend on the phone about the man in the Santa suit.
“Damn, girl. That sounds like one controlling Santa. Was he hot?”
“Seriously, Bridgett. That’s your question? The concern in your tone that he could be a kidnapper or worse is coming over loud and clear.”
“Well, was he?”
I blew out a breath, thinking about how his blue eyes sparkled when ours met for the first time. How the warmth of his hand found its way through the material of my shirt. How his lip curved slightly when I’d called him Mr. Jingle Bells. “You do remember how much I hate this time of year, right? The man was in a Santa suit, for fuck’s sake.”
“So he is hot. Good to know.”
“Argh. Let’s just get back to the reason I called. Andre is going to get a piece of my mind, as is whoever else I can get a hold of. I will get to the bottom of why they would rent the ballroom right out from under me.”
“I know you will. Just please remember, it’s not worth getting arrested over. It’s inconvenient, sure, but we can adjust our plans...”
“No, this is your wedding. I will make it work. Hell, if we have to, we’ll just decorate the damn lobby and have the wedding right smack in the middle of the hotel.”
She giggles but I don’t miss the hint of disappointment filtering through. This is what she wants for their wedding. And I intend to give it to them. Tomorrow, whoever is in charge of the Bella Providence Hotel will face the wrath that is Holly Snow. For now, my stomach is reminding me of the fact I haven’t eaten anything all day. “We’ll make it work, Bridgett.”
“I know you will. Now, no sense in wasting a free night there. Go load up on food and a few drinks and charge it to the room.” Just as I’m about to chime in and tell her they’d probably end up making me pay for it, she adds, “Maybe you’ll run into Mr. Jingle Bells again.”
“Goodbye, Bridgett. Tell Sebastian hi for me,” I retort and disconnect the call, preventing her from talking any further about the one person I’m truly not interested in discussing.
Dropping back onto the bed, I close my eyes and consider just turning in, even though it’s nowhere near the time of night I normally go to bed. My mind doesn’t give in either. Instead, the image of the man in the red suit seeps in, and I find myself wondering what is beneath that red velvet with white fur trim.
Sitting up abruptly, I shake my head. Absolutely not. I’ve got other things to think about, like how I can keep from getting arrested when I confront Andre or the hotel manager tomorrow about the ballroom.
Anyway, Santa could just be some random man off the street dressed like a jolly old St. Nick, who had just come inside to get warm. Then again, the way he gripped my arm and forced me to do what he wanted tells me that’s probably not the case.
My stomach rumbles again.
I lower my feet to the floor and rise from the bed, grabbing my purse on the way.
There’s a colorful flyer taped to the door that catches my attention. On it there’s trees, snow, and fancy cursive writing describing the Christmas trade show. That must be why Mr. Jingle Bells is here, odd that he was in a costume now, given the show isn’t until the weekend. “Doesn’t matter, I’m staying as far away from the show and him as possible.” I rip the paper from the door, wad it up, and with a flick of my wrist, it drops perfectly into the small trash can before stepping out into the hall.
It’s surprisingly quiet considering the noise and energy in the lobby earlier. Not something I’m looking forward to experiencing again as I ride the elevator down the five floors but know if I don’t, I’ll be dry heaving from an empty stomach before long.
Once the doors open, the soles of my heels tap against the marble floor as I take a few steps, then suddenly realize I’m a bit turned around.
Neither to my left or right gives me any indication of where food may be, though the scent of meat grilling has my stomach rumbling once again.
There’s a sign with a map on the wall across from me and I get closer to take a look. The nearest place for food is a bar and grill, or I can settle for some snacks from the gift shop. It’s barely a decision at all. I opt for the bar and head in that direction, weaving through the lingering crowd keeping out of the storm.
It’s unclear if everyone here has a room, if not I’d say it’s pretty decent of the Bella Providence to not force them out into the cold.
“How many?” a woman asks from behind a podium just inside the restaurant as I approach.
“Just me,” I tell her, resisting the urge to ask if she’ll mute the dreadful Christmas music coming from inside, at least while I’m here. Not that I have any pull whatsoever.
She nods and glances at a chart in front of her, then looks back into the restaurant, most likely to confirm her chart is right. A low chatter comes from behind her and I follow her stare.
Every table in view is full.
Knowing I’ll probably faint from lack of sustenance if it’s an hour or more wait, I’m already deciding on what kind of chips I’ll get from the gift shop.
“It looks like we’re all booked up until we close.”
Savory scents filter from the kitchen, and I force myself to swallow back the saliva building in my mouth. “Are you sure there’s no seat at the bar? Or something tucked back in a corner somewhere?” I ask, hoping for a miracle.
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry.”
On a disappointed sigh, I spin on a heel and take a step in the direction of the lobby, hoping I’ll get to the gift shop before it closes. Instead, warm hands grip my shoulders, stopping me from colliding with his broad chest.
“She can sit with me.” The deep timbre rumbles from behind a crisp white shirt and a bright-red satin tie merely inches from my face.
Dragging my gaze higher, I’m met with the same ice-blue eyes from earlier. And I’m not sure how I feel about it. Did Bridgett have something to do with this? Given the size of this place, the chances I’d run into him again were probably a thousand to one, yet here he is.
“Are you sure, do—” the hostess starts from behind me. But he cuts her off before she has a chance to talk him out of the offer. Which he does without breaking our eye contact. “Positive.”
“Very well,” she huffs out. “This way please.”
Releasing my shoulders, he extends a hand next to me. “After you.”
I don’t move. His offer is tempting. It is just sharing a table in a crowded room, but what if all he wants to talk about is the reason he’s here? I’m not sure I’m mentally prepared for a conversation around what is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, relishing in the smells around me one last time before opening my mouth and intending to offer him a polite “no thank you.”
His warm breath meets my ear before I get the chance. “I’m not taking no for an answer. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”
My cheeks heat. If the floor could open up at this very moment, I’d jump right into the abyss, no questions asked. But since my luck isn’t that good, I open my eyes and face the ice-blue orbs staring back at me, which crinkle slightly at the edges when he smiles.
He may have changed out of the red suit but isn’t any less bossy.
Bridgett’s voice telling me to “Do it,” rattles around in my head. As much as I love her, there’s no way I’m dining with some random guy, no matter how much the crisp white shirt stretches across a strong chest. “I wouldn’t want to intrude, plus, my stomach will be just fine after I’ve visited the snack section of the gift shop. Thank you.”
I move to take a step forward. This time his touch is light, but enough to keep me from walking away.
“No intrusion at all. It’s been one hell of a day, and I’d prefer not to eat alone.”
He’s here for a Christmas trade show, how bad could his day have been? It’s not like he promised his best friend a wedding venue that was snatched right from beneath his feet.
I glanced between him and the, annoyed at having to wait on me, hostess and decide that a hot meal with this man wouldn’t be the worst part of my day unless... “You’re not a serial killer or anything, are you?”
He chuckles. “Far from it, sweetheart. You’re safe with me.” Placing a hand in the middle of my back, he guides me to follow the hostess inside the restaurant, where she eventually leads us to a table in the back.
Once we’re both seated and the menus are placed in front of us, I lift mine and pretend to peruse the options, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.
It’s just two people sharing a table for dinner. This is no different than having a meeting with a client.
Yet it is.
My meetings with clients are never spontaneous. They are planned weeks, sometimes months, in advance. There’s always an agenda. The couple and I go through a portfolio full of ideas and make decisions.
I peek over the menu to find those blue eyes watching me, and quickly raise it again. He may be the epitome of the very thing I dislike about life but I’ll admit, he is easy on the eyes. And I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to find out what it would feel like to have someone’s hands all over my skin like I want his right now. What the fuck, Holly? Where did that come from?
Is it really that hard to guess? If I stood up at this very moment and shouted how much I want to feel his heat again, they wouldn’t question. Hell, they’d probably encourage.
“Hi, I’m Miranda and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I get you something to drink?”
Thank the Lord for Miranda’s impeccable timing. “I’ll have a Tito’s martini. More Tito’s than martini. Please.”
Without batting an eye, she turns to the man who has confidence exuding from his pores. “And you, sir?”
“Bring me a bottle of your finest merlot, and a cheese and cracker plate. We’ll need a few more minutes before making our dinner selection, and my guest here will need more than just Tito’s to tide her over until the food arrives.”
“Yes, sir,” she coos and rushes in the direction of the bar.
“Are you always like this?” I spit. Unsure if my irritation is from the attention the server was paying him, or the way he’s taken control of pretty much every decision I’ve made since I got here.
Leaning back in his chair, with his hands in his lap, he lifts a brow. “Like what?”
He’s toying with me. He must be. How can he not know?
“This... overbearing?”
He chuckles. “If you mean, do I expect things done in a specific way, then yes. I suppose I do.”
“You do realize, expecting things you do are done in a specific way is different than what someone else does, right?”
Muscles flex beneath his shirt as he places his forearms on the table, until they’re resting on either side of the decorative plate, and he leans in. “It depends.”
“On what?” I ask, unintentionally matching his position and meeting his stare with my own.
“Who I’m with.”
Our stare off lasts for what feels like minutes, though it’s merely seconds before his eyes dip down to my lips. An odd expression flashes over his face and he briefly goes still. Just as I’m about to ask if I have something on my face, a server places our drinks on the table.
“Are you ready to order?” Miranda asks, her attention on him.
I glance at her and then back to him, waiting. Half wondering if he’ll order for me too. For fuck’s sake, Holly. He’s either too controlling or not controlling enough. What is with you?
Mr. Jingle Bells unexpectedly gestures in my direction, but oddly he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Ladies first.”
Something’s changed, I just don’t have the nerve to ask what it is. Instead, I give the server my order then toss back the small drink she delivered earlier. “Oh, and another one of these, please.”
This isn’t like me. I’m not that easily set off-balance, but this man has me all out of sorts. Reluctantly, I hand the menu, my only protection against those blue eyes, to the waitress and rest my hands in my lap, fiddling with the cloth napkin I’d placed atop my thighs.
He leans back in his seat and raises a glass of merlot to his lips, his attention on the tables around us, looking for what I don’t know. I take a sip of water, hoping it will cool the warmth spreading through my body from the alcohol. Sure, it was just one small glass, but on an empty stomach and the bartender obviously knowing what he was doing, it’s definitely taking the edge off.
“You’re here for a wedding?” he asks, still looking out into the restaurant.
“I am,” I reply, but don’t elaborate. I’m distracted by him and the lack of attention he’s paying me now. Maybe I’ve offended him in some way. Or maybe I do have something on my face. No, he’s definitely the type of guy who would say something. But why else has he suddenly become so uninterested?
Reaching for my collar, I shake the material trying to get some air to my heated skin when my fingers brush against the scar. I go still.
How could I have forgotten? Sure, most of it is covered but it’s nearly impossible to hide the jagged pink line that extends past the collar and up to my jawline.
That’s it. He doesn’t want to look at it. At me.
Dropping my napkin on the table, I push my chair out and stand, just as the waitress brings me another drink and the fruit and cheese plate.
The food looks amazing and I’m so tempted to grab a handful on my way out, instead I reach for the drink, and take a long gulp before setting it back on the table. “Thank you, please charge my drinks and food to my room 8887. I can’t stay.”
“Wait.” Mr. Jingle Bells stands and reaches for me. “Where are you going? You need to eat something.”
What’s the point of staying? I pull away from his touch. His earlier reaction told me everything I needed to know. “Thank you for the seat at your table,” I tell him and walk away. Forcing myself to keep my eyes ahead and not look back to those I can feel on my back at this very moment.