Christmas with the Wrong Guy (Wrong Guy (Love Unintended) #13)

CHAPTER ONE

HOLLY

The Hilton Garden Inn's ballroom sparkles with silver and gold decorations, while white lights strung across the ceiling twinkle like stars. I prefer colors, lots and lots of colors, the more the merrier, but overall this is undeniably gorgeous. I shimmy my body to a country version of Jingle Bell Rock that’s being piped through speakers in the ceiling as I grin at my cousin Natalie.

“This is amazing!” I exclaim gesturing around at the packed room while grabbing a mini quiche from a passing server’s tray. The pastry is warm, flaky, and oh so perfect as it melts in my mouth.

Natalie reaches out and brushes crumbs off my red velvet bedazzled blazer. With my mouth full of quiche, I give her a closed-lipped smile of thanks.

My cousin is her usual, impeccably dressed self.

She’s in tailored black slacks and a soft-looking cream sweater with her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail that swishes right above her behind.

Sadly, the only bit of holiday cheer on her is the green wreath brooch that I practically had to twist her arm to get her to wear.

“Only you could be this excited about a networking event on a Friday night,” she grouses.

“It's December, which means it’s almost Christmas! Everything is exciting right now.” I spot my employee, Adam, across the room chatting with a woman from a candle supply company and give him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

He's twenty, tall and lanky, and thankfully enthusiastic. He’s currently wearing the light-up elf tie I gave him as a gag gift and a hat that has oversized elf ears.

I love how willing he is to jump into the spirit of things. Adam has great instincts for business.

“You won the big door prize, got three new wholesale contacts, made a ton of new friends, and,” Natalie checks her watch, “we’ve been here for over five hours. Why are you still so darn peppy?” She shakes her head, making her ponytail swing. “Your enthusiasm is honestly exhausting.”

“You love it.” I bump her shoulder with mine, my short blonde curls bouncing. “Admit it.”

“I tolerate it because you're family and you pay me.” But she's grinning as she says it.

Forty-five minutes later, the event starts winding down with people packing up and filtering out into the hotel lobby.

Satisfaction fills me. And not just about the awesome charcuterie board I won.

Nope. I've done what I came to do. My store, It's Always Something, is going to have an incredible Christmas season, and I've just locked in some fantastic new products for spring.

“I'm going to grab one more drink before I head home,” I tell Natalie as we load up the last of the boxes on the dolly for Adam to take out to the shop’s van. “You two go ahead. I'll see you Monday.”

“Oh, to be the owner, Holly Jolly,” Natalie teases, using the nickname my family gave me when I was five. “Some of us have to work tomorrow, bright and early.”

That has me rolling my eyes. “Whatever. The shop doesn’t open until ten tomorrow so don’t give me that nonsense.”

She laughs and waves as she follows Adam toward the exit. Fondly, I watch them go, then make my way through the lobby to the hotel bar tucked off to the side.

The bar is a different world from the bright, energetic and undeniable Christmasy ballroom.

Dim lighting casts everything in amber and shadow, with dark wood paneling and burgundy leather bar stools with decorative bronze nail accents.

Soft jazz plays from hidden speakers, a saxophone crooning something slow and sultry that immediately takes a bit of my cheer away.

Suddenly I’m reminded that I may have an amazing family and flourishing business, but I’m definitely lacking that someone special in my life.

Pushing that melancholy away, because it has no place clouding my mood after such a great evening, I slide onto a barstool near the end of the bar, the leather cool against my thighs through my black skirt.

There’s only a handful of people here, most of them scattered at small tables staring into their drinks or watching the TV situated on the back wall while they nurse their drinks.

The bar itself gleams, with fancy bottles of liquor lining the space behind it and the bartender, a big guy with a thick black handlebar mustache, wiping down glasses with a look of immense satisfaction on his face.

I like him immediately. As someone who likes to be different, I appreciate seeing others doing the same.

He strides over to me with a swagger worthy of a cowboy from the Old West, and I have to wonder if he has a cowboy hat at home, or maybe in his truck. “What can I get you, little lady?”

I’m almost six foot in my bare feet, so there’s nothing little about me, so that makes me giggle. “Can I get a Shirley Temple?”

“Sure thing.” He shoots me a wink that has another giggle bubbling up in my throat, then heads off to get my drink.

There’s some sports event on the TV, which I have zero interest in, so I pull out my phone and start scrolling through the shop's Instagram, checking the likes on the post I made this morning. It’s a video of Natalie and Adam decorating our front window with mechanical snowmen and light-up reindeer.

A happy grin breaks out on my face as I see that it's already got two hundred likes and a dozen comments. I’m reading through the comments when a bit of movement catches in my peripheral vision, and I glance over to see a man settling onto a stool one down from mine.

You know that expression, how something steals your breath? I never had that before. Oh, I’ve been excited, scared, and overwhelmed before, but fully in command of all my facilities- breathing included.

Now? Now I don’t think I could remember my phone number if my life depended on it.

This man is gorgeous. Maybe not to everyone, but to me he certainly is.

I’m a tall girl, but this guy is huge. Probably six-four, or six-five, going by the long legs getting cramped by the bar.

I’d have to see him standing to get a true feel for his height, but he’s definitely taller than me, which is important to me.

His broad shoulders fill out his dark black suit jacket perfectly, and I adore the festive red bow tie that’s hanging loose around his neck.

Part of me wishes it were still tied. Not many can wear a bow tie, but I bet this guy can.

Everything about him screams confidence.

From the expensive suit to the crisp white shirt, even down to the shiny black dress shoes on his very big feet.

Where’s the bartender with my drink because, wow, I could certainly use it because I’m getting super thirsty looking at this guy.

Because, oops, I’m still staring and his piercing blue eyes meet mine as a dark brow goes up and his firm lips twist into a half-smile that does wonderfully horrible things to me.

He has dark hair that’s shot through with silver and a matching salt and pepper goatee that frames that incredible mouth perfectly. I’m not usually a fan of facial hair, but on him it works. It works darn well.

Even as the electric tingle of awareness and attraction zing through me I can’t help noticing a bit of weariness around his eyes that speaks of a long day. Or possibly a long week.

I’m a people person, always have been and always will be, so I smile and ask, “Rough night?”

The other corner of his mouth quirks up in a way that sends heat rushing to every part of my body and reminds me that it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date.

“Is it that obvious?” he asks.

His voice is deep and warm, the kind that immediately makes you smile, and I find myself angling my body his way. “Well, the suit, the loosened tie- which by the way I love- and the fact that you’re here in a hotel bar kinda gives it away.”

The bartender, who I’m now not so happy to see, chooses that moment to come back with my drink. Setting it in front of me with a grin, he tops it with a pink paper parasol before turning his attention to the man on my left. “What will it be?”

Sexy Mr. Bowtie, as I’ve mentally christened him, looks at my drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

I don’t know who’s more shocked, me or the bartender.

“That’s a non-alcoholic Shirley Temple, mate,” the bartender says slowly.

Mr. Bowtie’s grin grows. “Yes, I’d like it with extra cherries, please.”

With a shake of his head, the bartender heads off, and I exchange a glance with Mr. Bowtie.

His blue eyes are positively aglow with mirth, and it’s at that moment I decide to go for it.

I’m a firm believer in the power of positive thought, in fate, in destiny, happily ever afters, and, most definitely, the magic of Christmas time.

To me, this meeting brings to mind all of that, and I’m not going to miss my chance.

I stick out my hand, “I’m Holly.”

He moves over to the stool next to mine, so fast I almost miss it.

One minute there’s a stool between us and the next he’s next to me and his hand is engulfing mine.

Long and strong fingers wrap around my smaller ones, and I feel that spark again, stronger this time.

Like touching a live wire. Heat shoots up my arm and settles low in my belly, and it confirms the fact that this man is going to be an important part of my life. I just know it.

“James.”

My eyes widen at his name, which happens to be the same one as my absolute favorite book boyfriend. This is absolutely a sign.

We shake for a beat longer than necessary, neither of us pulling away first. His thumb brushes across my knuckles, whether intentional or not I can't tell, but I’m hoping he’s feeling the same insane attraction that I am.

When we finally separate, I'm very aware of the space between us. Or rather, lack of space. He’s close enough that I can see the way laugh lines crinkle out from his eyes as he smiles, and just how clear and bright those blue eyes really are.

They are a wintery blue that are anything but cold.