One Winter's Night

She texted the number he’d put on the card and told him to send Norman. Then she found a copy of her résumé and got dressed.

Forty minutes later the driver texted her that he was downstairs, and she raced out into the cold, cold morning.

Norman held open the door. “Good morning, ma’am.”

Eloise smiled. “Good morning, Norman.”

He closed the door, got behind the wheel and sped off.

Surprise made her frown when he stopped the limo at a respectable but far from plush condo building. She rode up the normal elevator to a very normal hallway and knocked on a simple door.

Ricky opened the door immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her. “I am so sorry.”

She tried to smile, but being in his presence sent shivers down her spine. In a sweater and jeans, he looked gorgeous and approachable, making it difficult to remember they were from two different worlds. Worse, they didn’t seem to get along. She shouldn’t be attracted to him.

She shrugged out of her navy blue parka. “Your flowers said it, but helping me find a job would say it even better.”

As he took her coat to a convenient closet, she glanced around. Dark wood cabinets dominated the kitchen of the small open-plan condo and matched the dark table and chairs that took up the space before the living room.

“Have you eaten?”

She faced him. “No. But I’m not hungry.”

“You had one piece of pizza last night. Not enough to sustain you.” He walked into the kitchen and pulled a griddle from a lower cabinet. “I’m making pancakes.”

Himself? She almost smiled. “Where’s your maid?”

“She went with the penthouse.”

“You lost your penthouse and maid? Was it a bet? A poker game?”

“I sold the penthouse and she chose to stay with the new owner. Which is only right because there’s not a whole hell of a lot of housecleaning to do around here. This condo’s tiny.”

She liked his apartment, but she wouldn’t trade a penthouse for it. “Why did you sell your penthouse?”

He spared her a glance. “I didn’t need that much space.” He paused and pulled in a breath before he added, “I also wanted to be alone.”

She didn’t have to be a mind reader to conclude that he’d sold his penthouse and gotten rid of his maid after his tragedy. This was as close as he’d ever come to telling her something personal. So she appreciated the gesture, sort of a peace offering, and said, “Well, this is nice. Modern. Kind of bacheloresque.”

“Bacheloresque?”

“I made it up. It’s a word meaning like something a bachelor would own.”

He laughed as he gathered milk and eggs from the stainless steel refrigerator.

“You’re making pancakes from scratch?”

“No. I’ve got a box mix, but it allows me to add fresh ingredients so they taste better.”

It made sense to her, and she totally agreed a short while later when she took her first bite. “These are great.”

He smiled, and they ate their pancakes amid sporadic conversation about the food, the condo and the cold. She wanted to ask him so many things, especially because he knew so much about her. But now that they were back to being congenial acquaintances with a mission, she knew better than to breach boundaries, poke or prod. She wanted a job. He wanted to help her find one. And her Christmas mission? He seemed to like her best when she wasn’t trying to make him happy. So maybe it was time to scrap that.

He cleaned up, rinsing the dirty dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. Then they took mugs of coffee into the room he called his den.

Obviously designed to be a second bedroom, the small space barely had room for the big table with the huge computer system with three oversize screens, two keyboards and three printers. “Wow.”

“I design games and think up extraspecial search engines,” he said as he hit the button that turned everything on. Lights blinked, screens flashed, small motors hummed. “Did you bring your résumé?”

She pulled the folded sheet out of her jeans pocket.

He frowned. “I hope you don’t send it out like that?”

The implication that she wasn’t smart enough to send a neat résumé sent anger rumbling through her again. But looking around and remembering some of his conversations with his peers, she finally realized he might be one of those guys who was so intelligent he didn’t think before he spoke.

Still, she wasn’t going to let him get away with dissing her. “I’m not a dingbat. I print a fresh one every time I answer a classified ad or get a lead.”

He sat at the desk, scanned her résumé and brought it up on a screen. He read for a few seconds, then said, “I think your first mistake is that you emphasize the secretarial aspects of your temp jobs.” He faced her. “You’d be better off to list the jobs without giving too much explanation of what you actually do. That way you’re accounting for the time, proving that you’re working and not a slacker, but taking the emphasis off those skills, so people realize you’re looking for a job that uses your degree.”

She nodded.

Without asking for input, he revised her résumé, making it incredibly short, but also focusing on the skills she’d acquired while earning her degree.

Then he wrote a generic email introducing her and sent the email off to four friends with a copy of her updated résumé attached.

“These guys all owe me a favor. Your résumé will go directly to them.”

Blissful hope ricocheted through her. “That’ll get me a job?”

“Trust me. Two of them owe me favors big enough that if they can find you a job in your field within their companies, you’ll get it. Hiring a friend of someone you owe is an easy way to pay off big favors.”

Her heart lifted. But in the room filled with technology, he looked alone. She studied his solemn eyes, wishing she could fulfill her private vow to make him happy. But ever since she’d decided to make his Christmas wonderful, they’d actually become tenser around each other. They’d even fought.

Of course, he’d also sent her flowers and made her pancakes. And now he was trying in earnest to get her a job. To fulfill his part of the bargain. Early in the morning, as if he’d been so upset with himself he hadn’t slept.

Something prickled inside her heart. A nudge or a hint that she shouldn’t give up. A nice guy was inside him somewhere, a guy who had obviously been hurt. A guy who deserved a happy Christmas.

Deciding it was smarter not to wreck their current peace, she rose from the chair beside his. “Thanks.”

He stood, too. “You’re welcome.”

Ridiculous silence enveloped them again. They weren’t really dating. Technically, they weren’t even friends. Hell, if she was going to get technical, they didn’t actually know each other. So a vacuum existed. A couple saying goodbye would kiss. Friends saying goodbye might hug. People who were nothing to each other had nothing to do but be awkward.

She picked up her mug, chugged the now-cold coffee and grimaced. “Ugh.”

He sniffed a laugh. “Cold coffee is disgusting.”

“I know, but I was looking for one last swallow of warmth before I went outside.”

He frowned. “I have more coffee. Or if you want, I can make you a cup of cocoa before you go.”

She’d turned to leave, but the offer surprised her so much that she stopped. She knew that deep down inside Ricky Langley was a nice guy. And maybe he’d offered her cocoa because he didn’t want her to go. Maybe, if she stayed, he’d open up to her.

She faced him with a cautious smile. “I like cocoa.”

“Good.”

He led her to his compact kitchen and pressed a button. The appliance garage door rose and a shiny stainless steel one-cup coffeemaker appeared. She sighed with appreciation. “It’s beautiful.”

He laughed. “And I happen to have some of the very best cocoa.” He glanced back. “From Switzerland.”

She peered over his shoulder. “Yum.”

The cocoa took seconds to brew. He handed her the mug, then made a cup for himself.

Drink in hand, he pointed toward the seating area in the living room. “No sense standing while we drink this.”

As she followed him, nerves settled in. They’d been going to parties for two weeks, barely speaking except in a crowd of his friends and only discussing general topics. Unless he decided to open up immediately, they had nothing to talk about. No small talk to ease him into confiding.

Sitting on the chair, she noticed that some of the casual sculptures on his end tables and mantel weren’t exactly as “casual” as he displayed them. And most were works from some of Olivia’s clients.

She smiled. Something for them to talk about.

“I’m guessing Olivia helped you choose some of your art.”

“She’s persistent.”

“And good at her job.”

He laughed. “Yes.”

She sipped her cocoa. The chocolate flavor that burst on her tongue made her groan. “This is fantastic.”

He nodded, then said, “You and Olivia must be very close.”

“That’s what happens when you share an apartment. We’ve been together since university.”

“That’s right. Olivia’s from Kentucky, too.”

“And so is Laura Beth.”

“So you’re like the Three Musketeers?”

She shrugged. “I guess. We’ve gotten each other through some tough times.”

“Your husband’s illness?”

She shook her head and looked down at her cocoa. Hoping he was using talking about her to ease himself into talking about his tragedy, she said, “No. I was alone for that. Although Laura Beth, Olivia and I grew up in the same small town, we ran in different circles. When I went back to university to finish my degree, we found each other.” She peeked up. Not knowing how much of her story Olivia had shared, Eloise cautiously said, “Olivia had had something traumatic happen to her and my experiences seemed to help nurse her back to sanity.”

“She identified with your loss?”

She shook her head. It was good for them to have something to talk about to ease him into sharing his story, but she wouldn’t talk at the expense of Olivia’s privacy. Carefully crafting her answer, she said, “She identified more with being persecuted and abandoned.”

“You were persecuted and abandoned?”

She caught his gaze. If he was going to ease himself in, shouldn’t he have done it by now? Still, he already knew about Wayne. What did it matter to go a step or two further?

“Sort of. My parents disowned me.”

“What?”

“My parents have money. I had rebelled. Embarrassed them by marrying someone so far below their class. So they kicked me out.”

“Oh.”

Great. Now, to him, she wasn’t just a stupid girl. She was a stupid girl who was alone.

Fury with herself rattled through her. She never should have accepted the cocoa.

But she had. And she’d started a story that made her look bad. Again. She was just plain tired of looking bad to him, especially because this part of her problem wasn’t her fault; it was her parents’. And call her prideful, but once, just once, she’d like to look sane to him.

“Even though they’d disowned me, when Wayne died I went home with my tail between my legs, expecting a scolding and probably a time of penance but also expecting to be accepted back. And maybe getting some help with my grief. Some love. But my parents wouldn’t let me in.” She shook her head. “They didn’t even come to the door. A maid told me to leave and never come back.”

He stared at her. “You had told them your husband had died, right?”

“They could not have cared less.” She sighed. “I lost my family because I married a guy I loved when I was too young to realize all the consequences. And every year, especially at Christmas, I mourn the loss. Not just of my husband, but also of my family. Olivia and Laura Beth go home, and I have nowhere to go. No home. It hurt to be rejected. It hurt not having their emotional support. But it’s the aftermath of my mistakes that are killer. Years of loneliness. Years of regret. Getting kicked out of my family means I have no family. I have no one. I am alone.”

She combed her fingers through her hair. She’d gone too far. Said things she didn’t even admit to herself. And he was silent. He wasn’t going to confide, and he didn’t sympathize. He made no move to comfort her. She’d finally vocalized the thing she hadn’t even told Laura Beth and Olivia, and he sat there, saying nothing.

And it all started because she’d been stupid enough to think he would open up to her.

Man, she was a goof. Or she didn’t know very much about men. Or she didn’t know much about rich men. But this guy who so easily found all her secrets, and got her to confess the rest, wasn’t about to tell her anything.

She bounced off her seat. “You know what? Sunday is our cleaning day. I’ve got to get back to the apartment.”

He rose. “Sure.”

He walked to his closet, extracted her coat and helped her into it. “Let me call Norman to drive you.”

She faced him. “Yeah, thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and texted. “He’ll be downstairs in a second.”

“Thanks.”

Horrible awkwardness once again enveloped them as they stood in his entryway, humiliation cascading from her head to her toes. Why would she think he would confide in her? And why did she think he should care about her troubles? He didn’t like her. She was a fake date. He’d helped her with her job search because that was his part of the bargain. Not because he liked her.

And she was an adult. She might not have a family, but she had good friends in Laura Beth and Olivia. Soon she’d have a job. She wasn’t really alone. She was just alone on Christmas.

She sent him her fake smile. “I really appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome...again.”

She winced. “I already said thanks, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. You did.”

Again, the little foyer grew quiet, and she suddenly realized why this awkwardness felt different, stronger. She had no reason to be standing there.

She was such an idiot. Always an idiot.

She turned to the door and, a gentleman, he reached around her to open it.

She slipped outside and headed down the silent, empty hall to the elevator. When would she learn none of this was real?

* * *

Ricky stood in front of the closed door, filled with pain for her. As she’d told him her story, it had taken every ounce of restraint he had not to pull her into his arms and comfort her.

But to what end? He was wounded as badly, if not worse than she was. She needed someone strong, someone whole, to be whole for her, to fill her stocking at Christmas and tell her it didn’t matter that her parents didn’t want her... She had him.

Yearning rose in him. How he wanted to do that. Wanted to give her that. She’d cared for a husband with cancer. She’d nursed him. She’d probably watched him die. Her parents had abandoned her. Rejected her in her hour of need.

Then she’d moved to New York City and found nothing but failure and more rejection.

He understood what it was like to be alone. Still, even in his darkest hours, he knew he could pick up the phone and call his mom and dad.

She had no one. Any scrap of consolation or comfort could fill her. But he didn’t have anything to give. He couldn’t be a boyfriend for real.

So he’d kept his hands at his sides, measured his words, hadn’t given her false hope.

Now he ached for her.

The next day, he went to work carrying the ache, trying to console himself with the reminder that he’d done something good for her when he’d gone the extra mile, brought her to his home and sent out her résumé. But it didn’t work. The ache stayed with him. It sometimes even nudged aside the guilt he felt over Blake’s death.

Somebody, somewhere had to really help this woman. Not just be a roommate or listen to her troubles, but do something tangible. And finding her a job suddenly seemed like the salvation she needed and also the way for him to feel better.

His secretary came into his office with that day’s mail. “Good morning, Mr. Langley.”

“Just set the mail on my desk—”

He stopped himself. He knew he was upset about Eloise, but that had sounded gruff and rude.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Halfway to the door, Janey paused. Peered back at him. “It’s fine.”

“No. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just that I had a weird weekend.”

She took the few paces that brought her to his desk. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Why?”

She shook her head. “You’ve never said you were sorry before.” She smiled. “Never mind. Not important.”

She left the room, and he didn’t think anything of it until his personal assistant forgot to ship his mother’s Christmas gift and he exploded. “It’s Christmas season! Holiday mail is a mess. It takes weeks to get a parcel delivered. You can’t—”

Thoughts of Eloise rumbled through him. Her parents wouldn’t even accept gifts from her. He had parents who loved him. They not only loved his presents; they sent him presents also. They wanted him home for Christmas. They wanted him home anytime. Any day. It was his own sadness and guilt that kept him away.

Why was he shouting over something so trivial?

He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sure if you get it out today, it will be fine.”

David, his gray-haired assistant, nodded. “Okay. I’ll get right on it.”

“Great.”

David started toward the door but stopped and turned around. “You didn’t need to apologize. I don’t take it personally when you yell. I know that’s how you are.”

“How I am?”

“Sometimes you talk loud. I’m accustomed to it. It doesn’t bother me.”

David left his office. Ricky walked to the window and blew his breath out on a sigh.

Sometimes he talked loud?

Sheesh. Was he a grouch? A Grinch? Somebody who yelled so much people thought it abnormal when he didn’t?

Thoughts of Eloise shamed him. She was alone, yet never once had he seen her bite anyone’s head off. Even when they’d argued after his frat party, she’d been reasonable.

He sighed. He didn’t like discovering he was a grouch. Especially because he wasn’t. He was sad about his son. Lonely for his son. And everyone understood that.

He sat down and squeezed his eyes shut. He remembered Blake’s one and only Christmas. He could hear the sound of his little boy’s laugh. See wrapping paper strewn on the floor. Remember the way Blake loved cookies, chattered nonsensical baby words with Ricky’s mom, sat on his dad’s lap.

He swallowed.

If he was grouchy with his staff over missing Blake, over feeling guilty about Blake’s death, he had a right. Even his staff knew that.

Feeling sorry for a woman he barely knew? It didn’t make sense. Her making him feel bad for something he had no right to be guilty about? Well, that didn’t make any sense either. Why should a woman he barely knew affect him like this?

He had to fix it. The best way would be to get his relationship with Eloise back to where it was supposed to be.

A deal.

Not a friendship, and certainly not a romance.

Simply a deal.

* * *

He didn’t hear anything from the CEOs he’d sent her résumé to, and by Wednesday that bothered him. Once he got her a job, everything between them would balance out, and they could go back to being strangers pretending to date. So no response annoyed him. Still, his friends might not have called him because she was the one who wanted the job.

Given that it was Wednesday, the day before their next party—so he needed to call her with the information about that weekend’s events—he picked up his phone. He wouldn’t interrogate her, but if the subject of interviews came up, he wouldn’t waste it.

“I wanted to let you know that Thursday’s party is formal again.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

He winced, waiting for her to mention if she’d gotten calls from his friends, if she’d gotten interviews. When twenty seconds passed in silence, he sighed. “You didn’t hear from my friends, did you?”

“No.”

“Which means you didn’t get a job.”

“Nope.”

Annoyance with his friends buffeted him. But sorrow for her sneaked in there too. This woman could not get a break. Still, he had troubles of his own. Guilt of his own. Shame of his own. A baby boy he missed so much sometimes his chest ached. He had enough trouble without getting involved with her and her problems. He had to help her find a job, but he couldn’t get personally involved.

Needing to get them back to their deal and get himself out of this conversation, he said, “Even if someone hires you, the deal is twelve dates for a job. Not you get a job, then you quit.” He grimaced, even more frustrated with himself. In trying to keep his distance, he’d made himself look like a grizzly bear. “I didn’t mean that to sound as grouchy as it did.”

She sighed. “I know.”

He grimaced again. He almost told her how he’d noticed ten thousand times in the past three days how surly he was. How difficult he was to deal with. He knew it was the result of losing a child. And suddenly, he longed to tell someone. To share his pain. Or maybe he longed to tell her because he knew she’d understand?

But all he said was, “Good.”

“So you want me to wear a gown.”

“Yes.” He paused. “Do you want me to make follow-up calls with the guys I sent your résumé to?”

“You can do that?”

“They are my friends. But they also owe me.”

Silence greeted him. Finally she said, “Although I appreciate the offer, I still have some pride. I’d like to get a job based on my qualifications.”

“You really don’t have many.”

“Thanks.”

Damn it. He might not want to confide in her, but there was no reason to hurt her. He slapped his desk. “See? There I go again. I have no filter on my tongue when it comes to business, and sometimes I’m just a little too honest.”

“I think your honesty is your best quality.”

He winced. “Tell my employees that.”

“Why do you think your friends come to you for advice?”

“Because I tell them the truth?”

“Sometimes brutally.”

He laughed, then marveled that he’d laughed even though he continually said the wrong thing. Even though he couldn’t stop thinking about Blake. Even though he had guilt that swallowed him whole some days, she kept making him laugh and he kept making her miserable. “Let me call my friends.”

“No. I don’t want to be that girl in the office who only got her job because of her boyfriend. It’s why I didn’t want a job from you. I can’t be the girl in the office who only got her job because her boyfriend pulled strings.”

It wasn’t so much what she said but how she said it that caused him to shake his head. “It’s been a long time since anybody called me a boyfriend.”

“Fake or not, that’s what you are.” She settled onto the wide sill of her living room window, wishing, like Binnie Margolis, for snow. Laura Beth was out. Olivia was in Kentucky. Christmas was getting close. Telling her story to Ricky on Sunday morning had pounded home the fact that she’d soon be facing another holiday by herself, without even a blanket of snow to make her feel cozy in her empty apartment with her eighteen-inch plastic tree and the cookies Olivia’s mom would mail to her.

She swallowed. Desperate to get her mind off her troubles, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “So how was your day?”

He sniffed. “Same. Kinda boring.”

“Really? Rich wheeler-dealer like you has boring days?”

He hesitated, as if he really didn’t want to talk anymore, but he said, “It was fun when I started out. Now things are routine.”

“Maybe you need a new venture.”

“A new venture?”

“You know. Instead of writing new video games, invent a different kind of microwave popcorn. Try taking that to market. I’ll bet you’ll meet some challenges.”