Have we got a treat for you in honor of Bingeaduckia! The authors of the Suite 606 anthology have put together a special Christmas-themed round robin story for our enjoyment (and amusement!). And none other than the Grand Dame herself, the Ms. Nora Roberts is kicking off the fun. Readers, it’s our job to continue the story in the comments section. The Suite 606 ladies will also drop by from time to time and help us along with the story if we get “stuck.” Enjoy!
Carrie Littleton sat through a red light for the third time and snarled at the Douglas Fir strapped to the roof of the Toyota Camry in front of her.
She hated Christmas.
The day was one thing, but when the stupid holiday started before the last turkey croquette from the left-over fowl was regretfully ingested it was too damn much.
The holidays meant blasts of Jingle Bells and Rudolph on every trip to the market, Santas on street corner ringing their bell until she wanted to grab it away from their white gloved hand and smack them over their red-capped head with it. The holidays equaled the mass hysteria of shopping in malls log-jammed with people, kids screaming while their parents pushed them into the lap of some weird guy in a Santa suit and traffic that kept the one sane person left in the metropolitan area from getting into the stupid mall in the first place.
Now she was going to be late. She probably wouldn’t get the job, and her fledgling PR firm would sink like a stone. She’d lose her adorable little apartment, be forced to move back home with her parents and have to listen–again–to everyone’s murmured sympathies.
Carrie Littleton, a failure at twenty-seven. And why? Because the man she’d loved and believed in, the man she’d planned to marry on Christmas Eve one year ago had not only left her flat, but flat broke. She had every right to hate Christmas.
Her sharp blue eyes narrowed as the light changed. “Come on, come on, get that damn dead tree through the light. I haven’t got all day.”
Calm down, she ordered herself. Nobody wanted to hire a crazed PR rep. She’d managed to keep her business afloat–barely–after Derrick’s betrayal. She could manage to get into the mall parking lot, walk into the sea of holiday shoppers and keep her appointment with Joseph O’Malley. She’d charm, dazzle and persuade him to hire her, and all would be well. In a few weeks, Christmas would be over. She’d have gotten through a full year since the detestable Derrick.
At last she inched through the light and followed the river of cars into Youngstown Mall. She just needed a break, just one break–and she’d take an empty parking slot as a sign from God. Ignoring the enormous wreaths, the miles of glittery garland, the acres of red ribbons adorning the sprawl of shops ,she began the hunt. With just a little luck, she could still make it on time, impress O’Malley with her presentation–one she’d worked on for days–and justify all the hard work, the lonely nights, the decision to strike out on her own. She went over her pitch again as she drove up and down the packed aisles , and smoothed her hand over her hair to make sure it remained in a perfect and sleek professional chignon.
Then she saw it, like a beacon in a storm, between a red pick-up and a minivan. An empty spot. Nirvana. She pumped the gas, letting out a cheer as she swung into the space.
He came out of nowhere, in his bright red suit. She had an instant to register chocolate brown eyes widening in shock, and the fact that Santa was tall and lean, and minus the beard had a chiseled chin. She slammed the brakes as he jumped to the side. But physics was against them. She felt the thump as her bumper caught him, and he went down like, well, a Christmas tree under the axe.
Her heart tumbled in her chest as she sat for one frozen moment. She’d just run over Santa Claus.
Oh no, she’d just run over Santa! What kind of person runs over Santa? The kind of person to be hated world over. “I’ll never get that job now,” Carrie wailed. “Santa Killer!”
Hold on, wait a minute. She didn’t really hit Santa. Santa’s much chubbier than that guy. Carrie willed her breathing to slow down and to calmly think.
Well one fact remained. Carrie needed to land this job. Dead Santa or no, that came first.
Time to hide the body.
Only when Carrie stepped out of the car, slinging her laptop case over her shoulder with every intention of bolting the scene if “Santa” was anything less than mortally wounded, she slips in the slush and lands squarely on her back. Her clothes, hair, and laptop are all crushed under her in the wet, dirty, COLD muck.
She just lays there, stunned for a second, groaning, almost crying. Then she hears a deep voice ask…
“Have you LOST your MIND?! You can’t drive like that in these conditions! Hey, wait, where are you?”
Carrie glances to her right and, from her vantage point flat on her back, sees red-clad legs and booted feet on the other side of her car. It was obvious “Santa” was okay and Carrie wondered what it was she hit.
Must have been his gift bag, she idly thinks as she calculates how much it will cost to move back in with her family. Surely the job opportunity was lost now. Plus she couldn’t see a new client wearing a whole parking lot of goo and her presentation was now only so much wet circuit boards. To her mortification, she starts crying.
The booted feet near her and the deep voice says, “Whoa! Hey, are you okay? Did the car hit you too?” A hand reaches out and grabs her up. “I came out here to change for a business meeting with a new PR rep after volunteering at the SPCA booth in the mall,” he rambles on, picking up her bag, brushing her coat off. “First a dog pisses on my boot. Then a cat scratches the crap out of my arm. Now the leftover gifts are smashed and I have a crying woman on my… hands…”
Carrie realizes “Santa” has slowly stopped talking as he at last runs out of adrenaline and words and is peering intently at her. She also realizes that the man she just plowed over is/was her appointment. She starts to ask if he is Joe O’Malley, but it dawns on her just how bad the whole scene is. She has no idea what to do.
Carrie tries to steady herself, realizing the man’s hand is still resting on her coat to keep her standing. She was better than this. She’d survived Derrick, she could survive some muck . . . and running over her client. Maybe. It would be easier to stop crying if she didn’t have to listen to a tinny version of a Christmas carol being pumped out of the mall loudspeakers. Santa, a carol, mucky snow. And she thought this meeting would keep her out of the black. Instead it was a string of everything she hated about the holiday.
At least she was no longer crying. Just sniffling, really.
“Is my laptop okay?” she asked the man. He blinked at her and his face was quite close to hers. She hadn’t realized how close until she calmed down. Santa looked much better with a little bit of stubble rather than a bushy white beard.
Without meaning to, she reached up and brushed a hand over the stubble. It tickled just like she knew it would and when she heard the sharp intake of breath, her eyes darted back to his face.
“I’m sorry,” she said, scrambling to find a reason for why she thought it was okay to touch this gorgeous man’s face. “You had something right, umm, there” she finished lamely, pointing up toward his chin.
He stood up to his impressive full height and peered down at her. “Are you really okay ma’am? I mean, it looks like you hit the ground pretty hard. Can you tell me who you are?”
Carrie took a deep breath and finished wiping the muck off of her clothes. After clearing her throat, she finally raised her gaze back to his face and answered, “Yes, I’m the crazy lady that ran you over.”
She offered him her hand – the one she’d touched him with – “Also known as Carrie Littleton. Sorry about that. I was just so excited there was an empty space. I was already late for an appointment.”
Years of working in PR kept her from sounding like a babbling idiot. No need to keep convincing the man of her insanity.
“Carrie Littleton?” he repeated. She didn’t know him well enough to decode his expression, but for an instant she wanted to. His eyebrows moved independently of each other, something she previously believed took hours with a mirror to manage. On him it looked natural.
“It has a better ring to it than crazy lady, doesn’t it? And you are? I should know the name of the man I tried to kill.”
Green eyes stared down at her. Eyes a girl would love to see in her bed every night.
Carrie shook her head. None that when a stupid holiday disaster just pitched her business down the toilet. And she didn’t need another Derrick debacle. She took a deep breath. “I mean, I didn’t really try to kill you –”
Santa cut her off. “Do you know how to cook?”
She blinked, not sure she heard him right. “Cook?” Well, yes, I know how.
But what –”
He cut her off again. Santa needed polite lessons.
“Good, ” he said as he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the mall. “I need a favor and you owe me one for that little accident back there.”
Instead of a dead Santa, she had a nut-case St. Nick on her hands. “Wait!”
“Don’t have time,” he called back to her. “You’re going to help me out, Ms. Littleton, no questions asked.”
Carrie ‘s resistance at Santa’s hold on her deflated and she stumbled along behind him, but still somehow through her confusion enjoyed the play of his butt through the sway of the red getup he wore.
Joseph O’Malley. O’Malley’s Bar & Grille. Oh, no. The feeling she’d just landed in a boatload of trouble took a slow jaunt over her body. He seemed to have more in mind than her presentation.
Carrie let herself be dragged into the mall to the restaurant. Wet, slushy mud ran down her back and she could feel her hair dripping down her neck, but she followed him without saying a word.
Once in the restaurant, Joseph led her back into the kitchen and stopped. Instead of a busy, bustling kitchen, it was dead.
“My chef quit. I need someone to cover the dinner portion for today until I can hire another one.”
Carrie’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“Excuse me? I mean, I said I can cook, but I’m no chef.”
“Lady, at this point I don’t really care. My chef quit and you almost killed me. You’re lucky this is all I want from you.”
Carrie tried to remember everything she knew about restaurants. She took her niece to see Ratatouille when it was in theaters however long ago. She hated the Food Network. She hoped Joseph’s customers liked chicken. “Er, what kind of food are you expecting me to make?”
“Pub-style. Steaks, burgers, fries, that kind of thing. The sous chef should be here in a half hour; she can help you out.”
Steak. Okay. You just had to stick that in the oven, Carrie thought. That didn’t sound too fancy.
Why was she seriously considering this? The man was perfectly fine. She doubted he planned to pay her for the work if she did cook dinner. While she still had time she should be trying to line-up a new client, not obeying the whim of an attractive bar owner.
It suddenly occurred to Carrie this bar owner should know how to cook too. It’s his place, right?
“What will you be doing?” she asked him.
That green stare honed in on her once again. She felt her knees wobble just the tiniest bit.
“I’ll be out front,” he told her.
“You’re not going to help?” Her voice rose to a squeak at the end of her question. Clearing her throat, she tried a different tack. “You know more about this kitchen and your menu. I’ll be happy to help, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to do this alone, even for a half hour.”
Was that a blush creeping up the column of his neck? She narrowed her eyes at him and stepped around the large granite cooking island to stand nearly chest to chest with the man. His scent distracted her for a moment.
“I don’t cook.”
*snicker* this has nothing to do with the story, but I just realized his eyes changed from chocolate brown to green. Contacts? 😀
LOL, that’s why we have proofreaders! No, that was my fault. I didn’t remember chocolate brown!
Or maybe they’re hazel and change colors with his mood? 🙂 I’m liking the story so far. Here’s hoping more people participate or I might just keep coming back and writing more. 🙂
“Do you have something I can change into? Unless you want melted snow mixed in with all your food.”
He shook his head and stalked from the kitchen. Carrie sighed and pulled the strap of her laptop case over her head; setting it down on the counter and looking around. If she were being completely honest, her cooking skills centered mostly on Lean Cuisine meals she threw in the microwave. The industrial-sized stove with it’s multiple burners was just a bit intimidating. She could wing it…maybe.
“Here.”
Carrie turned in time to catch the clothing tossed at her. She glanced down at the pale yellow polyester blend pants and matching top with a look of disgust
“Seriously? I’d rather continue dripping snow.”
“It’s up to you.”
She weighed the possibility that she could gain him as a client if she helped him out against the possibility that her cooking would kill all his customers, and decided she should not wing this one.
“Look, I’m no cook,” she began.
“No, you’re a poet and don’t know it,” he quipped.
“What?”
“You started the rhyming, not me.”
“This is ridiculous!”
He collapsed against the cooking island and dragged off his Santa hat. “I know.” Running his fingers through his nice head of wavy chestnut hair, he shot her a rueful smile. “I seem to have be a magnet for trouble. First the chef, then you trying to kill me–”
“I didn’t try to kill you! I just ….
“Hey Boss,” A guy with three earrings and a glorious tattoo up his arm, slammed into the room. “How was the Santa gig?”
“Kids were cute, but we got a problem here, Oreo. The chef quite and the sous isn’t in until later. Carrie and I ran into each other,” he glanced at her. — What, he didn’t think she would get the joke? — “She’s stepping in for the time being. Carrie, this is our prep cook, Oreo Black.”
“You been cookin’ long, Carrie?”
Oreo was skeptical, no surprise there. How many cooks showed up in heels and a suit. “Since I was twelve.” That was the truth, that was the first time she tried to make a grilled cheese sandwich. Mom had to throw the pan away. No way would that cheese come off
“Hey, me too. My grandma was the best and I got all her recipes right here.” He tapped his head.
Carrie was in over her head. She tried to talk some sense into Joe but he just kept right on shaking his head at her.
“You owe me,” he kept saying and if she heard him say that one more time, she would run to her car and finish the job she started when she ran him over.
She was so busy imagining Joe’s perfect body underneath her car that she didn’t hear Oreo talking to her. Turning in his direction, she asked, “Excuse me?”
“I’ll be finished up over here in just a few so if you want to get changed, now’s the time to do it. Wouldn’t want to ruin that nice suit you have on.”
Sliding her blazer off, she hung it over the stool and walked toward the door that Oreo was pointed at with his knife. She took but two steps when she heard Joe come back into the kitchen.
Trying once more to reason with him, she said, “Joe, are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do to help out?”
Joe stopped and just looked at her. He stared at her long and hard and when she thought she would go up in flames from the intensity she could see in his eyes, he spoke, “Look,”
Carrie threw a hand up in the air and turned her back on both men. “I know, I know, I owe you.”
Carrie stormed into the side room and pulled on the hideous polyester pants and shirt. Mud and slush already encrusted her nice wool suit; she didn’t need to add grease to the mix. Not to mention she was liable to set herself on fire. The suit would be beyond the help of her drycleaners then.
She peeked out the door. Joe stood several feet away by the kitchen door. Oreo was doing something with some knives and pans somewhat closer to her. “So what are the lady’s qualifications again? I ain’t seen a chef show up in a nice suit before.”
Joseph paused. “I don’t actually know. When I said we ran into each other I meant it literally.”
“It’s only a few weeks ’til Christmas! It’s our busiest time, all those families where the parents are too tired to cook after coralling the kids all day. How do you expect her to handle the load?”
“She’s got to be a better cook than me.”
“Got that right. I thought any idiot could make a grilled cheese before I saw you try.”
Carrie winced.
Love the grilled cheese reference Liviania followed by Carrie’s wince.
But really, how come neither one has thought to let Oreo cook – he has all those recipes in his head….
{interjecting to say, loving the story, and Mary raises a good point}
Carry on!
{Well, now is the perfect chance for Oreo to suggest it to Joseph.}
Carrie let out a deep breath and started back into the kitchen when Oreo’s words stopped her.
“You know, boss, I’ve been chopping and dicing and blending for you for a while now.” He paused as if to gauge how his words would be taken. No response from Joe.
“I’m just gonna be honest, okay?” Joe nodded. “I’m good at what I do. I want this chance to show you that. Let me take over for now.”
Silence ensued over the next interminable minutes. Carrie agreed wholeheartedly. That handsome Santa better know what’s good for him.
He took a few more steps into the kitchen without taking his eyes off of Oreo. She felt for the guy, she’d been on the end of that stare too many times in their short acquaintance.
“Okay, Oreo. Let’s see what you’ve got,” Joe said. “But….”
Way to go Sandy —
For the next three hours Carrie and Joe watched as Oreo churned out one scrumptious looking plate after another. They were both so busy running orders out to tables and fetching for Oreo, that before they knew it the rush was over.
After the pub was empty once again, and all three were sitting around the stainless steel counter in the kitchen [no granite in a commercial kitchen] sipping on a cold drink, they looked at each other and just started chuckling. Before they knew it, they were all three belly-laughing.
Oreo asked, “What are we laughing about?”
“I don’t know,” replied Carrie. “But it feels good.”
Joe gave Carrie a slow, thoughtful look, “So, Carrie. Feel like you know my business well enough now to develop a killer PR program?”
Carrie stopped mid-sip and gave Joe her best “deer in headlights” look…
PR? She’d been so busy bussing tables she’d forgotten why she was there. Thankfully, she was quick on her feet.
“Yeah, I do.”
“And?”
“And that’s all I’m going to say about it for now. I’m going home.”
She finished off her drink and stood up. Joe and Oreo watched her walk away, before glancing at each other and shrugging.
“She forgot to leave her card.”
Oreo chuckled.
“I think after today you couldn’t forget her even if you wanted to.”
“I did tell you she hit me with her car, right?”
Carrie stood over her coffee maker the next morning — blurry eyed and fuzzy-brained and confused by her dish-pan hands.
She couldn’t believe she’d let that unpadded Santa, Joe O’Malley, wrangle her into busing his dishes last night. The humilation alone made them fair and square as far as she was concerned and if he brought up the fact that she owed him for hitting him with her car … by accident … one more time she might have to punch him in the nose.
She took her mug of steaming hot caffaine and head for the bathroom and the shower. Today she’d put on a power play that would make Joe’s head spin. He’d BEG her to take him on as a client he’d be so dazzled by the presentation she planned to pitch him.
She was gunning her inner engines, revving herself up to march into O’Malley’s and knock the owner off his feet when the phone rang ….
“Are you coming to work today or not?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” she said, recognizing Joe’s voice immediately. “But not as your dish washer. I plan to hit you with something new today.”
(Com’on folks, help me out. Don’t leave me hangin’ here.)
She clicked off the phone without waiting for his reply. She didn’t want to listen to the same old guilt-trip “you hit me with a car.”
After working that night she’d had to walk all the way back to the mall to retrieve that car. Joseph could have remembered that he dragged her to the bar. She certainly wasn’t going to walk home – her apartment was in a quieter part of town several miles away.
The aggravating man was lucky her advertising campain wasn’t “O’Malley’s Bar & Grille: Who needs a cook when you’ve got a hot guy in a Santa suit?” It would be hard to put that slogan to music.
He was probably going to want her to run some sort of Christmas campain — how lame was that going to be?
But for the sake of her business she’d put on elf ears herself if only Joe O’Malley would sign on the bottom line as paying client — ‘paying’ being the operative word here.
Holding the “you almost hit me” card over her head would just make it all that much better. Not.
She dressed in the ultimate power suit and made sure she looked smokin’ hot before driving back to Joe’s diner. When she walked in, Joe and Oreo were sitting at one of the tables, coffee mugs sitting in front of them.
“Hello, gentlemen.”
She dropped her attache case on the table and looked at Joe. “How’re the bruises?”
“They’re healing.”
“That’s good. Because you’re going to be busy today.:” She turned to Orea. “You, too.”
At their surprised looks she added, “I was going to lay out my ad campaign. But first things first. On my way in today I overheard the clerks at the Bon Ton saying they had no place to hold their holiday luncheon, so I suggested that O’Malley’s is the hottest place in town, and I could get them in.”
Joe was staring at her in absolute silence.
Carrie decided to ignore him and direct her remarks to Oreo. “How would you feel about turning out fifty blue-plate specials at noon today?”
He couldn’t hide his excitement at the challenge. As he got to his feet she added, “Oh, and the mall owner asked me if I knew anybody who could cater his big holiday party this weekend. I told him I might have somebody in mind.”
Now Joe was on his feet. “You did all this since yesterday?”
She gave him that killer smile. “PR is my specialty, remember?”
“Baby, I could kiss…” Joe managed to curb his enthusiasm when a group of six shoppers hurried in, all of them babbling about ‘the best cook in the hottest restaurant in town.’ He caught Carrie by the arm and whispered, “Stick around. I’ll get back to you in a minute.”
And then he was showing the women to their table, leaving Carrie to suck in a quick breath at the flash of heat that had left her burning at his touch.
“All right.” Joe was back, and the wolfish look in his eyes had the breath backing up in her throat. “I was about to say…”
“Will you help out again tonight?”
“Hey, wait a minute, I want to be your PR Rep not your waitress or hostess girl.”
“Aww come on just one more night, please..? I really think we did a great job last night and you have to admit things went well right?”
“Yeah, they did. But, I only wanted to help out until you hired someone new to replace the chef that quit last night. By the way, why did your chef quit?”
“He only was a fill in until we hire Robert Johnson. Robert is thinking about working for us and until that time I need to cook or convince you to cook. Since I can’t cook and you said you could, please help us out.”
Carrie looked at Joe and said….
“Um, yeah, I don’t think so. Oreo is MORE than able, obviously, and I’m thinking I’d do you much better going out and getting you more business.”
Joe sighed and ran his hands through his hair.
“I had to give it a shot.”
Carrie laughed.
“I know and it was a good one, but I was willing to be free labor for one night only, Mr. O’Malley.”
“Thank you for helping out last night and for getting me more business today. I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass.”
“I understand. It happens. Now, I’m going to pick up my bag and leave.”
She did just that.
Carrie waited until she left the restaurant before hugging her bag to herself and smiling. She gained a client and managed to convince Joe she wasn’t available for random labor.
Plus she’d helped Oreo get the job he deserved. She might have a little Christmas spirit left in her after Derrick.
After relishing the moment Carrie hurried to her car. She needed to write up press releases and connect with some of her contacts. She’d show Joe he made a brilliant decision in hiring her. She may not be the best cook or driver but she knew her business.
Joseph managed some jerk moves, but the guy was under pressure keeping his business going without a cook. The vast majority of restaurants fold within the first year. Of course, Carrie thought she might be giving him a little bit of leeway because of the pleading in his hazel eyes when he begged favors of her. (She’d thought they were brown, then green, but a looking at them today, much calmer than yesterday, she realized they were hazel.)
And why was she pondering her client’s eye color when she needed to get to work? “Focus. Derrick had good looks too and see where that got you. Jilted on Christmas Eve. Joe is just business.”
Nice color change, Liviana. Glad that got covered. 😀
I live for continuity like any good freelance copy editor.
Enjoying this so far!
I had a good chuckle, Liv, when I read the eye color bit last night!
Carrie’s thoughts were filled with all lthe work she had to do, as well as deciding if she should stop at the AP for a box of double sutffed oreos. As she reached her car, and unlocked the door, a hand grabbed her arm.
She turned around to see who it was, and began to slip on a patch of ice. Before she could fall, and sprain her butt, the person who had grabbed her arm in the first place, held onto her in a strong grip. She looked up, and a chill of fear went down her spine.
“Oh no! Why won’t you leave me alone?” She gasped
“Hello, Carrie.”
“Haven’t you done enough already? God, Vince, it’s been a year. You took all my money then. Go away!”
Vince, the man who’d broken her heart and taken her money, tightened his grip on her arm as he leaned closer to her. She glared up at his dark eyes, wondering what on earth she’d seen in him. Now he just gave her the creeps.
“I’m not going away, Carrie.”
“What? The restraining order isn’t good enough for you?”
“Restraining order? Pfft. Carrie, nothing will keep me from you, especially not a measly piece of paper.”
Man, this story is fun! It went from a comedy of errors to a romantic suspense. I blame Katie for the twist. LOL!
Silently reaching into her pocket, Carrie grabs onto her cell phone. Being careful not to alert Derrick to what she’s doing, she punches in 911. Knowing the cops will soon be on their way, she takes a deep breath.
“Seriously, Derrick. You need to get a life. This following me around, dogging my steps is starting to look pathetic.”
Derrick grabs her by the shoulders. “I’ll get a life when I get everything out of you that I want.”
Just as he’s about to backhand her across the face, a strong arm grasps Derrick’s wrist and twists it behind his back.
His name is Vince! LOL!
Or is it Derrick Vince? I’m so confused. 😀
It’s Derrick.