Page 38 of Mistletoe Face Off

Stephen stands over me and immediately slaps a piece of paper down on my desk in front of me. “I've got a lead for you on the Harrison Clarke story. A solid one. Don't ask me how I got it, but you're going to want to hear this guy out.”

“And hello to you, too,” Selena mumbles into her coffee.

If Stephen hears her, he doesn't react.

I pick the piece of paper up he’s unceremoniously slapped down and read the name.Donald Mitchell.“Thanks. I'll get onto it straight away.”

“Good.” He doesn't move.

“Was there something else?” I ask tentatively.

“What are you waiting for? Jump to it,” he instructs.

“Sure thing.”

Selena and I share a look before I pull out my phone and start to dial the number, pushing all thoughts of Harrison Clarkebeing a nice guy in nothing but an apron with a bowl of frosting in his hands to the back of my head. Apparently he has a past, and it’s my job as a journalist to find out what it is.

“Hello?” says a voice at the other end of the line.

“Hi. Is this Mr. Mitchell?”

“Who wants to know?” is his gruff reply.

“This is Holly Coleman from the Chicago Beacon. My boss, Slip—” I catch myself before I blurt “Slippery Stephen.” Not the time. “Stephen McFarland gave me your contact details.”

“Oh yeah. That jerk,” he replies.

I can neither confirm nor deny whether Stephen is a jerk. Not to a potential source, anyway.

“I was hoping we might be able to have a chat about Harrison Clarke. I understand you have some information that I might find useful for a story I’m currently researching.”

“Yeah, I do, but I’ll only talk to you in person. This is sensitive information. I'm only talking to you because you're the one who gets into all those arguments with him, right?”

Guilt worms its way across my chest, but I ignore it. I don't owe Harrison Clarke anything. Sure, things might have got a little flirty between us last night, but I wouldn't be doing my job as a journalist if I let something like a brief flirtation come between me and a story—particularly not a story that could lead to the promotion I want so badly.

“That's me. Just tell me where you want to meet, Mr. Mitchell, and I'll be there.”

“I’m not back in the city until next Friday. How’s 6:00PM?”

I’ll have to hope Mom can sit Macy. “I can do that.”

“I’ll meet you at Paddy’s Irish Bar on Charleston Street,” he replies, naming a bar in a less salubrious end of town.

“No problem. I'll be there,” I reply, thankful there's no Blizzard Christmas event on that night, and hoping Mom is free to sit for Macy. Which will mean I can spend as much timeas I need with this Mr. Mitchell and his story about Harrison Clarke’s past.

Chapter Nine

Holly

Later that afternoon I pick up an excited Macy from school on our way to meet Harrison at the Caulfield Skating Rink.

“How was your day, honey?” I ask as we inch along the street in heavy school traffic.

“Mrs. Barouche told me I'm doing so well in reading that she's moved me up into another reading group.”

“Oh, honey! That's wonderful news.” I look at her reflection in the rearview mirror to see her beaming with pride. “You know what I think that deserves?”

“Mac and cheese for dinner?” she asks hopefully.

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