“Holly,” Bertram began, “I apologize for not speaking to you sooner. This was an unexpected development.” He smiled at his son. “Brandon will be in town through the holidays,” he said, as if relieved.
I’d gotten the feeling from some things Lauren had said over the years that Brandon, like me, struggled with what was supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year. Oh, had it ever been, once upon a time. It made sense Brandon found the season difficult. He had, after all, endured a front-row seat to the unimaginable. Again, not thinking about it. At least not here.
“With that said”—Bertram focused back on me—“while Brandon is in town, I would like you to work with him. He’ll be taking on some of Marisol’s accounts. And no one knows those accounts better than you.” He took a breath and leaned forward. “Holly, you are the best BDR we’ve ever had. No one gets in the door like you. Your research skills and tenacity are second to none and have helped us close more deals than I can count.” He was doing his best to butter me up.
I had no words, so I just stared at Bertram blankly, doing my absolute best not to look at Brandon. I couldn’t believe he was on board with this madness, even as temporary as it might be. He hated me as much as I hated him. I was a gray sprinkle in his rainbow world, after all.
“I realize this might be difficult for you, Holly.” Bertram’s gaze drifted between Brandon and me. “I’m not sure what happened between the two of you, and I don’t need to know. What I do know is you’ll make a good team. I expect nothing short of excellence from this partnership. And thiswillbe a partnership. Any deals closed by the end of the year will result in a fifty-fifty commission split.”
My breath caught in my chest. Fifty percent split? Was this real? That could mean some serious money for me, like the kind of money I needed to pay off all the debt accrued from Dad’s rehab stays. I braved a peek at Brandon to see if he was livid about this. Account executives usually shared very little of their commissions with their BDRs.
Brandon was ready for my gaze, seemingly unfazed by this bombshell. In fact, he offered me a small smile. That’s when I knew this—the note, the smile, the commission—was probably some sort of setup so he could torment me. I so had his number. But one thing Brandon didn’t know was everything I had been through. What he had done to me had nothing on what life had thrown my way, so I would put up with him for the next month or so and take every cent I could get of his commissions.
And maybe—just maybe—with a little luck, we would close enough deals that I could quit and never have to see my annoying coworker, my brother’s best friend, and the first boy who kissed me ever again.
Now if I could just stop running into my gynecologist at the grocery store.
BRANDON
I SET MY LUGGAGE DOWN, paused on my parents’ wraparound porch, and took a moment to look next door at the St. Jameses’ old house. Snow blanketed the large stone-and-brick home with its signature long flagstone driveway. It hadn’t changed much in the last several years since the St. Jameses had moved out, except the trees had gotten taller and the new owners had replaced the deck out back.
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my long wool coat and blew out a large breath that floated in the blustery night air. I was no longer used to Colorado winters. It had been years since I’d come home to Castle Pine Village, and never during the holidays. I knew it broke my parents’ hearts, and that was the last thing I wanted to do, but my greatest and worst memories lived here in these two houses. I’d done my best over the years to run from them, but somehow, no matter where I lived, they always caught up to me. I was tired of running. Tired of barely being able to say my best friend’s name out loud. It was time to face the memories.
Christian St. James was more than my best friend—he was my brother. We did everything together growing up. There wasn’t a day that went by I didn’t think about him. I was still angry at him for dying. Why couldn’t the idiot stop messing around on the skislopes that day? Why didn’t I stop him from drinking those beers he’d become too fond of? These were the questions that had haunted me for the last thirteen years. Watching him take his last breaths after hitting that damn tree and having to tell his parents and Holly that he’d died while I was holding his hand were the hardest things I ever had to do. Second to those was watching the St. James family fall apart, feeling like it was my fault.
Other thoughts bombarded me—Holly. Always Holly. The girl who had fascinated me since I was ten years old and I’d thought she was Snow White come to life with her ebony hair, flawless, creamy skin, red-rose lips, and ice-blue eyes. As I’d watched her grow from girl to woman, she only grew lovelier, captivating the hell out of me. But Christian had always warned me she was off-limits. For good reason. It’s not like I was Prince Charming in high school. But neither was he, and that, more than anything, made him overprotective of Holly.
I should have known better and just stayed away from her. But when you want something you can’t have so badly, you do things you regret. Things like kissing the girl you’re in love with on her sweet sixteen and then making her believe it meant nothing. I had no idea Christian had seen us. When he confronted me, he was livid enough to sucker punch me in the gut. I couldn’t breathe for a good thirty seconds. While trying to catch my breath, I thought up the only lie I could to save our friendship. I told him someone had dared me to do it. It was partially true. I’d been daring myself for months to kiss Holly. My excuse didn’t impress Christian, though. He punched me again. I deserved it. But the lie saved our friendship, the most important relationship to me at the time.
I leaned against the porch railing, berating myself for hurting Holly and not having the courage to tell her the truth about that night and for promising Christian I would never look at her again, let alone touch her. Mistakenly, I thought I would go to college, forget about her easily, and move on with my life. But there was no forgetting the girl who wrote me notes, cleverly hateful as they could sometimes be, and set my world on fire with her very first kiss.
I probably should have let that doofus Kyle Morgan kiss her that night, but the thought of him kissing her had me wanting to swing agolf club at his head. Never had I felt that kind of jealousy. I couldn’t let him be Holly’s first kiss.
The front door, already adorned with a Christmas wreath, opened, and Mom peeked her head out. “Hi, honey,” she choked out. “Do you want to come in?” she asked, like she wasn’t sure of my answer.
It killed me she had to wonder. I should have come home sooner. Normally when I came into town, I just stayed in a hotel, but it was time for me to face the music. Some of it was my own composition; some of it Christian had written and left unfinished. It was still hard to believe he’d exited before we even got to the best part of the song. We’d had so many plans that included backpacking through Europe, being the best man at each other’s weddings, and buying houses next door to each other.
“Hey, Mom.” I grabbed my luggage, walked into my childhood home, and deposited my suitcases on the pristine wood floors before wrapping my arms around the best woman in the world. I couldn’t help but smile at Mom, who wore an elegant wrap dress covered in a frilly apron. She styled her blonde hair in a chignon and wore heels, even though I knew she was prepping Thanksgiving dinner for the next day. It was just her way. Dad and I teased her about it, but we loved her just the same. No one had style like Lauren Cassidy.
Mom sank into me, holding on for dear life. “Welcome home,” her voice trembled.
I held on to her as tight as I could while glancing around at the foyer and the sweeping staircase. It looked like Mom had gotten a new wrought-iron chandelier and had replaced the flooring and staircase with maple wood. In the twenty-five years since we’d moved in, she’d probably renovated half a dozen times. “The house looks good,” I commented, but all I could see was Christian, Holly, and me running up and down the stairs, always in a hurry to get into some sort of trouble. The ghosts of our past were ready to haunt me like I knew they would. And whether I was ready or not, I was determined to face them.
She leaned away and patted my cheek. “It looks better now that you’re home.”
I smiled, knowing how much she meant that. “Where’s Dad?” Ithought he would have beaten me home from the office since I’d had to take an overseas call with a company I’d been working with.
“He stopped at the store to get some heavy whipping cream for me. I’m not sure I bought enough to make homemade whipped cream for the pies tomorrow,” she fretted. “He’s also grabbing dinner from that Italian place you like.”
I had no doubt my mother had bought plenty of heavy whipping cream. She always bought enough food to feed an army. I was sure Dad knew that too. But I also knew my dad would do anything she asked, even if it meant braving the grocery store the night before Thanksgiving on a fool’s errand.
“That sounds great. Can I help with anything?” I admit to wanting to delay entering my old room. Too many memories of Christian and Holly lived there.
“You’re just in time to help me make orange roll dough.”
Mom was famous for her orange rolls and for her hospitality. She and Dad invited anyone at the office who didn’t have a place to go for Thanksgiving. Which meant tomorrow we would dine with at least a dozen coworkers, along with extended family members.
“I’d love to help.” I shed my coat and placed it on the bench in the foyer.