Page 2 of Faking With Mr. Steele

“You’re welcome,” I tell him before I’m called away to deal with a disgruntled mother wrestling a toddler. Five minutes later, when she’s finally appeased with a free cookie coupon, the handsome stranger is gone.

“Hope they have a backup for tomorrow,” Jenna says, as we collect our handbags from the secret door behind the fauxfireplace. “Don’t want to have to deal with that again.”

Luckily, I won’t have to, since today is my last day. And where does my future take me? Into the mountains. It’s a career opportunity, one I set up long before the pink slip was handed to me. If I can convince the owner of Mountain Goat Cabins to put my soaps in his resort and spa, my life just might be salvaged. Along with my Christmas spirit.

“Have a merry Christmas,” I tell her.

I make a quick pit stop in the bathroom to switch my elf attire for a pink sweater, black leggings, and boots before leaving the cacophony of the mall for a quiet drive to the resort. I need to hurry if I’m going to beat the snow. It’s expected to be a heavy snowfall tonight, and I want to make sure I have a stiff drink in my hand while I prepare my notes.

After nearly an hour, I arrive.Your destination is on the right,my GPS tells me, as if I could miss it.

“Holy balls,” I murmur to myself, as I pull into the large parking lot. Pictures on the internet really don’t do this place justice. It’s like a Christmas village for millionaires snuggled in the picturesque Colorado mountains. I grab my bag and hustle into the lobby of the monstrous snow topped log building that’s strung with enough lights to make Clark Griswold look like an amateur.

A cheery worker with a blonde bob, wearing a black button down, greets me at the front desk.

After a few types on her keyboard, she hands me a key card, along with details about free breakfast and directions to my cabin. ‘Cabin’ is a bit of an understatement; it’s bigger than my apartment. I waltz through the living area filled with woodaccented leather furniture, back to the master suite, complete with a fireplace.

Before I trek back to the lounge for a drink, I peek in the oversized bathroom to check out the competition. Average at best toiletries sit in a wicker basket on the countertop. This place needs something more luxurious.

Feeling a little more confident, visions of dollar signs dance in my head when I step into the lounge of the Mountain Goat. A large, roaring fire blazes in the stone fireplace in the front of the lounge. An oak bar sits behind a Christmas tree that almost touches the top of the cathedral ceilings. It’s decked out in gold and red, and it warms me up on this dreary evening.

My hopes don’t falter though, if I can land this account, my entrepreneurial dreams will come true. I’ve done my research, and there are one hundred cabins rented out year-round, and I figure, at least half of the vacationers will steal the bars of soap and tubes of lotions I make, so Serendipity Soaps will potentially be nationwide.

I beeline for the bar stretching along the back wall. The television behind the liquor plays the LGC shopping channel, and I spot cute red knee-high boots I’d love to buy if I had the money to splurge this holiday. Soon boots soon.

“What can I get you?” the tall, blonde bartender asks as I turn away from the TV and settle onto a wooden stool.

“Vodka and cranberry,” I order my forever drink of choice, with no need to even think about it.

“Just what I pegged you for,” he says with a wink.

He’s cute, and he’s totally flirting with me, but I’m not sure what that means. If I were to be a drink, I’d much rather be something exciting like sex on the beach. His blue eyes flit back to me as he pours my alcohol. Well now I want to change my drink to something less mainstream, but before I can, he brings it over.

“What’s your cabin number?”

I’m used to forward men, but I didn’t even get to taste the drink before he’s trying to get in my panties.

“Oh, well, um,” I stammer, glancing at his name tag, “Brian, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for anything besides the drink.”

“I think he wants to charge your cabin for the drink,” a deep voice interjects.

“You can pay cash if you don’t want me charging the room,” Brian clarifies.

“No, it’s fine.” My cheeks redden. “Cabin twelve.” I turn away to hide my embarrassment, and my eyes collide with the mall stranger from a few hours earlier.

Recognition crosses his features, and he half-smiles. “The jaded elf?” he asks with a raised brow.

“Just an off day,” I tell him. “Normally, I love Christmas.”

“I don’t.” He takes a seat beside me.

“Didn’t get that official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle?”

“Impressive, but no.”

“Then why do you hate it?”

He signals Brian for a drink, then looks over at me with a grin. “Because I just recently found out Santa isn’t real.”

---