Page 16 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

“Oh, Mari,” Hazel said, patting my back. “It’ll be all right.”

I looked up, sighing. “What are the odds that he didn’t influence her sudden change of mind?”

Hazel opened her mouth to speak and then clamped it shut.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I frowned. “They obviously know each other well, and not just in a shop owner/employee relation. He called herJanie… and she trusts him to drive her?”

“And apparently he talked to her about you,” Hazel said thoughtfully. “I wonder what was said. Like, did he share that you were romantically involved or just keep things vague …”

My heart gave a little pang then at the words “romantically involved.” I was trying so hard to not think of him that way at all, even in a past sense. I couldn’t get distracted by those kinds of thoughts. I couldn’t afford to, because distract me they would. It took me far too long for Mariana LaBelle to get over him all those years ago, and Mariana Northam definitely didn’t have time for that. I didn’tdoemotional excess.

Then why did I feel like crying?

Surely it’s because I felt like the Christmas village was slipping through my fingers. “Is Terry working against me on this? If he has her ear … well, this whole thing could be doomed.” I didn’t know whether to sob or scream. But I couldn’t do either. That wasn’t me. I cleared my throat. “Let’s call a strategy meeting Friday with Jeff, Janine, everyone. You can call in remotely—”

“Woah, woah. It’s a holiday weekend, remember? Give everyone a chance to rest for a few days. Giveyourselfa break, Mari,” my best friend said.

My brow furrowed. I didn’t want her to be right, but … ugh, I suppose she was. This would have to wait because of the stupid holiday.

OK, I didn’t hate Thanksgiving. True, I didn’t love it either. And this time, it stood between me and my goals. I’d spend it alone, probably working or reading.

But I didn’t hate Thanksgiving.

Chapter 6

Idecided I hate Thanksgiving.

Turkey was good, I guess. I usually spent the holiday alone, like most holidays. And that was fine because I was introverted, I’d been doing it a long time, and I liked my own company, usually.

But tonight, not so much.

I wasn't an eggnog person, despite being a fan of Christmas. There’s just something about it that’s gross to me. But last year, Hazel made me go to a Christmas party that was dreadful—there was nothing Christmas about it, unfortunately—and I’d been so bored that I’d tried spiked eggnog. It was a revelation. So different from plain eggnog.

Tonight, I stupidly poured myself a glass of eggnog and brandy. Not a little shot glass, but a big drinking glass. It tasted so good, so sweet and smooth, that I didn’t realize I was … well, let’s just say imbibing a little too much, too fast.

Certainly I was plenty old enough to know my limits with alcohol, but the truth was, I didn’t drink that much, either in quantity or in frequency. Booze had a tendency to loosen lips and bring forth emotions out of nowhere, making me feel like the old Mariana. No thank you.

So, I was pretty damn angry at myself when I realized how drunk I was only three-quarters of the way through the glass.

I would blame it on the damn rom-com movie that was distracting me. It was noPretty Woman, but it was cute and had me occasionally laughing out loud, which I didn’t often do when watching movies or reading fiction.

Well, I didn’t watch movies or read fiction very often. Why would I? It didn’t further my goals at all. And those activities were all about eliciting emotions. So, not my thing. But occasionally I’d indulge because … everything in moderation, right? Plus, I had to be reasonably conversant in the latest pop culture, such as movies, so I could relate with my guests, who were often well-read and well-traveled. Some of them were even well-known authors, actors, or other important people. I even had some A-list visitors from time to time. I couldn’t afford to be totally ignorant about the things most people cared about.

This movie was a typical will-they-won’t-they, and I got hooked immediately.

So, yeah, self-control fail tonight.

To make matters worse, just when the on-screen couple were finally about to kiss, my buzzer sounded.

I groaned. Who the hell was at the door? I’d told the staff I was taking the night off.

I opened the door slowly, being careful to project my usual air of authority so they wouldn’t suspect I was well and truly intoxicated. A tall, barely dressed woman stood at the door. She was gorgeous, but she looked pissed. “Can I help you?” I asked.

“Yeah, I was told to come here, you’re the boss or something, right?” She chewed her bottom lip. She looked kind of familiar, actually.

“Who told you—never mind, doesn’t matter.” I’d find out later. She must be someone important. “Yes, I’m the owner, Mariana Northam. What can I do for you?”

“Stacy. Immers. So, my boyfriend, well, myex—”She rolled her eyes.

---