Page 23 of Vixen's Guide to Christmas
Understandable. Probably one of those things guys have easier than women.
Yes. Because we have to do panty math.
Panty math?
Yes. It’s the precise calculation of how many pairs to take, multiplied by the days there, divided by what type we need. And for the ten days I’ll be gone, my total needs to be no less than twenty-five, but now I have to divide those up by style.
Ten days and twenty-five pairs? I hate to get personal, but do you plan on shitting yourself every day you’re there?
Look, you never know. I never have, but you have to be prepared for anything.
I…I had no idea.
And I haven’t even told you about the math of deciding what cut and style of underwear to bring. You have to have some for comfort, some for certain kinds of dresses, the list goes on.
Dresses, you say? What kind are we talking? I’m a big fan (especially the vision of you in one).
All different styles. Mostly the kind I have a feeling you’d rather see on the floor
You’re killing me, woman.
I’ll make sure to send you a picture whenever I wear one.
Is that my Christmas present?
Oh no. That will come after the new year. But the dress (and the underwear) will be involved.
Yup, you’re going to be the death of me.
But what a way to go, am I right?
She is right. But as much as I’d love to think about her and her underwear, right now, my GPS signals that I’m about five miles away from the Timberline Inn. Meaning it’s time to focus. Game plan. End my year with a win.
When I emailed the owner, Howard, yesterday, he got back to me immediately and couldn’t wait to meet me. He said that he and his son were excited for the opportunity to sit down and chat before the new year. However, he explained that he was going to be gone all weekend, so he hoped it would be okay if we meet Monday. Which is fine by me. That gives me a few days to scope out the hotel, restaurant, bar, really anything I can get a feel for, before putting together my pitch to him. The more I feel like I know the product, the more I’m going to be able to wow him. And if all goes well, I’ll be on my plane to Connecticut on Tuesday with a final win in the column to close out the year.
The one thing he was vague about was specifically what he wanted a media strategy about. But as I pull up, I’m sure it can’t be the exterior, or even the overall building. It’s a good-sized hotel—I’d guess about two hundred rooms. But it’s the facade that’s blowing me away. The combination of brick and wood gives it a rustic feel. Add on the expertly placed Christmas lights and lit garlands and it’s the perfect holiday getaway. That’s not even mentioning the thirty-foot Christmas tree lit up in the center of the grounds, which is the first thing you see when you pull up.
Yeah…I’m going to be able to work with this. It’s also the perfect place to kick off my holiday vacation.
I’m only more confident in this thought as I walk into the lobby. I know it’s called an inn, but from the second you step inside, it’s like you’re transported to a ski lodge in Aspen, with the wood, the warmth, the fireplaces, and soft lighting. It’s gorgeous. This is the absolutely perfect place to spend the holidays, or really, any time of the year. Families. Couples looking for getaways. Every place I look, something else catches my eye. It’s why I’m not paying attention to my surroundings, and why I feel myself running into someone from behind.
“Oh my God, I'm so sor—” I turn around to apologize but the words can't leave my mouth. “Kat?”
I drop my backpack. My mouth is hanging open. Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe my reaction. And judging by Kat’s brown eyes also popping out of her head, she’s just as surprised to see me.
“Grayson? What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Connecticut?”
I can’t stop blinking, like at some point it’s going to help, because this isn’t happening. “Pitstop for work before I head up north. What about you? I thought you also had a business trip?”
“I am. This is where I’m staying.”
I let out a laugh, because what are the fucking odds? I mean, this part of Tennessee isn’t exactly desolate. The Smokys bring in a ton of tourism revenue with both chain and locally owned businesses, but still, the odds of us being here, at the same place at the same time, are staggeringly low.
“Okay, let’s start this again,” I say as I open my arms and take a deep breath. “Hey, you.”
Her smile eases the awkwardness of the situation as she steps into my hold. “Hey, you.”
We stand there for a few minutes, and I know I said this weekend was all business, but I can’t help but now think that a little pleasure might be woven in.
