Page 54 of Addicted to Santino
I whack him with another towel. “Ha! Hungry for food that will fill me up.”
“This meat will be stabbing your stomach in no time.”
“I’m backing away. . .slowly.” I grin. “But seriously, you’re helping at your ma’s house, right?”
He shrugs.
“So, if I’m staying here and I can support—”
“Go ahead and do your pageant wave, Gina,” he says, marking the end of the discussion.
I cock a brow. “You’re giving me consent to ghost you?”
“Yes. First,” Santino begins, telling me to give him a kiss in Italian. Now,thatI can’t resist.
* * *
The instrumental toSilver Bellsplays in the elevator as I stride out of it. In my office, I glance across the area. I encouraged Nikki to add a festive spin. I expected a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, maybe a couple of decorations. Fake snow’s vomited all over. With the side of my hand, I slide the fluffy white particles onto the carpet.
“Oh, you’re in,” Nikki says, bounding into the room with a plastic container. I’m eyeing the colorful contents when she grimaces. “Should I stop?”
“No, it’s fine.” I grin, searching for the sanity I lost when entering the office. Seriously, I’ve gotta get a hand on Christmas.This year will be different,I tell myself.
My father peeks into the room. “You’re three hours late—”
“I was—”
“Conference room three. Now.”
“Why?”
“I just gave Steven a chance. He choked. You’re up.”
Baffled, I stare at him. “But for what, Dad? I’m not prepared for—?”
“Gina, if this is your calling, what’s there to be prepared for? I would be remiss to admit that Geraldine could learn two terms about a new company and purchase their souls.”
“Can I even get a name of the—”
“Turner.”
Alright, that was about as informative as a company branding faucet water. I inquire, “Why’s this Turner business failing?”
“Because you have yet to give them the appropriate advice. It’s an upstate New York bed and breakfast—”
“Awe, a B&B like the one Avery opened?”
“Yes, sweetheart, like your cousin, Avery. However, it lacks a real brand. It’s a cheap company, which is why I didn’t bother you. But Steven made us look bad. Handle it.”
I groan. Dad only concerns himself with large corporations. Sounds like Turner’s is a family-operated B&B, indicating that he’s liable to tell the owners to jump ship. Following after my father, I ask, “Did Steven at least visit the company site, discuss their issues, and how we could assist?”
“Get in there.”
Over my shoulder, I toss lingering defiance from the holiday, “Sounds likeno, then.”
My attempts crash and burn as Dad continues to walk away.
Inside, a man with short crop hair is seated with his back facing me. His shoulders fill out a suit rather nicely for a company that my dad had hardly any interest in assisting.
