Page 19 of Wrapped with a Beau

You can count on our full support for next steps. We would love to feature an interview with Mr. Rhys in the next chamber newsletter. We also have a robust database of production support services and crew in the area, and are happy to refer you. The sheriff’s department is going to get back to us about traffic control for street filming—more on that soon!

I know you’d expressed interest in the house from the original film, but I wanted to make sure you also saw the attached JPEGs from the photo library I’ve already shared with you. We have so many beautiful locations around town that I would hate for you to miss these! If any of these gorgeous period homes stands out to you, just shout. We have strong relationships with the property owners and can facilitate whatever you need.

Best,

Elisha Rowe (she/her)

Film & Digital Media Liaison

Piney Peaks Chamber of Commerce

She clicks send.

With a whoosh and a flash of panic, the email flies to JJ’s inbox. Even though it’s too late to take it back, she still goes over her words in her mind. Will it read as glaringly transparent as it does in hindsight? Why didn’t she just tell the truth that there was a holdout on the house?

Okay, she knows why. It doesn’t matter how many gorgeous homes are in their location database—Damian Rhys wants the Christmas House, no ifs, ands, or buts. While the exact plot of the sequel is tightly under wraps, JJ did reveal that a young Damian got his foot in the door of the industry with Sleighbells, working his way up from lowly assistant, and he now wanted nothing more than to honor his start by directing the anniversary sequel. Who knew that a Hollywood hotshot could be so sentimental?

Well, frankly, as far as Elisha’s concerned, warm fuzzies and Sleighbells go hand in hand. The movie plays nonstop on TV every year, iconic as beloved oldies It’s a Wonderful Life and A Charlie Brown Christmas. One of Elisha’s favorite memories is celebrating a snow day by being squished between her parents on the couch to watch it for the first time, sneaking her fourth cookie and, at every kissing scene, scrunching her cold toes in the new socks that Grandma Lou knitted.

Even though Elisha is three hours ahead of California and is unlikely to get a reply anytime soon, she watches her inbox, waiting for that familiar ping. Maybe if she stares at it long enough, she can will a response to appear. Thank you for these alternate suggestions that are just as good as the Christmas House, Elisha! Damian has selected Rosebud Cottage and would like to personally thank you for your initiative!

“Elisha!” Greg hammers on her open door hard enough that the wall shakes. He casts a disgruntled look at her many signed posters. They’re a reminder that Elisha worked on several flagship Netflix streamers while his career stagnated, leaving the man to stew in bitterness, take zero initiative, and accomplish very little of note. Without preamble, he snaps, “That coffee tasted disgusting. When was the last time you cleaned the pot?”

“Hmm, not sure. If you noticed any gunk, though...” She smiles sweetly. “Feel free to take that on.”

“That’s not my job,” he says dismissively, but in a tone that’s meant to imply that it’s hers. He runs his palm over his gelled hair and makes aggressive eye contact. “Where are we on the Damian Rhys project?”

Elisha’s smile grows wider and more wooden. Unraveling like a bad Christmas sweater. Crumbling like a sugar cookie. Fizzling out like cheap string lights. Take your pick. “Right on track,” she says blithely.

She can tell her answer disappoints him by the way his lips twitch halfway to a frown before he smooths his expression. “Ah,” says Greg. “Well. Good. Your friend the mayor will be happy.”

She keeps a bland smile on her face, refusing to rise to his bait. If she’d been a man, he would have told her to keep up the good work, maybe even added a hearty “champ” at the end or a congratulatory pat on the back. Offered to give her a hand on such a prestigious project. But he doesn’t like her. Never has.

Not even when she interned here as a teen that summer in high school, making the coffee and answering the phones and doing all the grunt work he only asked her to do, never Riley, the other intern. Who happened to be a guy. A decent guy, incidentally, who’s now their trade specialist, but more importantly? His friend’s son. Clearly, Greg doesn’t have a problem with nepotism as long as it comes from him.

“Seeing as you’re not doing anything important right now,” he says, “why don’t you go check on Mia? She’s still sulking about the party being canceled. I told her not to make any plans after she went over budget last year, but did she listen? No. And now she acts like I’m the bad guy here? I will never understand women.”

Um, maybe because he is the bad guy? If it were humanly possible, there would be actual steam coming out of Elisha’s ears right now.

Shaking his head, Greg walks out, but not before adding, “And tell whoever’s decreasing the thermostat to quit it! A balmy seventy-eight degrees is just perfect for me.”

How does he not hear himself when he speaks? Every word out of Greg’s mouth is sexist or insulting, and usually both. If he’s not insinuating that she doesn’t deserve her job, he’s picking on their office administrator for trying to brighten up this sad, soulless place where fun goes to die.

Unsurprisingly, when Elisha heads out to the main office, Mia Liu isn’t actually sulking. She’s on the phone talking someone through a small-business grant application, being the consummate professional she is, and holds up one finger in silent request.

“Let me guess,” Mia says, slotting the ancient corded phone back in the receiver. “Greg interrupted you to come ‘check on me,’ right? Like I’m a child?”

Elisha rolls her eyes. She glances around before saying, “Make no mistake, he’s the only baby around here. You know he still thinks we clean out the coffee maker when he’s the only one who uses it? That thing hasn’t been cleaned since, like, last Christmas.”

He’s her boss, so she can’t flat-out refuse, but she isn’t going to do more than the bare minimum for him, either. It would never occur to him to make the coffee himself, and so he’s never seen the discoloration that’s probably now permanently stained the pot. Revenge has never tasted so disgusting. Presumably.

Mia grins. “And may I just say, I really hope we pull it off for another year. At least.”

“This is my grown-up Christmas liiiiist,” Elisha whisper-sings. “You’re as petty as me and I love it.”

Mia pretends to think, stroking her chin. “Nah, I’m pettier.”

But not as petty as their boss. Despite his weak excuses about the budget, both she and Mia know that the real reason the party is canceled is that last year, Greg’s way-too-young-for-him girlfriend got drunk, puked in the potted fake ficus, and went home with the chamber’s executive director.

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