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Ad exec Krista Martin, while feeling more Grinch than elf, still jumps
at the chance to co-chair Marietta’s Secret Santa Society. Why not?
Especially since brilliant, attractive, and innovative tech wunderkind
Jonah Andrews has agreed to help. He's well connected and Krista's
hoping for some advice on rebooting her career.
Jonah knows
Krista has a not-so-hidden agenda, but sparring with her over cocoa at
their Secret Santa meetings is the most fun he’s had since returning to
his old hometown. Krista may come across as all business, but Jonah’s
positive he’s glimpsed a little girl inside her who wants to believe in
Santa... and in love.
Praise for Montana Secret SantaSweet,
affecting, and just plain fun, this holiday charmer is a delightful
addition to the series and a perfect companion to a mug of hot chocolate
and a crackling fire. -
Library JournalLove at the Chocolate Shop seriesBook 1: Melt My Heart, Cowboy by C.J. Carmichael
Book 2: A Thankful Heart by Melissa McClone
Book 3: Montana Secret Santa by Debra Salonen
Book 4: The Chocolate Cure by Roxanne Snopek
Book 5: The Valentine Quest by Melissa McClone
More books in the series coming soon
Chapter
1
Stilettos and snow? Bad idea.
Krista Martin had lived and worked in Marietta, Montana, long enough
to grasp the importance of proper winter footwear. But today she
needed the height and authority that came with heels. One didn't tell
one's best friend and business partner--the person responsible for
Krista moving halfway across the country to help create Blue Sky
Promotions--that said partner and friend’s work lately had become
substandard, uninspired and phoned-in without adequate body armor and
a large travel mug filled with Sage Carrigan's cocoa.
Krista feared Copper Mountain Chocolates--her favorite downtown
Marietta haunt--was the reason she could barely snap the waistband of
her black Armani pencil skirt. A bad-mommy-forgot-your-birthday gift
from Krista's producer/screenwriter mother a couple of years back. In
the year and a half that Krista had lived in Montana, not a single
member of her family--from either coast--had made the effort to visit
her. Normally, Krista was too busy to care. But once the holiday
season set in, all those old hurts and grievances seemed to rise to
the surface of her consciousness.
She'd been banking on a big uptick in business to keep her too
distracted to feel sorry for herself, but between Sage Carrigan's
decision to table any talk of expansion until after the first of the
year and Amanda Heller-Montgomery's general ennui when it came to
their ad agency, Krista was close to reaching level ten on her
frustration meter.
She paused a foot from the doorway to take a gulp of fortitude before
leaving the warm, fragrant safety of the chocolatier. Sweet, rich,
and chocolaty warmth slid like hot lava down her gullet to her mostly
empty tummy. She'd been too busy practicing her speech to eat
breakfast.
She still hadn’t decided which approach to take.
Direct and businesslike?
Amanda. We have a problem. Blue Sky is underperforming and the
obvious correlation to this decline can be tracked back to your
marriage to Tucker Montgomery. I’m concerned that marriage has
completely gutted your work ethic.
Or something a bit more diplomatic?
Amanda. Girlfriend. We need to talk. You’re more than my
business partner and best friend. But I'm worried that we're not
going to meet our year-end goals if you don't return to your
pre-marriage self.
Krista hesitated before reaching for the door. Blaming marriage might
backfire. Amanda was the happiest Krista had ever seen her. But, the
harsh reality couldn’t be avoided. The Amanda who invited Krista to
join her on the new frontier where--to paraphrase Amanda, “…all
you need is drive, brains, and decent Wi-Fi to blow the glass ceiling
of NYC advertising out of the market”--was MIA.
And, while Krista wasn’t shy about sharing her goals and ambitions,
she’d let the situation at Blue Sky slide for the past nine months,
hoping Amanda would return to her normal highly focused and efficient
self after the first blush of marital bliss dissipated.
They’d made a pretty fantastic team to start out. Amanda brought
her local contacts to the table. Krista’s family had enough
connections on both coasts to fill any gaps. And Blue Sky’s highly
acclaimed promotion of last year’s Big Sky Mavericks’ New Year’s
Eve Masked Ball had resulted in a dozen or more excellent paying
leads.
Their first quarter rocked. Then, Amanda took off a week at the end
of February to join her soon-to-be-fiancé at Mardi Gras in New
Orleans. Tucker proposed, Amanda said yes, and the snowball rolled.
Thanks to Tucker's connection to the Zabrinski family--all successful
entrepreneurs and pilots, with several airplanes at their
disposal--Krista and nine other Marietta friends flew to Louisiana to
celebrate the Heller-Montgomery nuptials.
While Krista could appreciate the romance of the near-elopement, she
put no trust in grand gestures. She’d seen plenty growing up in a
family of actors. But promised vows were as empty as an actor’s
lines. Love and family soon became relegated to the backburner of
life so each partner could pour his or her heart and soul into their
respective careers.
She truly hoped that whole happily-ever-after thing worked out better
for Amanda and Tucker. They certainly seemed happy, committed, and in
love. But, for the moment, at least, Krista needed to stay focused on
the personal fulfillment side of life.
Crunch time. I can do this.
She set her travel mug on a convenient display table, laden with
chocolate treasures, while she tugged on her faux rabbit fur-lined
leather gloves and re-tucked the soft alpaca scarf into the "V"
of her white tuxedo-style shirt. Anticipating the single digit wind
chill she’d already encountered when she scraped a thick layer of
ice from the windshield of her Subaru, she pulled up the collar of
her knee-length, cranberry wool coat. Even with expensive hose, she
expected her legs to be numb by the time she reached the Blue Sky
offices about a block and a half away.
She grabbed her mug and turned to leave just as an older woman in a
bulky, masculine-looking Carhartt jacket, grubby jeans, and cowboy
boots blew in on a gust of arctic air. The woman looked familiar but
Krista avoided making eye contact so she wouldn’t get pulled into a
neighborly exchange of nonpersonal hi-how-are-yous.
Grabbing the edge of the door with her free hand, she hurried
outside. The cold hit like a full-on blast from a high power fire
hose. Her stride required mincing steps to keep her thighs together.
The last thing she needed was frostbite on her privates. Bad enough a
former romantic interest had accused her of “freezing him out of
the pleasure zone”.
Who says things like that? Pleasure zone. Bah—
The humbug required to finish the thought disappeared the
instant a knee-high dog shot, headfirst, between her legs. A nearly
invisible tether attached to a harness hidden beneath the animal’s
stylish red and black plaid fleece overcoat snapped taut, sending
Krista’s skirt to mid-thigh. She squeezed her legs tight in
self-defense.
Wobbling like a tightrope walker, she'd nearly recovered her balance
when a shrill zipping sound of the dog's coated wire tether being
recalled--too late, in her opinion--yanked the animal--now square to
Krista’s body--sideways against her shins.
Things went downhill pretty fast after that. Although every action
and reaction felt like slow motion from Krista’s perspective, the
entire debacle probably took seconds.
"Wait. No. Oh, crap." The last came out on a protracted cry
as her skinny pumps shifted sideways on a patch of black ice.
Her wonderful, badly needed insulated cup of Sage’s divine cocoa
went flying. Her small, smart patent leather shoulder bag shot upward
to conk Krista on the chin, which caused her to windmill backwards
straight into the open arms of the person reeling in their stupid
dog.
Since Krista closed her eyes, she couldn't say for sure what happened
next, but it involved ear-piercing barks, grunts and groans, and
several colorful curses, which might have come from her. Luckily, the
person in meager control of the dog’s leash turned out to be a man,
large enough and strong enough to catch her mid-fall. She recognized
his gender by his deep voice and the rock solid arm that locked
around her chest as they went down. The thick padding of his winter
jacket--along with a nicely built torso--cushioned her impact when
they hit the sidewalk. The angle of their repose told her they'd
taken another casualty with them.
She blinked as the pile beneath them morphed into a small golden
moose with floppy ears, a big black nose, and a tongue about a mile
long. Too hairy for a Great Dane. The beast yanked her rescuer's
arm--the one that had been around her chest--out and back like a
spastic puppeteer when it caught a whiff of her warm cocoa, spreading
like a blood stain across the thin layer of ice and snow.
The man ungallantly shoved Krista aside so he could scramble to his
knees and do a hand-over-hand motion to reel in the giant dog. "River
Jack, no. Cocoa is not on your diet, dude. And Mom said dogs are
never supposed to eat chocolate."
River Jack? Odd name. She might have been intrigued if she
weren’t busy taking stock of her situation.
She pulled down her skirt the best she could.
"It's mostly milk. And Sage's chocolate is the best. It won't
kill him. Them," she corrected, noticing the beagle and a puffy
hairball with a curly tail had joined River Jack at the
quickly freezing trough of goodness.
"Bear,” the guy cried, fumbling with the rat’s nest of leads
in his hands. “Not you, too.
“Bear? River Jack? What’s with the strange names?” she
muttered, mostly to herself.
The man found the right leash and tugged the largest beast away from
the spill.
“Jack is my parents’ recent rescue dog adoptee. He was a lonely
hearts dog.”
The dog in question lumbered toward them with a friendly manner, big,
pink tongue still licking its chops.
“’Lonely hearts.’ I don’t know what that is.”
The guy opened his arms, which barely fit around the animal’s
girth, and buried his face in the fluffy blond coat. “Mom said
that’s what the staff calls animals that have been at the shelter
for months, even years."
Krista stared, transfixed by the sweet bond evident between man and
dog. An emotion she couldn’t quite name—yearning?
wistfulness?—climbed up her throat making speech impossible.
The man looked her way, his smile bemused. "I suck at
dog-sitting."
Krista agreed on one level but, since she’d never owned pets and
didn’t have a great deal of patience with other people’s animals,
she’d learned to keep her opinion to herself. After a quick
inventory to make sure the only thing bruised was her pride, she
tried to figure out the most graceful way to stand without putting
her nylon-covered knees on the trampled, crusty snow.
With an even more impatient sound, the dog walker tossed the ends of
the leashes on the ground and jumped to his feet. "River Jack,
stay.” He turned toward her and extended his hand, his glove coated
in dog hair. “What's wrong with me? Screw Jack’s diet. I can't
believe I left a beautiful girl sitting on the ice and snow. Double
suck."
"Double suck?" She barely got the words out before he
grabbed her by the upper arms and lifted her to her feet.
He didn't let go right away. "Are you hurt?"
His thick, tanned, buckskin leather gloves looked huge against the
cranberry wool of her coat.
She shifted her gaze to his interesting blue-gray eyes that crinkled
at the corners when he smiled. A smile that sent shivers--the hot
sort--up her spine like a mini-burst of lightening.
He was a hunk. In a scruffy, just tumbled out of bed sort of way.
What’s someone his age doing walking dogs at this time of day?
Cute and unemployed? No thanks. She went for the
high-achiever, goal-oriented, make-partner-by-thirty type. “A male
version of you,” Amanda had said recently. “That’s what you’re
holding out for and, frankly, Krista, they’re not that easy to come
by--especially in Montana.”
A point supported by Krista’s three dates in a year and a half. But
having no man in her life was better than wasting time on the wrong
man. A lesson she’d learned the hard way.
"I’m okay. Nothing’s broken."
"Thank God.” He let go of her to make a pretend brow-swipe of
relief. “I’ve only been home a week. My brother would never let
me live it down if I wound up getting sued the first time I walked
the dogs on my own."
"I'm not going to sue you. Your dog? Maybe."
He picked up the leashes again and coaxed all three animals to his
side. "Bindi,” he said, addressing the animal. “Apologize at
once. I mean it. This lady has every right to be mad at us. Mostly
me, but you know how you get when you’re focused on a scent.”
His tone—and humor—took the edge off her irritation.
“Bindi was a gift from my sister after Mom and Dad’s
fourteen-year-old beagle died. She’s only four. Or five. Which is
probably a teenager in dog years. And teens are just… well…
impossible.”
She refused to smile but the teasing look in his eyes made it tough
not to give in to his goofy good humor.
“And Bear is short for Teddy Bear. Look at that face.
Self-explanatory, right? He’s a chow mix they inherited from my
brother who was dating a girl who worked at the animal rescue at the
time.”
Krista looked at the dog in question. The fuzzy square face with coal
black eyes, short ears, and shiny nose could easily have fit on a
shelf with a selection of stuffed animals. “You’re right. He
does.”
She noticed the dogs studying her with varying expressions of
interest. She had a feeling they weren’t impressed by what they
saw.
“Jack has an eating disorder.” He lowered his voice and leaned
closer to whisper, “Mom says we’re not supposed to use the word
f-a-t because that’s a form of body shaming. Nobody knows
Jack’s story, but it probably didn’t involve a lot of exercise,
hence our twice-daily walking routine."
He held up his hand, boy scout-like. “I promise to pay better
attention in the future and avoid the chocolate shop at all cost.”
Coming from New Jersey, Krista rarely, if ever, was left without a
snappy comeback, but the sincerity behind this guy’s slightly
abashed look robbed her of speech. Crazy, ridiculous, disparate
thoughts played tag in her head. Is he for real? Could this be a
prank? Is my brother hiding in one of these storefronts with a film
crew? Why can’t I stop looking at him?
Fortunately, the door of the chocolate shop opened and two people
rushed out. Dakota, Sage's clerk, must have witnessed the debacle
through the store window because she carried a handful of napkins and
a replacement cocoa. The same cowboy-woman who Krista recalled
passing on her way out of the shop followed. "Young lady, you
need to get yourself a pair of snow boots."
Krista couldn't remember the last time she’d been scolded. Her lips
parted but no words came out. Dumbfounded twice in one morning. This
did not bode well for her upcoming meeting. And when she saw the dog
walker’s gaze on her, her cheeks turned icy hot.
“And you, young man, need to keep your eye on the ball. Or on the
dogs, as the case may be.” She petted and praised all three canines
before looking at the human holding their leashes.
Her demeanor instantly became less schoolmarm and more schoolgirl.
“Oh, my word. Jonah Andrews," she exclaimed, pointing him out
to the small crowd that had gathered to gawk. "I should have
recognized the dogs. Your mother said you were going to be house
sitting and dog walking for a few months. Looks like you need more
practice."
“Ya’ think?” Krista murmured softly.
The woman turned her gaze on Krista. "Are you okay? I'm Emily
McCullough. Most people call me Em. I've seen you around, but I don't
know your name."
"Krista Martin. I'm in advertising. Blue Sky Promotions."
"You work with Amanda Heller. Nice gal. She's on our board. Whip
smart."
Board? What board? Krista and Amanda were partners. Best
friends. They didn’t have secrets from each other. Well, not many.
Krista started to ask, but Dakota walked up at that moment with
Krista's battered cup, its broken lid dangling by a thread of
plastic. "I was going to pour this cup into yours, but I think
it’s beyond hope. Shall I throw it into our recycling bin?” She
held out the replacement. “Maybe you should come in and sit down
for a bit."
Krista’s fingers closed around the to-go cup greedily. “Thanks so
much. You’re a lifesaver. But Amanda is expecting me at the office.
I'd better go."
"Wait. Wait just a second." The dog walker--what was his
name? Jonah something?--took a step closer. The dogs surged in mass
as if that signaled something completely opposite of wait. "Hold
on."
Once he had the trio of misfit mutts under control, he looked at
Krista. The sparkle in his lively, intelligent eyes made her breath
catch. Did I break a rib when I fell?
"If you give me your number, I'd like to send you something to
compensate for your ripped nylons and cover the cost of dry
cleaning." He used his teeth to pull off one glove. The gesture
fell short of sexy when he had to spit dog hair out of his mouth.
He wiped his lips then held out his hand. “I’m Jonah, by the
way.”
Krista glanced down. She hadn’t noticed the collection of snags
that must have been caused by the beagle's sharp nails.
Before she could give him her hand, Emily McCullough grabbed Jonah by
the elbow and turned him toward the street. "She's in the book.
You two can make up later over drinks or something. I need to talk to
you about the meeting tomorrow."
He mouthed the word “Sorry,” as the bossy woman led him--and the
trio of dogs--away.
From the back, Krista got a better look at the man. She liked what
she saw. Six-foot or better. Broad shoulders, although the bulky coat
left a lot to her imagination. And, damn, if her brain didn’t fill
in all the gaps with Charlie Hunnam’s body.
No. Stop. Don’t go there.
The holidays were a terrible time for a fling. Awful. She’d learned
that the hard way her last Christmas in New York. The whole
new-person-gift-giving thing was an evil trap. Too much and she came
across as desperate. Too little, she looked cheap. No thanks.
Definitely not happening.
She readjusted her purse then checked the time on her phone. Ten
minutes late. So not her style, but neither was getting taken down by
a beagle.
~~
"Listen, Em, it's good to see you again, but I really think the
dogs and I should walk that poor girl to her place of business. She
might be hurt. Soft tissue damage."
He'd liked every inch of the soft tissue that had touched him. Krista
Martin. Her name flitted around his head like a snippet from a
new song. He didn’t know the rest of the words, but the melody made
him want to download the whole thing. Immediately.
Emily made a dismissive motion, as if shooing away a pesky steer.
"Oh, she's fine. You'll have plenty of time to check out her
bruises when you see her tomorrow at the Secret Santa Society
meeting."
“She’s a Santa? Are you sure? I don’t remember seeing her name
on the roster.” His mother had started briefing him about the
venerable Marietta charity weeks ago. For the first time, his
interest felt titillated. Maybe the chore he’d been volunteered for
wasn’t going to be the drudgery he’d thought it would be.
How could a woman many years his senior walk so fast? The dogs, of
course. Bindi ran circles around the overweight footstool and the
easily distracted puffball. He tugged impatiently on their leashes.
“Go easy on them, son. We’re not all young and fit,” Em
admonished. “A good dog owner leads, he doesn’t yank.”
The woman seemed impervious to the cold, but despite having grown up
in Montana, Jonah had the blood of a coastal Californian. Even his
dad's oversized coat and three layers of expensive thermal
undergarments weren't enough to keep him from shivering. But Em's
hint about Krista Martin being involved in the society caught his
attention.
His mother had explained in great detail what Montana Secret Santa
volunteers did and why he had to take her place and his dad's.
"I feel terrible leaving them right now. I'm worried the group
might die out, son. Our members are all getting older. Some have
moved to live closer to their children. Two passed away last year.
Plus, it’s like our donation well suddenly dried up. Apparently,
we're not hip and flashy and connected on social media the way some
charities are. If not for our board members, we wouldn't have enough
money to fulfill even a simple wish or two."
As Jonah understood the process, someone--a friend, family member,
neighbor, or workmate--would write to "Secret Santa" asking
for a special gift for someone deserving. The members of the board
would read the letters, do enough background checking to make sure
the request was legit, and then find a way to honor the request.
Sometimes very ingeniously.
“Her name isn't official yet, but it will be tomorrow."
They'd reached a giant, diesel ranch truck that provided enough of a
windbreak Jonah could speak without his teeth chattering. "How
do you know?"
"The Marietta grapevine has it Amanda Heller... or does she go
by Montgomery, now? So many women these days don't take their
husband's names. Wasn't an option when I got married." She shook
her head. "Anyway, Sarah Zabrinski--you know her, I assume..."
"Not personally, but I was in school with her son, Paul."
"Big Z's man of the hour. Big changes over there. Have you been
in the store?"
Before he could answer, she kicked the truck's running board with the
heel of her boot. "Dang squirrel brain, I keep getting
sidetracked. As I was saying, rumor says Amanda is expecting and her
doctor told her she's at risk for gestational diabetes. I don't know
how he knows, but she's supposed to give up caffeine and stress.
Which are two mainstays of advertising, I'd wager a guess."
Jonah could see where this was leading. "You think Amanda will
ask her partner to take her place on the Secret Santa board."
"Sarah called to see if that was possible. As outgoing
president, I said, 'Yes.' Our members are dropping like goddamn
flies. The society needs new blood if we’re going to survive."
She gave him a soft tap on the shoulder. "Guess I got my wish.
You're good and you haven't even started."
Jonah blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You haven't even formally taken over as board president but
you've already made one wish come true--mine."
She’d opened the driver's side door and climbed in by the time he
managed to digest her comment. "President? No, wait. There must
be some mistake. I've never been president of anything."
"Then it's about time you stretched yourself a little. You don't
want Secret Santa to die on your watch, do you? If you're as smart as
everyone says, you'll figure out a way to recruit Krista Martin to be
your VP and the two of you will save Christmas."
The truck door closed with a loud bang that spooked River Jack. When
the engine roared to life, Jonah had his hands full keeping all three
dogs from panicking in different directions. It took a few
minutes--long enough for Emily McCullough to back out and disappear
from sight--to come up with a plan of action.
Save Christmas? Me? Is this some kind of It’s A Wonderful
Life takeoff? He looked around, half expecting his mom and dad
to step out of some shop door laughing at the elaborate prank they’d
pulled.
But he knew that wasn’t likely. They had too much on their minds at
the moment. Me? Save Christmas? At least, it would keep me from
being bored out of my freaking mind.
“Come on dogs. I don’t know what Em was talking about exactly.
But knowledge is key to any good plan, and that requires good Wi-Fi.”
He looked longingly toward the chocolate shop as they passed. The
smell of Krista’s hot cocoa had sent his taste buds into overdrive.
But even if the picture-postcard-perfect shop welcomed dogs, only a
fool would take these three marginally trained animals inside. "Let’s
go home, doggies."
Home to his parent’s house where he’d lived with his brother and
sister until leaving for college at the tender age of seventeen.
Boy genius, people had called him.
Big things are coming from this young man, the newspaper had
written.
“Big being a relative thing.” He recalled his
schoolteacher father’s attempt to keep Jonah’s head from swelling
too badly. “Making a positive change in a young person’s
life--the way your mother does--is big, too, son.”
His folks were as proud as parents of a successful youngish inventor
and businessman who sold his company for megabucks could be. But
money had never been the guiding force in their lives. Being happy
meant more to them than how many zeroes and commas occupied the
balance in their bank account.
Jonah and his entourage paused at the corner for Bear to lift his leg
at the street sign pole. River Jack didn’t have the energy or
balance for such frivolity.
Happy. Am I happy?
He didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t completely sure he understood
the question. Normally, his work kept him too busy, too consumed by
the demands of running a business to think about his personal life.
Which, by most people’s standards, probably sucked. No wife or
significant other. No kids. No pets.
As they drew closer to his parent's home--a prairie-style knock off
on a decent-sized lot a few blocks off Main--the tension that had
been building started to ebb. Home. He hated to admit his
six-figure house in the foothills above the Silicon Valley never
produced the same warm, fuzzy feeling in him.
From the moment he’d walked through the door to be greeted by his
mother and three mutts, he’d felt at home. Not that he planned to
stick around once his parents returned from Florida. Good lord, no. A
thirty-something, unmarried man living with his parents was poster
boy for the title--Loser Of The Year.
So what if he had millions in the bank? The fact he didn't have a
clue about what to do with the rest of his life kept him awake at
night. He'd lost his creative mojo to occupational repetitive mind
stress and, without a goal, he was a rudderless boat adrift on a sea
of whogivesadamns.
"We're back," he hollered after shedding a couple of layers
and wiping twelve paws on a towel in the mudroom before entering the
kitchen.
“Mom?”
The smell of homemade chicken soup in the slow cooker filled his
nostrils, taking him back to his childhood in an instant. He could
picture Gracie--the studious one--doing homework at the counter.
Daniel--the wild one--in the living room playing a bootleg copy of
some video game. And slouched in the corner of the breakfast nook,
nose in a book, Jonah would be traveling through time, space, and
possibility with Asimov, Heinlein, Clarke, or Orson Scott Card.
After hanging the leashes on their individual hooks and giving the
dogs each a biscuit--diet variety for River Jack--he went looking for
a note. Mom was famous for her cryptic messages scribbled on anything
handy--the teacher’s copy of a report card, the return portion of a
bill, or his personal favorite--the back of his acceptance letter
from MIT.
Dad=Doc. Just ck-up. No worry. Soup 4 sup. Wait for us, plz.
And obviously added in a hasty dash a few lines down--U Santa
Prez? Neat.
"Dang, Em. You don't waste any time, do you?"
Jonah stirred the soup, then picked up his laptop and walked to the
corner of the breakfast nook. When asked for the key to his success
in business, Jonah always said, “Homework. Never go into a meeting
without knowing everything possible about the company or issue in
question.”
He’d read the information his mother had sent him about Montana
Secret Santa a bit closer then check out Krista Martin.
The woman intrigued him. She’d had every right to cuss or shout at
Bindi, but she’d acted as if getting knocked on her gorgeous behind
by a poorly controlled dog was an everyday occurrence.
No drama worked for him. His last girlfriend-slash-mistake had cost
him a small fortune in broken dishes and lawyer fees paid out in
response to her frivolous lawsuit. According to the suit, he’d
disappointed her by disappearing into his lab for long periods of
time, thereby depriving her of conjugal relations.
“You’re being sued for sex, buddy,” his lawyer friend had told
him. “Or, rather, the lack of it, stud muffin.”
A good reminder. Look but don’t touch. Especially here and now.
He was supposed to be coming up with his next great idea, not
drooling over a pretty girl who fit in his arms as if she’d been
made for him.
Being attracted to someone as hot as Krista Martin was probably a
normal guy reaction. Too bad he was the odd duck who didn’t
relate well to people. Another reason he was a foolish choice to run
the Secret Santa Society.
Krista had better be damn good at her job or Christmas was in big
trouble.
