That Mistletoe Moment (9 page)

A
LL
I W
ANT FOR
C
HRISTMAS
I
S
. . .

KATE ANGELL

CHAPTER 1

“I
want you to buy me a Christmas gift, as a final test of your taste and your understanding of mine,” Daniel Hayes, CEO of Hayes Global Financiers, addressed the three women seated in a crescent of club chairs before his heavy mahogany desk. “Whoever shows the most originality will become my personal shopper. Questions?” His tone was dry, reserved, as if he didn't anticipate any. He expected the applicants to take responsibility and think for themselves.

Riley Tyler hadn't heard a word he'd said during the thirty-minute group interview. He'd started out by introducing them to his company, one of the largest global associations of financial institutions, with nearly five hundred members in ninety countries. The firm provided economic and financial analysis to its members, developed industry proposals on global regulatory issues, and represented the members in discussions with the public sector on global economic and financial policy issues. His words went over her head. He'd lost her.

Her mind shut down, and she stared at him. There was something about Daniel that both fascinated and unsettled her. He was tall, she'd noticed when he stood as the women entered his suite. Dark-haired and eyed, sharp-featured, and serious, he hadn't smiled once. A sense of humor was important to her.

He was impeccably dressed. He wore the clothes; they didn't wear him. Black suit, white shirt, burgundy tie. She wondered why his previous personal shopper had left such a lucrative position, one with ideal hours as well as company benefits.

Daniel observed her now, his gaze hard. She'd never had anyone look at her and through her at the same time. She closed down. Forgot to breathe. He glanced away, and she drew a breath, too deep, too rapid, and accidentally snorted. No change in his expression. He made no comment.

Applicant Caroline Baker sat on Riley's left. Riley admired her geometrically styled hair, pale skin, and exotic features. She had amazing almond eyes. Stylishly dressed in a cashmere, camel-colored skirt suit and matching suede pumps, she crossed her legs and dared to ask, “How personal should we get? Clothes, jewelry, gourmet foods?”

“You decide what's appropriate.” Daniel sounded bored.

“No hints whatsoever?” Lauren Lovell pressured. She sat one chair over, a natural beauty attired in a gray, long-sleeved wool dress with a wide leather belt. Her brown hair was so long, she was sitting on it.

The corners of his mouth creased. “If I gave you hints, I might as well purchase the gifts myself. Do your best.”

“Price range?” Lauren once again.

“Check in with Jean Norris in Accounts Payable on your way out. Whatever you spend won't be out-of-pocket. Jean will give you a prepaid debit card.”

Riley scrunched her nose. They'd be purchasing him a gift, and he'd foot the bill. The sky appeared to be the limit. Life was overpriced. Bargains were far and few between. But win or lose, she wouldn't take advantage of the man.

Cutting his gaze to her, Daniel raised an eyebrow, asked, “You're quiet. Good to go, Riley?”

The arch of his brow captivated her. He appeared both cynical and wicked sexy. Intense and intriguing. She stared overly long.

Until he nudged her. His “Miss Tyler?” held a hint of impatience.

She blinked. Interview over. “I'm set.” For what, she hadn't a clue. She wouldn't ask a question if her life depended on it. She would figure it out as she went.

“I'll meet with you in the conference room tomorrow afternoon at four,” he concluded. “I'll hire one of you on the spot. Whichever gift speaks to me the most.”

Caroline and Lauren smiled, confident and poised, as they collected their handbags and briefcases and stood. Both applicants had portfolios of prominent and influential clients they'd advised and accessorized. They were ready to step into the position. To dress Daniel for the holidays.

He escorted them to the door, where they conversed briefly. Riley rose more slowly. She held her red envelope clutch purse in one hand while tugging down the inner sweater of her faded lavender cardigan twin set with the other. The hem was slightly stretched and hung below the outer sweater. Her herringbone slacks had wrinkles, but then so did her life. Nothing seemed to go smoothly.

She took a moment to look around his office, on the thirtieth floor of the Landmark Tower in downtown Minneapolis. Masculine and magnificent, she thought. Old money.

The corner suite had an amazing view. Wide arches of multi-paned windows faced north and west. Fat snowflakes swirled, silver against overcast skies. She felt as if she were standing in a snow globe. She circled his desk, and, unable to resist, skimmed her fingers over the soft leather on his chesterfield chair. Butter-cushy.

Financial periodicals were stacked on one corner of his desk. She fingered the edges, then flipped through the pile. Three magazines down, she found Daniel looking at her from the cover of
Twin Cities Metro
. Attired in a tuxedo, he was featured as Minneapolis–Saint Paul's Man of the Year, and one of the cities' ten most-eligible bachelors. The man enjoyed both popularity and prestige. He was desired by women. Admired by men.

Still no smile.

She appreciated the Tiffany lamp, central Oriental rug, and century-old world globe bar on wheels, complete with internal drinks cabinet. The globe opened at the equator, and she peeked inside. Satin banked aged liquors, vintage wines, cut-crystal tumblers, and bubble glasses. She wondered how often Daniel entertained in his office. How late the parties ran.

An enormous black-and-white photograph hung on the east wall. She assumed it was an aerial view of the Hayes Estate on Lake Minnetonka. Steeped in history, the two-story brick and stone mansion commanded the major share of the lake's most prominent point with its three-hundred-sixty-degree water views. The landscape coupled mature pines and aging evergreens with new planting. A narrow path wound from the main house to the dock. The sun glanced off the lake, so still and clear, it mirrored two large watercraft.

Then came the bookcase. Tall and wide, and filled with economic and financial books, binders, and guidelines. A grandfather clock stood in one corner. The pendulum swung with mesmerizing precision. By Riley's watch, the stately clock was off by three minutes. Either that, or her own Timex was running fast.

A crease in the wood paneling caught her eye, just beyond the clock. Shaped like a door. But there was no handle. Mysterious, she thought. Daniel didn't give her time to discover the secret.

He cleared his throat, asked, “Taking a detour?” He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, giving her the eye.

Her cheeks warmed. “You have an office to be envied.”

“Think so?”

“Don't you?”

“My grandfather and father established a comfortable work environment. I'm holding to tradition. Little has changed.”

A personal admission. He seemed almost human. She approached him then. It seemed a long walk across the room to the door. A brass coatrack stood in the corner. His black cashmere coat was hooked over one arm. A dozen vintage railroad caps and hats hung from the remaining three. She recognized them all, thanks to her grandfather Ed. He'd been a train buff, and shared his knowledge with her.

The key feature of each brimmed cap was the badge attached to it. Made of brass or copper, the badges identified the railroad line and the specific job of the wearer. The passenger lines included the Great Northern, Burlington, and Northern Pacific. The jobs: conductor, station agent, brakeman, and ticket taker. Apparently Daniel liked the rails, too.

She might have asked about his love of trains, had he not swept his arm and motioned her out. He blocked part of the doorway, and she brushed against him when she left. Solid, she thought. His cologne was subtle. She couldn't believe she sniffed his shirtfront.

Neither could he. He stepped aside, said, “Starch and Acqua di Gio.”

She scooted by him. She was halfway across the reception area when he called to her. “Baby Gap.” He referred to her by the company where her previous position had been. “Your experience is limited. You've dressed newborns and toddlers—what makes you think you can handle me?”

“Most adult men are boys at heart,” she reflected. “It shouldn't be too difficult to put big boy clothes on you.”

Had the corner of his mouth lifted? A hint of a smile? Doubtful. He turned back into his office before he gave too much away. Closed the door.

With his Christmas gift foremost in her mind, she walked to the bank of elevators. She had a couple of ideas. She had only to pick the perfect one. No credit voucher needed. A grin from him would be payment enough. Surely the man had teeth.

* * *

Daniel left his suite shortly after Riley. “I'm headed to Personnel,” he told his administrative assistant, as he passed her desk in the outer office.

Roxanne nodded, but didn't look up from the computer. The lady could multitask better than anyone he knew. She absorbed facts and had amazing recall. She'd been with the company for six years now. He made a mental note to give her both a Christmas present and a substantial bonus this year. Perhaps his new personal shopper could offer suggestions on a gift.

He paused for half a second and tapped his fingers on one corner of her desk. “You've met the three applicants?” he asked her.

She kept typing. Her manicured fingernails flew over the keys. “Briefly.”

“First impressions?” He valued her opinion.

“Hire Caroline Baker.”

“Why?” He needed more.

Roxanne looked up. Her half-frame reading glasses sat low on her nose; she eyed him over the rims. “She's poised and perfect with a thick portfolio. She's selected wardrobes for high-powered executives and international businessmen. She likes gourmet foods. A classy lady.”

“She's definitely qualified.”

“Lauren Lovell is new in town, from New York City. I overheard her speaking with Caroline, and she's established strong contacts with local tailors and designers. She's vegetarian.”

He liked a good steak now and again, but that wouldn't affect his decision about the personal shopper. He waited for Roxanne to mention Riley, but she did not. She went back to work. So he brought her up, “Riley Tyler?”

His secretary talked and typed. “She needs her own stylist, don't you think? Not that I'm being critical. A personal shopper is a liaison between you and your closet. Do you want her own taste in clothes rubbing off on you?”

“What was wrong with how she dressed?” It wasn't like Roxanne to be catty. She always stuck up for the underdog. And Riley was barely in the running for the job.

“She's her own person,” Roxanne observed.

There was nothing wrong with a nonconformist.

“She . . . stares.”

Which he had noticed, too. She hadn't taken her eyes off him during the thirty-minute interview. Light blue and flecked with gold, they reminded him of lake water when the sun glanced off the surface during the summer. Her expression gave nothing away. He couldn't tell if she found him interesting or boring. Handsome or lacking in looks.

“Furthermore,” Roxanne continued, “you're accomplished, reserved, and serious. She . . . smiles, when she's not staring.”

“I smile.”

“Once a month.”

“More often.”

“I keep track.”

He glared at her. “Not enough work, Roxanne? You have time to count my smiles?”

She grinned at him. “You've locked your jaw, boss. No points for today.”

“You have lipstick on your teeth.”

She didn't, but he had her reaching for a mirror and Kleenex in her middle desk drawer. “Not funny, Daniel,” she said, once she'd checked her teeth.

He smiled to himself. That smile put a point on his mental scoreboard. He moved on, making his way down the hallway. Glass walls caught his reflection. The plush gray carpet cushioned his steps. He nodded to those he passed. Spoke to a few.

He stopped before the door marked D
IRECTOR OF
P
ERSONNEL
. He needed to speak with Georgia Pettibone. She'd been with the financial firm longer than Daniel could remember. His grandfather and father had trusted her. She had high morals and was a good judge of character. She intuitively knew whom to hire for what position. Employee turnover was minimal.

He knocked, entered, and found her perched on a high cushioned stool beneath a hardwood framed project table, in lieu of a desk. The wide surface area rested on counter-height file cabinets, facing out. The perfect workspace for her.

Daniel knew her to be seventy, yet she never seemed to age. She wasn't ready to retire, and he wasn't ready to see her go. She brought stability to the company. She wore pantsuits and pearls. She had an undeniable air of authority. She spoke her mind. Never minced words. He listened.

She took a sip of tea from a floral china cup. Orange pekoe scented the air. “Good morning, Mr. Hayes,” she greeted him, always respectful of his position.

He'd prefer that she call him Daniel, but she favored the formality. He never pressured her to change. She'd known him through diapers and short pants. She'd picked him up when he was four and had fallen off a chair, trying to sneak gumdrops from a crystal bowl on a shelf in her office. She'd given him a pocketful, taken his hand, and walked him back to his father's suite. She'd never tattled on him.

“Got a minute?” he asked her.

“Always time for you.” She motioned him to join her. “Tea?” she offered.

He shook his head. “I'm good.”