Jennifer Labrecque - Mistletoe Madness

Genuine amusement lit her eyes.

“Always. Close my door on the way out, would you?”

Let the battle commence.

Tatiana gave the cab driver the address and pulled out her compact to check her makeup. This was work. Not a dinner date. Not an assignation. Work, plain and simple. But, really, she didn’t show up for dinner looking like a hag, regardless of whether it was work or play. And she was not “prettying up” for Cole Mitchell.

She took care of a mascara smear beneath her right eye and refreshed her lipstick even though it looked pretty good, all things considered. Long-wearing lipsticks were a woman’s best friend.

Her hair? Well it was just there. She’d hated the tight corkscrew curls and the dark red color that had plagued her during adolescence. She’d longed for a fall of straight honey-blond hair like that of Rena Pitman who’d sat ahead of her in freshman algebra. Rena’s mane had taunted her relentlessly through complex equations. The same way Rena’s pert little nose had taunted her. Rena’d pretty much embodied every physical trait opposite of Tatiana’s-which was, of course, exactly how Tatiana longed to look.

That was many moons ago, and while she knew she was no great beauty, she’d learned to embrace the traits that were hers alone and set her apart. Or, in the words of Grandma Rumasky, making the most of what God gave her, crazy hair and big nose included. She’d finally stopped being intimidated by the Rena Pitmans and Elles of the world.

She snapped the compact closed and slipped it into her purse. She was within a block and a half of the restaurant.

“Hey, let me off at this corner,” she instructed the cabbie and gathered her shopping bags. She’d walk the rest of the way. It wasn’t hip to admit, but she adored Christmas in New York-all of it. The rampant commercialism, the crowds of shoppers, Santa wannabes clogging the corners, the bell-ringers seeking donations for those less fortunate, the decorations. She simply got too caught up in her obligations sometimes and forgot to enjoy the season.

She paid the driver, pocketed her receipt and turned west toward the restaurant. She shivered into her wool coat and skirted an icy patch on the sidewalk. It was a little colder than she’d thought, but she’d warm up in a minute.

Half a block down, a big yellow school bus sat at the opposite curb loading what must’ve been at least thirty Santas milling about on the sidewalk. It struck her as an only-in-New-York moment. Where were they going, night school for St. Nicks?

She was still smiling when she spotted Cole outside the restaurant. A tremor ran through her. There was something about a man in a black winter coat, even if it was Cole Mitchell. He looked up, and for a split second an unguarded moment shimmered between them, devoid of hostility.

“Hi.” His breath hung like smoke in the cold air.

“Hello,” she said, her breath mingling with his. “Why aren’t you inside where it’s warm?”

“I didn’t want to miss you and I didn’t want you to get here and wait outside, thinking that I hadn’t arrived yet.”

No. This was wrong-and dangerous. She didn’t want to discover any underlying gallantry in Cole. He could save it for someone else. She didn’t like him. She wasn’t going to like him. End of story. “Whatever. Before we go in, I’m Tempest Altman.” Some food critics didn’t use pseudonyms when dining out, but she felt she couldn’t do her best job without anonymity. Once she’d written a less-than-flattering piece when a chef refused to take back an overcooked fish. After the piece came out, the chef remarked he’d have taken it back had he known who she was. Case in point. How could she write an honest piece if restaurants afforded her preferential treatment?

“Tempest suits you.”

“It’s my middle name.”

“Your parents must have been psychic.”

Ha. She was one of the least tempestuous people she knew, except when it came to him. “Apparently I kicked a lot when my mom was pregnant. And I was breach.”

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He snapped his fingers. “Maybe because you’re the most contrary woman I ever met.”

Tatiana had a mental image of vacant-minded beauties parading through his past. “From you, I’ll consider that a compliment. I’m sure your ideal woman is a twit.”

“Twit? You wound me, Tempest. Truly.” He clutched at his chest, and it was so ridiculous that had it been anyone else, she would’ve laughed at his melodrama. But he wasn’t anyone else. He was Cole, whose dad had wrangled his esteemed position at Connoisseur, the same position she’d worked her ass off for. “And for your dining pleasure tonight, I’m Mitch Coleman.” He grinned and added under his breath, “It’s easy enough for my simple mind to keep up with.”

“Well, that is a consideration. If you’re done with the theatrics, I’d like to go in before my feet turn to ice.”

He bowed mockingly from his waist and opened the door for her. “After you.”

Did he tack a “Your Highness” on there under his breath?

They were punctual, and the maître d’ promptly seated them at a table midway the room and to the right. Tatiana mentally made a note that none of the wait staff seemed harried despite all the tables being full, and the customers appeared content except for a couple across the restaurant, and that just appeared to be a personal disagreement.

So far, so good.

A few minutes later they’d gone with the sommelier’s wine recommendations for appetizers and dinner. She was glad he’d steered them to midrange choices on the list rather than pushing the higher-end vintages. Another point in the restaurant’s favor if the wine played out as he’d suggested.

She looked across the table into Cole’s silver-blue eyes, and an awkward silence fraught with awareness settled between them. She shifted her silverware a few inches over on the white linen tablecloth. It had been one thing to study the menu and spend time considering and ordering…but now what? They couldn’t exactly discuss work because their cover would be blown if anyone overheard them.

Cole shifted and his knee brushed hers beneath the table. Adrenaline rushed through her, and she made a mental note that the tables were too small and too intimate for a business affair. Affair.Poor choice of word. Make that a meal.

A slow, lazy smile, doubtless intended to disarm, curved his lips. Despite herself, she couldn’t help the instinctive flash of attraction that ricocheted through her.

“I see you wore your boots after all. Very nice choice.” The look in his eyes sent heat spiraling through her.

She shrugged. “Not particularly a choice. I’m too far out to go home and change before dinner.” Not when she was schlepping out to Brooklyn on the train. Manhattan rental prices were definitely out of her league on her salary. And it wasn’t exactly that she was cheap, but she liked to hold on to her money. “Besides, I had some shopping to do.” Secret Santa day two was tomorrow.

The wine steward arrived and served them, immediately followed by the waiter bearing her calamari and Cole’s bruschetta. Calamari wasn’t one of her favorites, but it was a standard in so many restaurants she always ordered it because she knew so many other diners would and it was her job to evaluate the establishment with the diner in mind. She forked up a bite. Nice light batter and a hint of ginger lent an interesting note, but disappointingly the squid itself wasn’t as fresh as it should be given the price attached. The suggested pinot grigio, however, was a perfect companion wine, crisp and delicate. She was about to sample Cole’s bruschetta when a man sporting brushed-back, slightly long blond hair stopped at their table.

“Mitchell? Is that you?” He clapped Cole on the back. “Long time no see. What’s it been? Five years?” After four years of living in New York, Tatiana had gotten pretty good at pegging people. This Matthew McConaughey wannabe exuded Wall Street with his white button-down shirt, top button undone and his loosened tie.

“Something like that.” Cole’s manner, usually annoyingly outgoing and engaging, shifted subtly. He was still smiling, but he’d erected a wall of reserve.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” The man looked pointedly at Tatiana and her flesh crawled. When Cole had looked at her earlier, he’d been sexy and flirtatious. This man’s look made her feel slimy.

Cole turned his attention to her, “Tempest, this is Parker Longrehn. Parker, Tempest Altman.”

“Hello,” she said, pleasant but distant.

“The pleasure’s mine.” The words were innocuous enough, yet his tone left her feeling as if he’d pinched her on the butt.

Cole looked at her as if they’d just rolled out of bed an hour ago, his glance unmistakably possessive. “Tempest is a…very good friend.”

What? Tatiana barely managed to keep her jaw from dropping. She thought about refuting that status, but she decided to go along with him instead, just to see where he was taking this. And particularly because she didn’t want to take anything any further with Parker.

Parker looked pointedly at her naked left finger. “Well, old man, I don’t see any No Trespassing signs posted.”

She and Cole might strike sparks off one another and she might not respect how he got his job, but Parker Longrehn was slick. And presumptuous.And rude as hell, to boot.

Tatiana reached across the tablecloth and twined her fingers with Cole’s. She could swear energy passed between them. “Consider them posted,” she said, casting Cole a smoldering look to reinforce the claim. His return glance sent heat cascading through her, even if it was for Parker Longrehn’s benefit.

“You win some and you lose some.” Parker flashed white teeth, bleached to the near-blue degree, at Tatiana. “But if you decide to trade up…”

This guy, a class-A jerk, deserved to be served. “I already have.” She decided to lay it on thick. “Anyone other than Cole would be trading down.”

Parker’s smile wasn’t quite as nice this time around. Fine. If he thought she was just going to sit here while he insulted Mr. Heated Glance, he had another thing coming. It was one thing for her to insult Cole, but Mr. Blue Teeth needed to rethink his position.

Parker shoved his hand in his pocket. It took Tatiana a second or so to realize he was rolling his change between his fingers. Congratulations. Parker had just won the Cheesy and Annoying Award.

“So.” He turned his attention back to Cole. “I heard your father got married again. Is this four or five?” Parker said.

Cole shrugged. “I’m too busy these days to keep track.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Let me know when you figure it out.”

Parker paused and assumed an expression of rueful sympathy that fooled no one. “Maybe this wife will be happier to have you around.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Nothing, absolutely nothing about the cavalier smile on Cole’s face or the droll amusement in his eyes indicated that Parker Longrehn had scored a direct hit, but she felt Cole’s inner wince with some sixth sense she’d never known she possessed. Either that or maybe it was simply the wine on a near-empty stomach.

She piped up in Cole’s defense. This Parker guy was grating on her last holiday nerve. “It’s definitely their loss. My parents adore him almost as much as I do.” She hoped her look approximated fawning adoration, something outside of her usual Cole Mitchell repertoire.

Parker looked down his nose at her, as if that might intimidate her. “Do I know your parents?”

“Not unless you’ve recently visited Yurgash, Indiana.” There you go. She’d just painted herself with the scarlet H to this Manhattanite-Hick.

“I don’t think so. Listen, got to run. Say hi to Connie for me. Stay in touch.”

“Later.”

Parker left, trailing slime behind him. Good freaking riddance. What the hell had that just been all about? And who was Connie?

“Yurgash, Indiana?” Cole raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.Heartland, USA.” And if he thought he was going to gloss over the weirdness of the last five minutes…She stared at him. Waiting. She reached across the table for a bite of his appetizer.

He speared a piece of her calamari. “We were fraternity brothers.” He paused to eat.

Fraternity brothers fit. And Parker was such an absolute…“ARU? And he was the president?”

Cole sipped his wine. “ARU?”

“Assholes R Us.”

He laughed and adopted a hurt expression. “Anyone ever mentioned you’re fickle? A few minutes ago, you and your parents adored me, and now you’re signing me up for ARU.”

Albeit unwillingly, she was amused and intrigued. “Okay, so it wasn’t ARU, but you just publicly claimed me as your girlfriend. Let’s hear what’s behind that, because there’s either a story here or some mental illness floating around. And you’re a lot of things-” annoying, sexy, nepotistic, to name a few right off the top of her head “-but you don’t strike me as mental. I’m putting my dollar on the story.”