Christmas With Her Millionaire Boss

“No, thank you. I can manage.” He made his way over to the cupboard. Like everything else in the house, the mugs were simple, yet sturdy. He was beginning to think she was the only delicate-looking thing in the house. “You have a nice place,” he remarked as he poured.

“You sound surprised.”

“Do I?” he replied. “I don’t mean to.”

“In that case, thank you. Kevin and his father came up with the design.”

That explained the resemblance to the Christmas Castle.

“I’m curious,” he said, leaning against the counter. She had bent over to look in the oven, giving him another look at her bottom. “Is there some kind of rule that the houses all have to look...”

“Look like what?” she asked, standing up.

“Alike.” Like they’d all been plucked off a picture postcard.

“Well the idea is to resemble a European village. That’s part of what makes us such a popular tourist attraction.”

She was tossing around his words from yesterday. He’d insulted her again.

Which he knew before asking the question. Hell, it was why he’d asked it. Their exchange earlier reminded him how much he’d enjoyed her backbone yesterday. Next to her cute figure, pushing her buttons was the only other thing that made this trip enjoyable. “I’m sure it does,” he replied.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

James shrugged. “Nothing. I was simply noting the town had a distinctive theme is all, and wondered if it was by design. Now I know.”

“I’m sure you already knew from your research,” she said, folding her arms. She had the closed-off pose down to a science. “You just felt like mocking the town.”

“Actually...” What could he say? He doubted she’d enjoy knowing her anger entertained him. “Maybe I did.”

She opened her mouth, and he waited for her to toss an insult in his direction. Instead she closed her lips again and spun around. Immediately, James regretted pushing too far. What did he expect? Surely, he knew she wouldn’t find him as entertaining as he found her. Quite the opposite. She disliked him the same as everyone else. Pushing her buttons guaranteed the status quo.

There was one thing he could say that she might like.

“Your pie smells delicious, by the way. I’m sorry I won’t get to taste it.”

That got her attention. She turned back around. “Why not?”

Leaning against the counter, he took a long sip of his coffee. Damn, but she made a hearty cup. “Because as soon as I have my coffee and grab a shower, you’re driving me to the airstrip so I can fly back to Boston.”

* * *

Noelle almost dropped the pie she was taking out of the oven. Had she heard right? Not that she wouldn’t be glad to see the back of him, but... “I thought the doctor said no flying.”

“Doctors say a lot of things.”

“Yeah, but in this case...” She flashed back to his falling into her at the hospital. “You could barely stand without getting dizzy.”

“That was yesterday. Clearly, that’s not the case today.”

No, it wasn’t. He appeared to be standing quite nicely against her counter, all wrinkled and fresh with sleep as he was.

The guy might be annoying, but he wore bedhead well.

Still, she couldn’t believe he was serious about flying an airplane less than twenty-four hours after getting whacked in the head. What if he got dizzy again and crashed the plane? “It doesn’t sound like the wisest of plans,” she said.

From over his coffee mug, he looked at her with an arched brow. “You’d rather I stick around here with you all weekend?”

“No, but...”

“Then why do you care whether I fly home or not?”

Good question. Why did she care? She looked down at the golden-brown pie still in her hands. Setting it on the cooling rack, she took off her oven mitts, then nudged the oven door shut with her hip.

“I don’t care,” she said, turning back around. “I’m surprised is all. In my experience, doctors don’t advise against things without reason.

“Why are you so eager to leave Fryberg anyway?” she asked. She could already guess the answer. It’d been clear from his arrival he didn’t think much of their town.

Unless, that is, he had a different reason for returning to Boston. Something more personal. “If you have Thanksgiving plans with someone, wouldn’t they prefer you play it safe?”

His coffee cup muffled the words, but she could swear he said “Hardly.” It wasn’t a word she’d expected him to use. Hardly was the same as saying unlikely, which couldn’t be the case. A man as handsome as Hammond would have dozens of women interested in him. Just because he rubbed her the wrong way...

She must have misheard.

Still, it wasn’t someone special calling him home. And she doubted it was because of Black Friday either. He could get sales reports via his phone; there was no need to physically be in Boston.

That left her original reason. “I’m sorry if our little town isn’t comfortable enough for you to stick around.”

“Did I say it wasn’t comfortable?”

“You didn’t have to,” Noelle replied. “Your disdain has been obvious.”

“As has yours,” he shot back.

“I—”

“Let’s face it, Mrs. Fryberg. You haven’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat. Not that I mind,” he said, taking a drink, “but let’s not pretend the antipathy has been one-sided.”

Maybe it wasn’t, but he’d fired the first shot.

Noelle’s coffee cup sat on the edge of the butcher-block island where she’d set it down earlier. Seeing the last quarter cup was ice-cold, she made her way to the coffee maker to top off the cup.

“What did you expect,” she said, reaching past him, “coming in here and announcing you were phasing out the Christmas Castle?”

“No, I said the castle was near the end of its lifespan. You’re the one who got all overprotective and jumped to conclusions.”

“Because you called it a fading tourist attraction.”

“I said no such thing.”