The Nanny And Her Scrooge

She thought she was going to die right then and there. Just fade away into oblivion under the merciless gaze of Jared Gillette. Then it occurred to her: what did she have to lose? “I—I…really didn’t mean to impose on you or your time,” she said. Lacing her fingers together, she held them taut against her middle. She couldn’t give up, not now. “Keeping this job is really important to me, Mr. Gillette, and I’m sure if you checked my track record…you’d see….” She let the rest go unsaid.

He sat back. For a moment she wasn’t sure if he was glaring at her or considering her suggestion. Then his gaze drifted down to her trembling hands.

Dammit! Why’d he have to notice? Couldn’t he let her writhe in agony without giving her one of those looks? Frustration set in, making her eyelids burn and her vision grow watery. Nicki feared that if she blinked, a tear would dribble from the corner of her eye.

“Okay. Look,” he said in exasperation, thwacking the papers beside him. “If you want to be an elf, you can be an elf. You’re about the right size anyway.”

“I…” She hesitated, very much aware he was making a concession. “No. It has to be the Santa Claus job.”

He pulled back, as if appalled she’d have the audacity to insist.

“Impossible. This time around, Santa Claus is definitely gender based. If you want to come back at Easter and be a bunny….”

“That’s four months away,” Nicki protested, taking a step toward him. “And right now I’m doing my absolute best to be realistic and genuine. Parents love me, children flock to me. There hasn’t been one complaint—not one—and if you’d only stop by to watch me, and see how I relate to the kids—”

“Miss Holliday. I don’t have time for that. It’s an elf or nothing.”

Deflation oozed through Nicki, numbing her mind and every logical argument. As her eyes shuttered closed, imagining the debt and the dilemma she was in, she glimpsed Jared Gillette. The man was heartless, with eyes like flint and misplaced conviction where compassion should be. Forget the good looks, he was Scrooge incarnate. “It won’t do,” she said flatly, “I can’t be an elf.”

“Fine. We don’t need you. Pick up your check in the office. If you change your mind, then—”

“No,” Nicki interrupted, “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Miss Holliday. I don’t care how complicated it is. The choice is yours, do as you wish. Now, if there’s nothing else, get out of my office and close the door behind you. I have work to do.”

Nicki stared at him, then she turned and fled.

All in all, it had been an interesting day, Jared mused, closing Nicki Holliday’s personnel file. His morning hadn’t gotten off to a particularly good start. A new employee had unwittingly brought out a cart of the most sought-after doll in Christmas history and caused a near riot in the toy department. Later, one shopper had had an allergic reaction to fragrances in the cosmetics department and the paramedics had rushed in the front doors with a stretcher. Aside from the three “lost” children and one wandering Alzheimer’s patient, they’d also caught three shoplifters.

And then there had been Nicki Holliday…the woman who had pretty effectively, according to this file, passed herself off as Santa Claus.

He had to admit that her eyes had twinkled. In fact, she had the bluest, most fascinating eyes he’d ever seen. He could imagine a youngster leaning into her, confiding their deepest, innermost desires.

If eyes were the windows to the soul, her gaze had offered up nothing but blind trust. He’d looked into her eyes for but a moment and nearly forgotten who he was and what his intentions were. It had taken all he had to remind himself—and her—he had a job to do.

Nicki Holliday was a pretty woman. Her cheeks were plump, with identical dimples that took on a life of their own, playing peek-a-boo with him during their entire conversation. Her hair—brilliant, shiny shades of nutmeg, cinnamon, and ginger—actually reminded him of the Christmas potpourri in Gillette’s Home for the Holidays section. Funny. She reminded him of the strangest things. Of comforting things.

He wondered, vaguely, if the gray Santa wig and beard could convincingly cover her short, tousled dark hair, or age her peaches-and-cream complexion. Probably not. She had an ethereal quality, one that would just shine through the costume and makeup anyway.

So? What did it matter? There was no way he was having a female—any female—play the part of Santa Claus.

Some things simply were. Santa Claus was a man, not a woman. He had a great big belly, not a size six waist. He wore a red costume and sported a white beard, and he didn’t have to lower his voice to fool anybody. Those were the things his customers had come to expect. It was a given, and he intended to give them what they wanted.

He, Jared Gillette, a mere businessman in middle America, was not about to trifle with tradition. Santa Claus was a legendary hero, idolized by young and old alike. Jared refused to take any kind of creative license with something of those proportions.

Still…he had experienced a glimmer of regret when he witnessed Nicki’s disappointment. If it was just the job….

He shook his head, staunchly reminding himself he had made the right decision, even if her file had verified that she’d been a virtual hit with both parents and kids. Too bad. Some things were simply not meant to be.

Glancing at the clock, he realized everyone had gone home, and he would be closing up the store again. Just him and security. Just as usual.

Pulling on his overcoat, he walked over to the window. The street traffic was almost nonexistent. It had started snowing again and, if the frost on the window was any indication, the temperature had dropped drastically. Grabbing his briefcase, he headed for the elevator, estimating there’d be just enough time to run home to change.

On the first floor in the subdued lighting of the empty store, Joe, the old codger of a security guard, nodded and held open the front door. “You workin’ late again, boss?”

“It’s Christmas,” Jared explained unnecessarily, never breaking his stride.

“I know, I know. Busiest time of the year.” Joe propped the door open with his shoulder, and hitched up the pants on his blue uniform.

Pausing on the sidewalk, Jared yanked his collar up against the bitter cold. He hadn’t gone twenty paces in the direction of the parking ramp when he saw her—Nicki Holliday—standing at the bus stop, her back against the wind. In a light summer-weight jacket, she shivered, both hands jammed into her pockets.

For a moment it occurred to him that he should nod and just keep walking. Then she looked up and saw him. Their gazes caught and held. Jared’s brisk pace imperceptibly slowed. Something about the way she stood there, all alone, with snow dusting her hair, twisted his heart. “Miss Holliday? You’re still here?”

She nodded, hunching her shoulders. “I guess I stayed too long in your office. I missed my bus.”

He pulled back his sleeve to check his watch. “The seven o’clock bus isn’t scheduled for at least another forty minutes. If it comes at all. Weekends are kind of hit or miss.”

“Okay, well—” Nicki’s teeth chattered “—thanks for the warning. I’ll figure out something.”

She didn’t say one word about their run-in, and that in itself was unsettling. Jared took one step past her, thought better of it, and turned on his heel. “Listen, why don’t I give you a ride home?”

“Oh, no. Forget that. I’m fine.”

“Fine? You’re practically blue.”

The wind gusted, plastering the thin satin jacket against Nicki’s shoulders. “No, it’s okay.” She tried to smile. “Hey, I’m Santa Claus. I’ve called the North Pole and they’ve assured me I’ll have a sleigh gliding by momentarily. I’ll grab a little milk and cookies at the diner down the street and wait. If they’re late, it’s because Donder’s probably acting up again. He does that.”

He didn’t reply, only stared at her, vaguely wondering if she even had a home to go to. Maybe she was a nutcase.

“Ho, ho, ho,” she feebly joked, “then off I’ll go. Into my sleigh, and over the snow.”

With an inexplicable surge of impatience, Jared dismissed her rhyme and looked over her shoulder, down the street. Every storefront was dark, and the diner she mentioned was a good two blocks away. “Look. It’s dark, it’s cold, and you’re half frozen. If you start telling me you actually live at the North Pole, I’m going to think you’re delirious to boot.”

She laughed, a tinkly little sound that reverberated through the darkness. “Okay. I can assure you I’m not delirious, and I don’t live at the North Pole. What you just witnessed is my kid-appeal. I wanted to wedge it in while I had your full attention.”

She was making references to the ill-fated job, and Jared pursed his lips, choosing to ignore them. “Miss Holliday, I insist on driving you home.”

“No. That’s okay.”

“Do you realize,” he asked, “that I’m trying to do you a favor? Perhaps because I feel somewhat responsible for you missing your ride.”

She stopped shivering and gazed at him, with liquid, clear blue eyes, as if she were shocked he admitted any culpability at all. “Why? Because you altered the Santa ‘clause’ of my job?”

He didn’t reply. “Come on,” he ordered, “my car’s right inside the parking garage.”

She stayed rooted to the spot.

He turned back, lifting his eyebrows with the unspoken question.