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A Lot Like Christmas
Dawn Atkins
A lump of coal landed in Sylvie Stark's stocking.Bad enough she's been passed over for promotion, now she learns her new boss is none other than her old love, Chase McCann. No matter. She refuses to let him distract her from her job. Easier said than done. The more office time they share, the harder it is to fight the undeniable attraction, and soon her long-ago wishes are coming true.But their clashes over the fate of the business threaten the festive spirit between them, and one of them could end up on the naughty list. Or maybe this Christmas she will get everything she wants. After all, it is the most wonderful time of the year.
Chase ran the back of his hand along her cheek
Sylvie could hardly breathe. Everything in her waited to hear what he would say, what he would do.
He gave in and pressed his mouth to hers, holding motionless, as if waiting for the spark to flare. And oh, did it flare. Just like all those years before, pure desire poured through her.
They were reliving a memory, fixing it. For once in her life, she was going for it. Arousal sparked along her nerves, like strings of twinkle lights. She felt light-headed and pulled back just long enough to take in a gulp of air. With their hands on each other’s faces, their upper bodies close, the embrace was tender and hungry and wild all at once and she never wanted to stop.
Dear Reader,
I have to confess: I’m not a good shopper. I walk into a mall and get overwhelmed. That dates back to childhood when my mother would take me shopping for a special dress and I’d find something in the first store, but she would say, “Shall we keep looking for something better?” Better? There might be something better? So off we’d go, to store after store after store. All that choice wore me out.
So why would a non-shopper write a story about a woman who practically grew up in a mall and loved it like home, its employees like family? Because malls fascinate me. A mall is a world unto itself under an air-conditioned sky. I used to have a fantasy of spending the night in the mall and exploring all the stores. You’ll see that happen in the book. Boy, did I have fun with those pages!
This story is also about family—about how family is what you make of it. With her mother largely absent from her life, Sylvie created a family out of the mall and Chase’s relatives. The book takes place around Christmas, and even I love the crazy, festive fun of a mall at Christmas. Starlight Desert Mall does Christmas right, I think.
So we’ve got malls, family, Christmas and falling in love. Can you see why this story was a delight to write? This is my first book for Harlequin Superromance, so I hope you’ll find it a worthy fit.
Let me know what you think at dawn@dawnatkins.com or visit www.dawnatkins.com.
Best,
Dawn Atkins
A Lot Like Christmas
Dawn Atkins
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning author Dawn Atkins has written more than twenty novels for Harlequin Books. Known for her funny, poignant romance stories, she’s won a Golden Quill Award and has been a several-times RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award finalist. Dawn lives in Arizona with her husband and son.
In memory of my mother, the Starr of our family
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Thomas Randall, manager of Paradise Valley Mall, who graciously squeezed my questions into his jam-packed schedule. Any errors are my own.
I’m also indebted to Paco Underhill, whose books Why We Buy: the Science of Shopping and Call of the Mall gave me enough intriguing shopping facts to last a lifetime.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
THIS MALL SUCKS!
The spray-painted scrawl across the whimsical pueblo-style exterior of Starlight Desert Mall hit Sylvie Stark like a poison dart. Starlight Desert was her second home, the store owners and employees practically family.
Now the area looked like the aftermath of a frat party. Trash bags from the Dumpster had been torn open, their contents strewn about, and festoons of toilet paper dangled from the thorny mesquite trees and soiled the silver sage hedges.
The timing couldn’t have been worse. In an hour, the mall’s owner, Marshall McCann, would arrive to make Sylvie the new general manager—her dream almost since she started working here at age fourteen.
Currently second-in-command, Sylvie was the obvious choice to replace Mary Beth Curlew, the former GM, who’d left abruptly two weeks ago to care for her ailing mother in Michigan.
Mary Beth did tend to take credit for Sylvie’s work, but she’d surely recommended Sylvie to Fletcher, Marshall’s younger son, the McCann Development liaison to the mall.
Still, Sylvie felt uneasy. Marshall was the decision-maker and he hadn’t been to the mall since before his wife, Starr, passed away from cancer three years ago. The mall had been Starr’s baby.
Sylvie had a complicated relationship with the McCanns. Her mother, Desiree, had been best friends with Starr and when Sylvie moved in with her grandparents due to Desiree’s travel schedule when she was seven, Starr had treated her like family.
Now Sylvie feared Marshall still thought of her as the teenage assistant who served muffins at mall meetings or the little girl sitting quietly at the noisy McCann holiday dinners.
That was why she’d included her work history and accomplishments in the update she’d prepared—to assure Marshall that the mall was in capable hands.
Now this vandalism threatened her moment. It felt as though she were about to host a foreign dignitary with a pile of dirty laundry on the porch. Worse, it might make Marshall believe the slight down-tick in profits meant more than it did.
Just as Sylvie grabbed her cell phone to call the head of security, Randolph emerged from the mall, shoulder to shoulder with Betty, the maintenance manager, loaded with paint gear.
“We’re on it,” Randolph told Sylvie when they got close.
“Graffiti-buster primer,” Betty said grimly, hefting one of the three paint cans. The other two were gold and turquoise, the two colors the ugly scrawl had been sprayed over.
Most malls were blah beige boxes. Starlight Desert was a feast for the eyes—a colorful take on an ancient Hohokam village, with rounded corners, wooden posts and decorative ladders, its walls painted gold, turquoise, salmon and purple, all cozily tucked into the parklike area of shade trees and desert landscaping also owned by McCann Development.
“Marshall is due soon, so just a quick coat for now,” Sylvie said.
Betty nodded and set to work. Two of her crew had spread out to gather the trash, determined as soldiers. Sylvie’s heart lifted at the sight. Everyone who worked here was as devoted to the mall’s well-being as she was.
“Who would do such a thing? Is this a post-Halloween prank?” she asked Randolph.
“It was either those Goth kids I gave hell for banging into your mom’s kiosk or those delinquents from that art group.”
“The art kids love it here.” Sylvie had convinced Mary Beth to lease a hard-to-rent space to Free Arts, which taught art to kids from drug rehab programs or foster homes. They had to earn the privilege of coming. “At least it’s not gang tags.”
“Just you wait,” Randolph said. “That’s coming.”
“Hold on. You’re sounding like Councilman Collins.” A modest increase in home foreclosures and petty crime in the area had Reggie Collins politicking in the press about the need for urban renewal funds and more police patrols.
Everyone loved Starlight Desert, the homey heart of Phoenix’s oldest suburb. If there were problems, Sylvie was determined Starlight Desert would be part of the solution.
“This wouldn’t have happened if I had more guards,” Randolph said. “Leo’s nephew needs a job, you know. We could hire him at least.”
“Let’s just be more watchful for now.” Randolph took his job very seriously, which Sylvie appreciated, though she had to rein him in from time to time. If he had his way, he’d ground every teenager who walked in the place. With ten-year-old twin daughters, the man was terrified of puberty.
“You’ll mention it to Marshall? About the new locks and about replacing the golf carts?” Randolph pushed.
“Let’s get our revenues up first.” She had a plan for that to show Marshall, too. “If you’ve got this handled, I’ll go set up for my meeting.” She patted her laptop, which held the presentation she’d run through at home until she’d nearly memorized it.
“You’ll do great,” Randolph said. “You’re sure dressed like a boss.” He nodded at her outfit with a wistful smile. Recently divorced, Randolph had a bit of a crush on Sylvie they both wisely ignored. “Is that from Margo’s?”
“Yes.” She’d spent too much on the white silk shirt and navy suit, but Sylvie supported mall shops whenever she could. She felt sweat trickle down her rib cage. It was nerves, not heat. Summer had released its death grip on Phoenix and the early November air was pleasant, the sun gentle.
Randolph held the mall door for her and Sylvie stepped inside. Home. The feeling never failed to cheer her.
She paused to breathe in the aroma of flowers and fruit from Heaven Scents, the lotion shop, and pick up light jazz on the loudspeaker. In a couple of weeks the smells would be cinnamon, clove, peppermint and pine and the music would be Christmas songs.
The prospect made Sylvie’s heart swell with joy. The holidays here were so festive, so full of promise and surprise, of people wanting to show their love in tangible ways. To her, Starlight Desert was a lot like Christmas.
Maybe it was weird to love a mall, but Sylvie and Starlight Desert had history. Her happiest memories with Desiree and her grandparents were here. She even had the same birthday as the mall—a sign if she’d ever heard it.
“Want a ride to the stairs?” Randolph asked.
“Just to the bakery to pick up my order, please.” She climbed into Randolph’s security cart, happy not to scurry the length of the mall in her new pumps and the itchy lace-topped stockings Margo had talked her into instead of her usual sensible panty hose.
They rolled past the pet store and Sylvie craned her neck for a good-luck look at the puppies in the window. They were Cavalier King Charles spaniels and cute as buttons. She’d given them all reindeer names in honor of her favorite season.
Randolph hit the brakes, and Sylvie was rocked forward and back. “Want to pick one out? Jed would give you a good price. He needs the room for the rescued dogs.”
“I can’t have a pet,” she said, watching her favorite, Dasher, tumble over the one she’d named Rudolph for his very pink nose. “I’m here twelve hours a day. He’d be alone too much.”
“That’s the point, Sylvie. You deserve more of a life. A dog, a husband, kids.” His kind eyes looked her over.
“I’ve got plenty of time for all that.” She was only twenty-nine. She waved her hand at the distant prospect of a family. Frankly, since Steve left for Seattle three months ago, she’d been glad to reclaim her free time. Their breakup had been amicable and she’d visited him in Seattle. The sex had been nice, but relationships needed too much nurturing. That was tough enough when you lived in the same city but nearly impossible long-distance. The truth was she didn’t have space in her life for anything serious just yet.
“Don’t wait too long. That’s all I’m saying. Marriage is a wonderful thing. I wish I’d appreciated the good times when I had them.”
“Did the girls’ visit go better this time?”
“Yeah, thanks to you. We played that board game all weekend.”
The twins had been bored during their previous visit to Randolph’s new bachelor apartment, so Sylvie had given them the game as something they could all do together. “It was Toy Town’s top seller, so I thought it might work.”
“You always take care of us.”
“Just doing my job, Randolph,” she said. “We’re all in the Starlight Desert family. You can let me off here.” She bounded away before he could get mushier. Or, worse, romantic.
Breathing in the sweet and yeasty smells of Sunni’s Bakery, she bopped into the kitchen for her order of the award-winning cranberry-nut scones she knew Marshall liked, then dashed up the stairs to the mall offices.
Once she had her PowerPoint presentation set up, Sylvie left the refreshments for Cyndi, the GM’s assistant and receptionist, to arrange, and dashed out to check on the cleanup effort.
When she got there, she could barely see where the new paint had been added and the crew was prying off the last of the toilet paper from the sage bushes.
Spotting a few streamers at the top of a mesquite tree, Sylvie braced a ladder against the trunk and climbed up to retrieve them.
The damned paper was just out of reach. She stretched higher, but fell partly into the scratchy branches. Yikes. Her heart racing, she lifted a leg to balance herself.
Thank God there was no one below her to get flashed.
“Can I help?”
The voice came from beneath her. Sylvie cringed, then twisted to see who might have glimpsed her panties.
Chase McCann, Marshall’s older son and Sylvie’s first crush, grinned up at her from the bottom of the ladder. What the hell? The man did investment deals all over the U.S. and Europe and was rarely in town.
“Chase? What are you doing here?”
“Helping you, looks like.” Humor danced in his dark eyes, so he’d definitely seen. Damn.
He braced the ladder, forcing her to climb down into his arms, while he looked her over, not the least apologetic that he’d perused her underwear.
“You hurt yourself?” he asked, checking her out in that amused older brother way he’d always had with her.
