The Mistletoe Promise by Richard Paul Evans
That shut me up. I hung up the phone, then broke down crying.
I finished my lunch and went back to work.
CHAPTER
Six
The lawyer and I made our plans for the next seven weeks. It looks like fun. Which is probably what the last Hindenburg passenger thought as he boarded the blimp.
Elise Dutton’s Diary
The next morning I was booking rooms at a New York hotel when Zoey walked in carrying a silver box from Nordstrom and set it on my desk.
“It’s from the lawyer,” she whispered. Then she just stood there, waiting for me to finish the call. As soon as I hung up she said, “Open it.” She looked even more eager to see what was inside the box than I was. I opened the card first.
Day 3. It’s been a cold winter, Elise. I thought this might help.
—Nick
“So what did Lover Boy send today?” Zoey asked, sounding incredibly jealous. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy it.
“Let’s find out,” I said. I untied the ribbon, then lifted the lid. Inside was a piece of light tan cloth. I lifted it out.
“It’s a scarf,” I said. “It’s soft.”
Zoey touched it. “It’s cashmere.” She instinctively went for the label. “Pashmina from Bottega Veneta.” She looked up at me. “You realize that’s like six hundred dollars.”
I tried not to look impressed. “Really?”
“This guy’s made of money. What does he drive?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you not know?”
“I haven’t been out with him yet.”
“Amazing,” she said, shaking her head as she walked out of my office.
I wore the scarf to lunch. Nicholas was waiting for me near Cafe Rio. He stood, smiling, as I approached. “I see you got it,” he said, looking at the scarf.
“What did I say about spending so much?”
“You told me I didn’t have to, which I already knew.”
“I feel uncomfortable.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t worry about it. I don’t expect reciprocity, so you don’t need to worry about anything. Just enjoy it.” He looked into my eyes. “Or at least let me enjoy it, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s cashmere,” he said.
“I know. Zoey told me. She’s insanely jealous.”
“Is a jealous Zoey a good or bad thing?”
“That depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Definitely a good thing.”
He smiled. “What are we eating today? Cafe Rio again?”
“Of course.”
“I should have just ordered for you. Before this is over I’m going to expand your culinary horizons. Save our place and I’ll be right back. Sweet pork salad, pinto beans, house dressing.”
“And a diet lemonade.”
“Of course.”
Not wanting to get food on my scarf, I folded it up and stowed it in my purse. Nicholas returned a few minutes later carrying a tray. “One salad with lots of sugar, and a lemonade sans sugar.”
“Thank you.”
He sat down.
“What did you get?” I asked, examining his meal.
“I thought I’d try the chiles rellenos with some of this rice.” He took a bite, then asked, “Who is this Zoey person?”
“She’s just someone I work with.” A peculiar feeling swept through me. I didn’t want him to know who Zoey was. I didn’t want him to meet her. I didn’t want her to take him. “She’s, like, beautiful.”
“Like you,” he said.
“No, she’s really beautiful.”
His expression immediately changed. He almost looked angry. “As opposed to what?”
“As opposed to me.”
He leaned back for a moment, then said, “How long have you been this way?”
“What way?”
“Self-deprecating.”
Suddenly, to my surprise, tears began to well up in my eyes. I didn’t answer. I was too embarrassed.
He didn’t back off. “What makes you think you’re not beautiful?”
“I’m not blind,” I said. “I can look in a mirror.”
“You have a flawed mirror,” he replied. His voice softened. “Elise, anyone can open a book. Not everyone can appreciate the beauty of the writing. I want you to stop berating yourself.”
“It’s just . . .” I wiped my eyes with a napkin. “Around my office I’m not the one who gets the flowers.”
“Funny,” he said. “I could have sworn you told me that you just got some.”
What was this man doing to me? “Can we just eat?”
“I want to add something to our contract. For the length of our agreement you will believe that you are beautiful.”
“You can’t just change a belief.”
“People do it all the time,” he said. “Besides, it’s contractual. You don’t have a choice. You’d be amazed at what people accomplish under contract.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Then at least believe that I believe you’re beautiful.”
I sat there fighting back tears. “Can we please change the subject?”
“Will you agree to do this one thing for me?”
Finally I nodded.
“All right. Now we can eat.”
We ate for a few minutes until he said, “I’m going to run out of time, so we’d better start planning our season.” He reached into his briefcase and brought out some papers. “I had my secretary print out copies of my calendar for the next two months. We can use it to plan.”
He handed me two pages, and I quickly looked through the calendar. Not surprisingly, he had a lot more going on than I did. I didn’t need a secretary to schedule my life. I didn’t even need a notebook.
“You have two work parties,” I noted.
“Yes, I’m sorry if that’s excessive. There’s an office party for the entire firm, then there’s the partners’ party.”
“Gee, I wonder which one is nicer,” I said.
“Actually, they’re both nice,” he said. “The company party is at La Caille.”
“Really?” La Caille was an expensive French restaurant in the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains. “That’s nice.”
“You’ve been there?”
“It’s been a few years. Actually, I was there for a wedding. It’s a bit above my pay grade. Where’s the partners’ party, the Grand America?”
“The partners’ party is at one of our founders’ homes.”
I went back to the beginning of the calendar. The first event Nicholas had marked was the evening of November ninth. Tomorrow night.
“What’s this Hale Centre event?” I asked.
“That’s the Hale Centre Theatre’s production of A Christmas Carol. I’ve heard it’s great, I’ve just never wanted to go alone.” He looked at me. “I know it’s sudden. If you have other plans . . .”
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “I’m not busy.”
He looked pleased.
I moved down the calendar. “What about the following weekend? You marked an event on the sixteenth.”
“There’s nothing scheduled, but is there something you would like to do? We could go to the symphony, ballet, Walmart . . .”
“Let me think about it,” I said. I moved my finger to the next week on the calendar. “The next week is Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving is early this year. Do you have plans?”
“I usually spend it with Dan’s family.”
“Who’s Dan?”
“My ex.”
He looked at me quizzically. “Really?”
<
“How does your ex feel about it?”
“He’s strangely good with it. In a twisted way I think it makes him feel like he has a harem.”
“That’s creepy.”
“That would describe him.”
“You don’t have a better alternative? Family?”
“There’s no one close. My parents have both passed away. I have a sister in Minneapolis. She invites me to her house every year, but it’s too expensive to fly there for a day.”
“You don’t get frequent-flier miles with the travel agency?” he asked. Then he answered his own question. “I guess you couldn’t use them on Thanksgiving anyway. It’s a blackout period.”
“I don’t get them. I don’t travel with the groups. We have people who do that. I just do the logistics, like booking hotels and admissions at some of the venues.”
He nodded as he took this all in. “So, back to Thanksgiving at your ex’s family. I assume Dan and company wouldn’t like me joining them. Disrupt the harem and all that.”
“No, that might be awkward.”
“Then would you be willing to join me?”
“With your family?”
“No, in that department we’re in the same boat. I celebrate Thanksgiving with the family of one of the attorneys I work with.”
“What’s their name?”
“The Hitesmans,” he said. “Scott Hitesman. Real nice family.”
I wrote the name down on the calendar.
“Scott joined the firm about the same time I did. We were working over a Thanksgiving weekend on a big case, and he invited me to join them. I’ve been with them ever since.”
“Will they be okay if I come?”
Nicholas laughed. “No, they’ll be ecstatic. Sharon is always trying to get me to invite someone.”
“Then it’s a date. Will I need to bring anything?”
“I usually just pick up some pies from Marie Callender’s.”
“I can make pie,” I said. “I like baking. I make a pumpkin pie that’s to die for. And a pecan pie that’s a least worth getting sick for.”
He grimaced.
“That didn’t come out right,” I said.
“I love pecan pie. You’ve got a deal.”
“How many people will there be?”
“About seven, including us.”
“How many pies?”
“I usually bring four. An apple, cherry, pumpkin, and mincemeat.”
“Does anyone still eat mincemeat?”
“Grandma Hitesman does. She’s ninety-six. When she dies, the industry will crumble.”
I laughed. “Maybe you could pick that one up.”
“I could do that.”
We both looked back down at the calendar.
“The next week is our firm’s Christmas party,” Nicholas said. “Saturday, December first.”
“The one at La Caille?” I asked.
He nodded.
“That’s the week of my work party too,” I said. “It’s that Wednesday.”
“Can you do both?”
“Absolutely. But I should warn you, it’s not going to be La Caille. It’s not even going to be Burger King, for that matter.”
“I don’t care,” he said.
“You have no idea how nice it will be to go with someone this year. Ever since I divorced, I’ve been the odd one out.”
“I think I have an idea,” he said. “That’s why we’re doing this.”
The next week there were two days marked on the calendar. December sixth and seventh. “What are these?”
His expression fell. “It’s nothing,” he said in a way that made me sure that it was. “It’s just . . . something I do.” He quickly moved on. “The next week, on the fourteenth, is the partners’ party. Then the week after that I have to fly to New York City to meet with one of our clients, so we won’t get together that week.” He looked up at me. “Unless you come to New York with me.”
I couldn’t tell if he was serious. “I’m afraid that would be out of my budget.”
“Travel expenses are in the contract.”
I looked at him. “You’re serious.” To tell the truth, the idea of going to New York at Christmas thrilled me. “Let’s see how things go.”
“That’s wise,” he replied.
“Then there’s nothing until Christmas Eve?”
“What are your plans for Christmas Eve?” he asked.
I was embarrassed to tell him that I hadn’t anything planned. “Nothing. Yet.”
“How about we have dinner?”
“That would be nice. Where?”
“I don’t know, we can decide that later. We have seven weeks.”
“And then we’re done,” I said.
He slowly nodded. “Exactly. The agreement is fulfilled, the contract is terminated.” He slid his calendar into his briefcase, then stood. “I better get back. I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch, then tomorrow evening for the play.”
“Thank you for lunch,” I said. I held up the calendar. “And for all this.”
“It’s my pleasure. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too.”
He looked into my eyes and said, “Elise.”
“Yes?”
“No more complaints about gifts. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to give to, and I’m having a lot of fun. Don’t ruin it for me. Okay?”
I nodded and smiled. “If you insist.”
His serious expression gave way to a smile. “I insist. Have a good day.”
As he started to go I said, “Nicholas.”
He turned back. “Yes?”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
He looked puzzled. “Why?”
“Zoey wanted to know.”
He grinned mischievously. “Tell her it’s a very expensive one.” He blew me a kiss and walked off. As he disappeared from sight, I took out my scarf and put it around my neck. It had been a long time since I had felt that warm.
CHAPTER
Seven
Why is it that we so easily confide secrets to strangers that we so carefully hide from ourselves?
Elise Dutton’s Diary
I once read that the secret to happiness is having something to do, something to look forward to, and someone to love. It must be true even if the love is contractual. The next morning was the first time in a long time that I woke happy. I followed my usual routine of shower, hair, health shake, then, looking at myself in the mirror, I took extra time for my makeup. I used to be good at makeup, but that was before I stopped caring. You don’t take care of things you don’t value.
I was a few minutes late to work, but, considering all the late evenings and unpaid overtime I’d pulled over the years, I wasn’t worried.
“You’re late,” Zoey said as I walked into the office. She was applying mascara.
“I know,” I said simply.
Around ten o’clock we were having staff meeting when the bell on our door rang. “I’ll get it,” Zoey said, standing. She was always the first to offer. She hated meetings.
Five minutes later, when Zoey hadn’t returned, Mark said, “Elise, would you please remind Zoey that we’re in the middle of a staff meeting?”
“Sure,” I said. I walked out into the front lobby. Zoey was just standing there in a room filled with flowers. “The man’s smitten,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “It took two deliverymen to bring them all in.”
There were twelve dozen roses, half white, half red. If Nicholas was making a point about sending me whatever he wanted, he’d succeeded. A minute later Cathy walked o
“I have no idea,” I said.
“The delivery people said they’d be back to take them to your apartment,” Zoey said. “Here’s the card that came with them.”
I unsealed the envelope.
Day 4. Next time you complain that I’m spending too much I’m doubling it. Looking forward to tonight.
—Nicholas
I smiled.
“What did he say?” Zoey asked.
“He’s looking forward to our date tonight.”
“Where are you going?”
“We’re going to watch a play. A Christmas Carol.”
“That sounds . . . fun.” I knew that a play wouldn’t be her idea of a good time. She looked at me for a moment, then said, “You know what the problem with all this is?”
I looked at her. “No. What?”
“No one can keep this up forever. Someday it’s going to stop. And then it’s going to suck.”
“It’s most certainly going to stop,” I said. “The trick is to enjoy the ride while it lasts.”
Zoey looked at me with surprise. “When did you get this attitude?” Then she looked closer at me. “Are you wearing eyeliner?”
When I arrived in the food court, Nicholas was already there, sitting at our usual table. He must have been early; he had already bought our food. He smiled when he saw me. “I took the liberty of ordering the usual.”
“Thank you,” I said, sitting down. I took a bite of my salad. He wore a funny expression, and I guessed that he was waiting for me to comment on the flowers. I decided to play dumb.
Finally he said, “So did you get anything today?”
I looked at him blankly. “Anything? Like what?”
“A special delivery?”
“Hmm, I said. “A special delivery. Oh, you mean like a hundred and forty-four roses?”
He grinned. “That wasn’t too excessive, was it?”
“No. Just right. And once the delivery people return to get them, my apartment will look like a funeral parlor.”
He laughed. “We’re still on for tonight?”