Page 2 of Christmas By Design

Gemma practically preens at the compliment, but I know he’s just trying to butter me up so I’ll agree to take this on. She shoots me a sidelong glance and deflates a bit when she sees I’m not going to give in so easily.

“Oh, come on, Scrooge,” she jabs. “We’ll look at the blueprints, put together some samples and call some contractors, drive out to Indiana, take a look at the house, write up a proposal, and go on our merry way just in time for Christmas. We can finish the job after the holidays.” She pauses to consider, then says, “Well, I will be going on my merry way. You’ll probably just go home and grump around.”

I gesture toward her as I address Jacob, “You expect me to work with her when she says things like that?”

Jacob gives her a warning glare, and she throws her hands up in surrender. “My bad. I’m sure Beks has a perfectly lovely Christmas planned where he’ll be surrounded by family and friends singing carols by the fire and sipping hot chocolate.” She looks straight at me and says, “Sorry.”

She doesn’t sound at all sorry.

I throw a hand in her direction again and look at Jacob, who jumps in before I can say anything. “I’m starting to think pairing you two together again isn’t a great idea. I really thought two people with your level of combined experience would be a dream team. But I can see now that it won’t work.” He sighs as he runs a hand over his unshaved jaw. He looks more haggard than usual, which is saying a lot. He’s not the type to get a full eight hours of sleep each night. “I guess we’ll just have to pass on this one. Or see if Mrs. Dash can extend her project deadline so we can start after the holidays.”

Jacob’s shoulders slump forward. He frowns at his desk calendar, flipping through January, February, and into March. Gemma looks more and more dejected with each flip of the page. She must have really wanted this project. God knows why. She’s a mess of a person, but she’s extremely talented. She can certainly do better than a home renovation.

“If you’re not taking this on, Beckett, you can leave,” Jacob says without looking up. “We’ll see you Monday.”

I nod once, push my chair away, and stand. But in that motion, I inadvertently lock eyes with Gemma. Her rusty eyebrows tip up and pinch together a bit. Her deep, green eyes are big and round. They’d be almost pretty if they hadn’t been locked on me with hatred just a moment ago. She flicks her gaze to Jacob, who is still poring over his calendar, then back to me. When I don’t say anything, she sags—actually sags—and starts chewing on the corner of her mouth as she stares at the table in front of her.

Why does she want this so badly? What’s in it for her if she takes it? She’s had her pick of projects since she started here, I thought. Though, I’m not as well-versed in the behind-the-scenes of the company as an actual partner would be. Something isn’t adding up.

But she looks so impossibly sad about the prospect of losing this house renovation. I glance behind Jacob to the windows that show only the dreary, Chicago winter. It hasn’t snowed yet, but the gray sky seems to indicate it will soon. Across the street, I can see a man in a bright red Santa hat ringing a bell next to a charity bucket. Colorful lights are starting to blink on as the sun sets earlier each day.

For a second, a glimmer of Christmas generosity sparks in my chest. Gemma was right about this being a quick project. A day or so in Indiana looking at a house, and an easy proposal. Some phone calls from the office to organize everything, and another trip or two out there to make sure it’s done right. It’d be no sweat, really. It wouldn’t be done before Christmas, but some of the checks would clear, which would help out the firm. And if Jacob thinks it would be good for us to branch out, maybe I can find some Christmas spirit and take one for the team.

But she was right about another thing, too. I do spend my Christmases alone. She was wrong about me being a grump about it, though. I prefer a silent night with my roaring fireplace, a glass of brandy, a book, and my cat. It’s a nice reset before the end of the year. Most importantly, it’s quiet.

I look forward to it every year.

I watch Gemma for a second as she leans forward on her elbows, trying to affect an air of calm. A tick in her jaw and the way she digs the pads of her fingers into her forearms give her away, though. Her nails are bitten to the quick, and the skin on her hands is dry. There’s paint smudged near her elbow, and another stain of something unidentifiable on her torn jeans. Her reddish hair is pulled into a mass of curls on top of her head, as if she couldn’t care less what she looks like.

This is how this woman shows up to work. Unbelievable.

No, I can’t work with her on this. It’s a new venture for the company, which makes it completely unpredictable. Add Gemma the Tornado to the mix, and it could be a disaster. I’ll enjoy my clean, quiet Christmas and come back to work on some more stable projects.

If she wants to spend her holiday season going back and forth to Northwest Indiana, let her. I do not.

Chapter 2

Gemma

It’s Saturday in mid-December, and State Street is absolutely packed with tourists. I’m a born-and-raised suburbanite—and I still live in the suburbs with my daughter and, since her father left us high and dry, my parents—but Chicago has always had this pull on me. It’s a major reason why I applied for the project manager job at Designs by Drawley, even though I knew it would mean a lot of commuting and more time away from my daughter, Nova. I can’t afford to live within Chicago city limits, so any time in the city is better than no time in the city.

That’s what I mumble to myself, anyway, as I grip Nova’s tiny hand tighter. There are veritable throngs of people moving slowly past the giant holiday window displays at Macy’s, and Nova, of course, insists on walking by herself rather than being carried. And she’s only two, so she’s even slower than the tourists.

“Oh, look at the pretty snowflakes!” I say to her while pointing at the glittery crystals lining one of the windows. A snowman moves back and forth as fake snow falls behind it.

“Up, Mama! I see,” Nova whines. I grab her under her armpits and swing her around to balance her on my hip. I grunt as she twists and leans forward as if she wants to leap out of my arms. My grasp on her tightens.

“Isn’t it pretty?” I ask.

She nods enthusiastically. “Snow!” She laughs and tilts her head up to the dreary, darkening sky. A cold drizzle had started to fall about half an hour ago.

“No, baby, that’s rain,” I correct her. She wrinkles her little nose, and I chuckle. “Yeah, I don’t like it either. That’s Chicago weather for you.”

“Chi-ca-go.” She tries out the syllables slowly, wrapping her mouth around each one. Her wide eyes turn away from me and toward the brightly colored windows. “Pretty.”

It is pretty. The whole city is lit up and alive with holiday spirit. I look up at the glittering trumpets lining the building, but a drop of water lands right in my eye. I wipe it away and try not to grumble. The whole point of this outing was for Nova to experience some of Chicago’s Christmas joy, and so joyful I shall remain.

I glance in front of us. Two more windows before the end, and I think she’s tired because she wraps her little arms around my neck and buries her face in my shoulder. The pom-pom on her hat tickles my cheek.