Page 2 of Miss Christmas

“Damn—I mean darn. Excuse me a minute.” It was her boyfriend, or the guy who was doing a bad job acting the part. She walked a few paces toward the back hallway.

“Jason, make it quick. I’m still working.”

“Hello to you too.”

She rolled her eyes and bit her tongue.

“Hello, darling, I can’t wait to see you tonight.” She emphasized the sarcastic twang.

“About tonight—”

Damn him.

“You’re calling me to cancel dinner? Again?” She’d bought a dress for their big night out last month and this was the third cancellation. They were supposedly celebrating their three-month anniversary, oxymoron or not.

“Couldn’t be helped, babe. Got a gig. Can’t say no.”

“I guess not. In which case, I can’t help telling you to go to hell.” She stamped her thumb on the disconnect button and stuffed the phone into her apron pocket, wishing she could afford to throw it at the wall. Anger rose in her, hot and steamy, drowning out the prick of sad disappointment, the feelings of inadequacy that she fought down too often. After all, it was he who wasn’t good enough for her, not the other way around, wasn’t it? Her mother had always told her that about any young man who’d wronged her. Kind of like the way her father wronged her mother. By not marrying her.

Blinking fast to stave off any crazy tears that dared to show, she turned back to the lunch counter. Her eyes ran smack into the hunky vision of Mr. Save the Day, the newcomer who must have got lost and wandered into their downscale little luncheonette. Her heart lifted right along with the corners of her mouth as she strolled back to her new flirtation.

Jason could take a leap. It was time to shut that bad chapter down and make the most of the opportunity sitting right in front of her.

“Bad news?” he said, watching her face with unnerving, unreserved curiosity.

* * *

“I’ve never seen you in here before.”

“I’ll have to start coming in more often,” Will meant the words, though he was immediately aware they sounded like a line even if he hadn’t noticed the skeptical look on her face. This woman was a complete knockout, albeit in an in-your-face way. His mind went to the Miss Christmas pageant and he smiled. She was not Miss Christmas material and definitely not his type. Regal Department Stores was looking for a more understated, elegant woman to match their brand. He supposed that’s what he was looking for in a woman for himself too.

He glanced around the place. Christmas decorations everywhere. Not the kind they sold at Regal’s, more like the kind from a drugstore. But the diner still felt warm and charming. Or the warmth and charm could have come from Scarlet Jones, the knockout’s name according to the pin on her red-and-white striped apron, which was held aloft by a substantial rack. A mesmerizing amount of cleavage showed just to the left of the pin.

“Somehow I don’t believe that story,” she said. “Are you from out of town?”

“No, I live right here in Manhattan. But I don’t normally—” He realized it would sound snobby if he told her he didn’t normally frequent this kind of place.

She nodded. “You don’t normally go to divey luncheonettes with patched-up bar stools and dirty linoleum floors. I get it.” The look on her face registered as a smile first, and then belatedly the dangerous gleam hit him. She was like a wolf hunting prey and he felt like a sheep.

A very interesting feeling—exciting, if he was honest. Not that he didn’t get his share of predatory females pursuing him as one of the city’s so-called most eligible bachelors, if you believed the society pages. But those women were the kind he’d known all his life, and so he couldn’t be intimidated by them. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been excited by any of them either.

Scarlet Jones was different. And very exciting, if his accelerated heart rate was a measure.

“You got me. But I’m reforming my snobby ways as we speak.”

“What do you want?”

He heated up like a hot coil at the suggestion in her voice. He knew she was talking about the menu, or at least his mind knew that. The rest of him was convinced she meant all kinds of sizzling things not on any luncheonette menu. He cleared his throat, staring back at her taunting violet eyes.

“Coffee.”

“So why are you here, Mister—what should I call you?”

“Will. Call me Will.”

“Is that short for William, or something fancier that I never heard of before?”

“William. Nothing fancy.”