Contents
Holiday with You
Also By Claudia Burgoa
Also By Grahame Claire
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Afterword
Also By Claudia Burgoa
Also By Grahame Claire
About Claudia Burgoa
About Grahame Claire
Copyright © 2020 by Claudia Burgoa and Grahame Claire
Cover by: Hang Le
Edited by: Marion Archer, Marion Making Manuscripts
Karen Lawson and Janet Hitchcock, The Proof is in the Reading
Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies
All rights reserved.
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Except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, business establishments, events, locales or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and-or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, of which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized with or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Also By Claudia Burgoa
The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers Series
* * *
Loved You Once
A Moment Like You
Defying Our Forever
Call You Mine
February 2021
As We Are
June 2021
Yours to Keep
September 2021
* * *
Against All Odds Series
* * *
Wrong Text, Right Love
Didn’t Expect You
Love Like Her
March 2021
* * *
Second Chance Sinners
Pieces of Us
April 2021
Somehow Finding Us
May 2021
Collections
The Ahern Brothers
December 16th 2020
Standalones
* * *
Us After You
Almost Perfect
Once Upon a Holiday
Someday, Somehow
Chasing Fireflies
Something Like Hate
Then He Happened
Maybe Later
My One Despair
My One Regret
Found
Fervent
Flawed
Until I Fall
Finding My Reason
Christmas in Kentbury
* * *
Chaotic Love Duet
Begin with You
Back to You
* * *
Unexpected Series
Uncharted
Uncut
Undefeated
Unlike Any Other
Decker the Halls
Co-writing
Holiday with You
Also By Grahame Claire
PATHS TO LOVE SERIES
It’s Not Over
Three Dates
Righting Our Wrongs
Heartbreaker
Dangerous Redemption
Thick As Thieves
FREE SERIES
Free Me
Trust Me
Defend Me
WRITTEN WITH CLAUDIA BURGOA
Holiday With You
Best wishes for the holidays and for health and happiness throughout the coming year.
To You, Our Readers
Chapter One
Audrey
Some hidden rule in the corporate world says holiday music must start playing on November first. Well, maybe it’s not the entire corporate world, but here, at Capell-Stanley Hotels, they do it every year. It’s nothing that a good set of wireless earbuds and a custom playlist can’t fix, though. I have nothing against the holidays, but after listening to “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town” on repeat for weeks, I’m more into the spirit of smashing a few ornaments—Office Space movie style—by Thanksgiving. Maybe I’ll use the four-inch heel of my shoe instead of a bat.
However, there are numerous advantages to the season. Many employees take time off to be with their families, so with an empty office, I can focus on work and tune out everything. I can wear scarves and hats without looking odd. Let’s get real. We can’t wear winter accessories in SoCal all year round.
The last and most important benefit is peppermint mocha.
My guilty pleasure. It’s the perfect drink with caffeine to keep my energy level up, fresh minty syrup goodness, and pieces of sweet childhood memories of candy canes.
If Santa really existed, I’d send him a letter asking for an unlimited supply of the delicious heavenly drink. I really should ask him to help me find the owner of Winter Valley Bed & Breakfast. After all, rumor has it he knows when we’re sleeping or awake, so he should know where we live.
My boss has set her sights on the building even though our portfolio contains no B&Bs. It’s not a fit, but she’s determined to expand.
The elusive Ms. Grant has avoided me since the end of September. I needed to close this deal last month, but it’s been impossible. How can I do that when Ms. Grant and her employees ignore my calls? My emails go unanswered, and even the letters I sent have come back to the office.
I should forget this, but when my boss sinks her claws into a new venture, she doesn’t let it go—ever. The innovative idea to acquire B&Bs and create a designer line of unique places focused on women who might need a weekend off in the middle of nowhere is frivolous . . . in my opinion.
As a woman, I would love a place where I can relax, but who in their right mind would pay a thousand dollars a night to stay at an exclusive B&B in the middle of nowhere?
We should discuss my ideas for improving our brand and remodeling all the current resorts.
As if I had invoked Satan herself, Aurora Sledge barges into my office without knocking.
Please, make yourself at home.
If she can do one thing like no one else in the world, it’s spear people with a glare while wearing a broad smile. I’m thankful she hasn’t disemboweled me—or any of t
he employees who work for her.
“Audrey, remember when I said we should own Winter Valley Bed & Breakfast before the end of the year?” she asks in that cold, clipped way she’s mastered.
I rub my arms with my hands. This might be LA, but it feels like the Arctic when she’s around. I like my job, and I don’t mind spending fifteen hours a day in this office.
What I hate is my boss.
It’s true what they say: we can’t have everything. I have the apartment by the beach and the dream job, but unfortunately, I have the crazy boss from hell who makes working here daunting.
I take a deep breath and answer. “If you recall, we’ve been trying to contact Ms. Grant—”
“I don’t want excuses.” She places her palms on my desk and leans close. How rude. “You know how I feel about my employees’ performance. I expect results. Make things happen. You’ll leave tomorrow for Winter Valley and don’t come back until we own the place.”
She turns around and leaves my office without another word. I sit on my chair, staring at the hallway and listening to “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”
It’s all lies. Nothing is wonderful at the moment. Last July was better when I went to Bora Bora to plan hotel renovations. Now I have to go somewhere cold and probably sad to save my job. Groan.
My mind races, full of questions. When am I leaving? Probably right now if you want to keep your job. How am I supposed to get there? You better check Google maps and be ready to climb any mountain as if your life depended on it. Most importantly, would anyone miss Aurora if I stab her, chop her into little pieces, and throw them to the sharks? I need to stop watching reruns of Dexter.
May I suggest watching less serial killer series and more feel-good movies?
I spend the rest of my day tying up loose ends on other projects, searching for how in the world to get to Winter Valley, and grabbing everything I need so I can work from my hotel room. Aurora might want me in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado, but she will have a hissy fit if I delegate any of my responsibilities while I’m gone.
Somehow, between organizing my trip and turning off my computer, I have received almost a hundred new emails. How am I supposed to leave my desk, the office, and the state when I’m needed here?
I should go to her office and remind her that my job description doesn’t include fetching me a new building.
But instead, like a dutiful compliance and marketing manager, I’m packing away my desk, wondering when I’ll see it again. They’ve ignored every method of contact thus far. Why the hell does Aurora Sledge believe in miracles? And why not go there herself if she truly believes we can win this?
The day can’t get any worse, can it?
It takes me over an hour to get home—which I cope with, knowing I won’t be dealing with LA traffic for God knows how long—only to see a message on my phone to call Mom. My mother can be wonderful, and I’ve often thought of her as my confidant, especially in hard times.
But I’m not quite ready to hear what she has to say today.
“Hey, Hot Mama.”
“Stan is getting married this weekend,” she announces.
Cold trickles down my spine.
My heart slows down. Is it sadness because I still love him or . . . why should I care if he’s getting married?
“I love you, but I don’t need to hear this.”
This shouldn’t surprise me since the guy got engaged three months ago. It’s a natural progression. Date, get engaged, get married.
Obviously not to me, though.
My head is about to explode. I demand to know what’s wrong with me. We dated for more than five years—five years—and lived together three of those. Yet when I asked if we should get married, we broke up, and he moved out of my apartment the next weekend.
He looks very committed to Harmony Lynn Jones for a guy who wasn’t planning on committing for life.
Did I cyber-stalk him when Mom mentioned he was dating a new girl? Yes, but don’t judge me. After we dated for five years, he was single for about five seconds before he started dating someone new—a woman who happens to be eight years younger than I am. She just graduated from college last August.
Okay, I still have to work on my anger. Knowing that he proposed didn’t help, but learning he’s getting married . . .
“When is he getting married?” I ask out loud.
“On Christmas Eve,” she answers. “Isn’t that romantic?”
You’re not helping, Mother. How can he get married when, and I quote, “Sorry, marriage isn’t for me, Audrey Bear.”
Asshole!
My fingers itch to check his latest post. The imbecile gave her the ring I had designed for me. I didn’t even get a proposal.
“As I said the last time—when they announced their engagement—I don’t need to know about his life. We are over.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Which is why I think it’s time for you to meet other people,” she says with that motherly worry that feels like she’s stabbing me.
I love Mom, but like any other mother in the world, she wants her child to be perfect. She’s proud of me and my accomplishments, and would love to see me get married soon. All her friends have grandchildren or one is on the way. She can’t brag about me during book club, knitting club, or wine club.
My life is plain.
This is the part of the conversation when I could remind her how marriages and relationships don’t work. She divorced Dad when I was young. I haven’t seen the guy since I turned eight and he moved to New York with his new wife. He broke all those promises to come visit me and send me a ticket so I could be with him the moment he boarded the plane.
“Mom, I thought we agreed you’d be unfriending him,” I say instead of getting into a lengthy discussion about my love life, the guys she could set me up with, and becoming more social.
“Don’t be silly, Audrey.” She sighs. “You ended your relationship amicably. I don’t see why I have to pick a side. I adore you. You’re my child. Stan is fun. He posted a video the other day of a—”
“Mom,” I interrupt before she continues professing her love for the son who will never be hers. “I need to pack.”
“Pack?” Her tone changes to intrigued. “Are you leaving for work or the gym?”
“Work. It’s an emergency trip.” More like a tantrum from my boss, but let’s call it a business trip for the sake of sounding professional.
“Please tell me they’re sending you to one of the hotels in the Maldives this time. Can I go with you?”
“You can come with me.” I extend the invitation, knowing she’s going to shut me down when she learns there won’t be colorful drinks with umbrellas decorating the glasses. If I’m lucky, I’ll get coffee with creamer. “I’m going to Winter Valley.”
“Where is that?” The slight squeak in her voice means she has no idea how to decline the invitation without hurting my feelings.
“Some obscure town in Colorado.” I head to my closet. “Listen, if you don’t have a warm jacket and winter gear, I would recommend you pass.”
“Do I have time to shop?” Her question is almost a mumble. “I can go this Saturday with my friends.”
“Sorry.” I try to sound disappointed, but I’m not. “I should be back by Friday.”
Love her dearly, but she would see this as a vacation rather than a work trip, and I don’t have time to humor her. I plan to go in, get the job done, and be back home no later than Friday. Aurora always says everything is for sale. Three days will have to be enough to convince Ms. Grant to sell and get her to sign a contract. Aurora and her legal minions can take care of the rest.
“We’ll plan a trip for next year,” she says enthusiastically. “Now, don’t forget to call me when you arrive at your destination. I’ll miss you, sweet pea.”
“I love you, Mom.”
While I’m trying to figure out what to pack, I receive a text from Aurora.
Crazy Boss Diva: Be in Colorad
o by 9 a.m. tomorrow
That’s impossible. She’s insane.
Audrey Reed: I’ve already booked a non-refundable ticket for the earliest flight at 10 a.m.
Crazy Boss Diva: Rearrange your schedule. Make it happen.
At times, I wonder if Aurora Sledge’s whole purpose is to drive me crazy. Push my buttons. One thing is for sure—every time she does something this stupid, I hate her just a little more. And wonder if she hates that she needs me so much.
Chapter Two
Colin
“I asked for white cupboards and dark counters,” Mrs. Riley protests as my guys unload the cabinets we’re installing today in her Aspen estate home.
It’s only nine o’clock on Monday, and I already regret getting out of bed.
No, I suggested maple wood with dark counters, but you told me that Mrs. Johnston, your neighbor, had dark, almost black cupboards so that wouldn’t work.
She’s not my first difficult client. Running one of the most prestigious construction companies in New York, I’ve learned a trick or two. Contracts are vital. Penalties are your friends. Commitment means nothing to some people.