Mistletoe in the Snow (New Hope Sweet Christmas Romance 1)

Gemma laughed, her heart lighter. She shouldn’t have worried so much about her friends. They hadn’t let her down in the three years they’d known each other, and they’d still be there for her after today. Suddenly, the week seemed a little brighter.

“Don’t get all cozy,” Chloe said with a flick of her wrist, as she turned to head to her office. “Laurie’s got some unsettling news to share with you. You’re not going to like it.”

Gemma turned to her office manager with a worried look. “What is it?”

“I got a call from my friend up at Barkley & Barkley,” Laurie said softly. She moved to sit in a seat across from Gemma. “Apparently, we’re supposed to be getting a surprise visit from them later this week. They’re sending down Mr. Barkley’s nephew, Lance Barkley.”

“To do what?”

Gemma hated corporate visits. They made her feel as if she’d done something wrong. But Barkley & Barkley was their only source of donations, so she had to play nice.

“Well, apparently, he’s been extra naughty around the office,” Laurie whispered, as if afraid someone might overhear her. “A real Playboy type. They’re sending him up here to keep him out of trouble.”

Gemma leaned forward on her elbows, running her tongue along the inside of her teeth. A sour taste had formed in her mouth. “So what, we’re supposed to babysit him?”

“I guess so.”

“Any chance he’ll bring some more funds with him?”

Their funding had been slowing down these past few years. Budgets were spread tight around the non-profits in New Hope. Any increase in donation dollars would be a welcome gift for the holidays.

“My friend doesn’t think so,” Laurie said with a sigh. “It’s purely a babysitting job with zero payout.”

Gemma sucked on her teeth and shrugged her shoulders. The Christmas season was too busy of a time to get caught up in worrying. If this spoiled nephew wanted to come here and put up his feet, that was his business. She was fine with it, as long as he stayed out of her way.

“Set up a temporary office in the lobby with you,” Gemma told Laurie. “Mr. Barkley can make himself at home. I have the feeling he won’t be staying long.”

Chapter Three

Rounding the corner to the nearest coffee shop, Lance glanced at his new home for the next two weeks. New Hope was the kind of town only found in cheesy Hallmark movies.

A quaint little grocery store with blinking Christmas lights stood on the corner, kids’ toy displays behind every large window. The town’s only bank sat next door, with no drive-through or ATM. A man in a bright red Santa suit rang a bell in front of the Salvation Army store, coins clanking in his bright red bucket anytime someone dropped by with a donation. The trees that lined the street were filled with twinkling lights and shiny tinsel, the kind that made Lance want to barf.

And worst of all, everyone in this dinky town seemed to know one other. They’d greet each other with bright, cheery Happy Holidays on every corner. He was the stranger. That was made clear by the awkward stares directed his way. He’d be surprised if this town had seen anybody from the outside civilized world in over a hundred years. They certainly didn’t act like it.

He’d sent Frankie to check them into the motel. At least he’d had the good sense to bring his assistant on this task. He needed a constant reminder that life didn’t end at New Hope’s city line. His current mission was to find some decent coffee. The brew in the rusty old machine sitting in the motel’s lobby wasn’t going to do it for him. He needed something exotic and he needed it now. If only he could find a decent cup in this town, he might just survive.

Surviving wasn’t an option for everyone. His uncle had made it very clear that he would probably be firing some employees in the near future. The thought made him queasy. He’d never had to cut an employee loose before now. As disgusted as he was about this little town, he knew the workers here were still hard-working people. They needed to earn a living as much as the next person. Taking away their jobs seemed harsh. If there was any other way…

But there wasn’t. He was here to prove to his uncle that he could be a man and run his company. If that meant firing someone, he would do it. There was no room for hesitations or emotions. His nerves would survive another day. He could hide them beneath a freshly dry-cleaned ten-thousand-dollar suit and pressed shirt.

Lance paused on the street corner and proudly buttoned up his suit jacket. Business clothes had a way of toughening up a guy and making him act like a man. It was a sort of mask he could wear from day to day, hiding any insecurity. A suit was safety in pinstriped cloth and silk ties.

Spotting the sign for Blue Stem Bistro, Lance quickened his pace and jogged across the street. It was already three o’clock in the afternoon, and he still wanted to pop into the Foundation for a few minutes to see who he was dealing with. Most likely, they were a small team of overweight balding men past their prime

and ready for retirement. He’d probably burst in on them during their afternoon nap time.

Lance chuckled at the idea. He’d be doing them a favor, shutting down the Foundation. Guys like that needed to be put out to pasture, to enjoy their golden years. A few turns on the golf course and they’d forget all about the Foundation and Lance Barkley.

He yanked open the door to the bistro and walked inside the aromatic room, suddenly blinded by an assault of red, green, and white. Miniature Santa Clauses sat on every available surface in the shop. Some stood motionless, but a good handful jumped to life as he walked in the door and began to screech out a dozen or so Christmas carols at once.

Startled by the cacophony of song, Lance jumped to the side and smacked into a woman with long wavy blonde hair. She held three cups of coffee in her arms, which all began to fall as she lost her balance. He held out his arms to steady her, but in doing so, got a splash of steaming hot coffee down the front of his shirt.

“What the…?” Lance huffed as the hot liquid seared his skin. “That’s burning! It’s burning my chest.”

He yanked off his jacket, but most of the coffee had landed on his shirt. With gritted teeth, he pulled the fabric away from his skin, hoping the burns weren’t serious. The last thing he needed right now were skin grafts.

“Crap.” The woman kicked the cups out of the way and reached out with a handful of napkins to dab at his chest and stomach. “I’m so sorry. Let me help.”