A Mistletoe Kiss with the Boss

“That’s about it,” Kristen agreed.

“Good.” He faced Dean. “It’s not so long that you’ll get bored. But it’s enough time to see some of the sights. And clear your head. Get some fresh air into those lungs.”

Dean’s scowl grew.

Jason faced Kristen. “Whether he understands it or not, he’s going to want to compliment your king and princess when they return from their holiday in Xaviera. Give him a little bit of a history lesson so he can speak intelligently.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DEAN’S REFUSAL RANG through the quiet work space. Jason took a step back, as if he knew he’d pushed too far.

But Kristen sucked in a hard breath. Dean had hurt her, and he’d done it deliberately, but he decided that’s what she needed to see. The demanding, difficult side of him that everybody thought was the real him.

She turned and headed for the door. “If you need anything I’ll be in the palace.”

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t say anything. He waited for her to leave, and then he faced Jason. “Get maintenance back here. I want this room and the one up the hall ready for work when that blasted sun goes down.”

With that he exited, heading up the hall to the elevator that would take him to his penthouse suite. When the door opened on the modern space with red sofas and black and white accent pieces, he wrestled out of the big coat he didn’t want and threw the damned hat at the cold fireplace.

He wasn’t just angry that Kristen kept pushing him to be the person he was deep down inside. He was angry that he couldn’t be that guy.

He got on the phone and made some calls and forgot all about Kristen Anderson. But when the sun went down and his employees began returning, laughing, happy, more enthusiastic than he’d seen them in weeks, guilt set in. When an hour went by with everybody getting along, making accommodations for each other in the unusual work space and sharing ideas for what they should do next with the games, the guilt tripled.

Winslow and Mrs. Flannigan had been right. They needed this time somewhere different, somewhere they could relax, somewhere their creativity could be nurtured. Kristen had found him, essentially had made this four-week getaway possible, and he’d thanked her by treating her like dirt.

* * *

After dinner with her family, Kristen went upstairs and opened her laptop. Mrs. Flannigan had given her a list of people to consider for her board of advisors but before she approached anyone she wanted to know a bit about them.

But reading resumes for and articles about people who were wealthy because they were brilliant, only reminded her of Dean. How she’d wanted him to be the playful guy she’d uncovered in New York and how he’d bitten her head off. It hadn’t taken a real yelling session. She’d gotten the message from the way he’d said no to a tour with her.

It had stung, though. Because deep down she believed he liked her. And it stung even more, because deep down she had more feelings for him than she’d let herself admit.

The sound of sleigh bells penetrated the haze of her thoughts, then two male voices, and she frowned. Her family’s farm was far enough off the beaten path that no one “accidentally” drove or walked by. She rose from her desk and looked out the window.

At the edge of the road was a pretty red sleigh decorated with yellow flowers and green leaves. The driver sat on the bench seat, holding the reins of a chestnut mare. Dean Suminski sat in the backseat.

She spun around and raced out of her room and down the stairs to the front door, so thrilled to see him that she didn’t care why he’d chosen a sled to come to her house. She hadn’t been wrong about his feelings for her, and that, once again, quadrupled her feelings for him.

With a laugh, she whipped open the door. “What are you doing?”

Walking up to the porch of her parents’ house, he wore the big blue parka and the hat, with the flaps over his ears. He angled his thumb toward the sleigh. “This is an apology.”

Her heart stumbled. The great Dean Suminski apologized? “For what?”

“I was a bit nastier in my refusal of a tour of your capital than I wanted to be.”