Wicked Christmas Nights. Leslie KellyЧитать онлайн книгу.
all the stuff a small business owner was responsible for, but which often slipped through the cracks when the customers kept walking steadily through the door.
They wouldn’t be walking through the door on Christmas weekend, though, so she should be able to catch up. And one thing she needed to catch up on was ordering. She had some equipment to buy, and paying for it by December 31 would make her tax bill a lot lighter come spring.
Which meant she should really stick around for the money. They’d offered her a lot, both for her time, and for the portrait packages the company had preordered for every family. It might even be enough money to get the new laptop and the new lens she needed.
Ross stared at her, not pleading, not ordering. Just asking her to wait, give them a chance to talk. To catch up on old times? Seriously, what was there to say except, Hey, remember that time we had crazy wild sex in a pile of fluff in Santa’s workshop?
Good times.
Times that would never be repeated.
“I really should go,” she said.
The administrator, who had a brusque manner that said she didn’t like to take no for an answer, didn’t take no for an answer. “Don’t be silly, it won’t take five minutes. It will save our accountants some trouble.”
She eyed the woman doubtfully, suspecting this place did not keep their receipts and canceled checks in empty Amazon.com boxes the way she did.
“After the party, the offices shut down until New Year’s. So I’d really like to get this taken care of today, clear the party off the books, if you will.”
Huh. Sounded like every business had to deal with that pesky little IRS thing, even businesses as big as this one. Which, judging by the size of this brand-new six-story office building, and the fact that Elite Construction took up every floor of it, was very big, indeed. She wondered again what Ross did here. Obviously he no longer swung a hammer—he was dressed like a corporate guy.
She couldn’t help wondering what had happened to his dream of someday buying a piece of property and building a house on it, every stone, every shutter, every plank of wood put there with his own hands. Had Ross given up his dreams? Or had they merely changed, like hers had?
As if realizing his presence was making her reluctant, Ross said, “I should go. It was great seeing you again, Lucy.”
“You, too.”
She forced a tight smile, wishing she could hit Rewind and go back a half hour to think of something else to say to this man. Something breezy and casual, something that wouldn’t have revealed how she felt about not hearing from him after that one magical holiday. Something other than, “Well, if you’d called, you’d know where I’d been for the past six years.”
Weak, girl. So weak. She could almost hear Kate’s voice scolding her for making that snotty, hurt-sounding comment. Even though, now, there would be echoes of a baby and a toddler crying in the background as they had the conversation. Kate had married Teddy and started repopulating the planet.
Lucy, meanwhile, had managed only sexual affairs after Ross. But she hadn’t come anywhere close to falling in love. Not after the one-two punch she’d taken at twenty-two. First Jude, then Ross—the latter being the one who’d truly taught her about love and loss. Her poor heart had formed an exoskeleton thicker than an insect’s. Since then, she’d made love ’em and leave ’em a way of life, only substituting the love with do.
Even Kate had been impressed.
She watched him walk away, noting that he didn’t look back. His departure should have made it easier to stick around for a few minutes to get paid. Instead it just pissed her off. Ross was always the one who got to walk away. One of these days she wanted to be the one to make the grand exit.
But grand exits didn’t buy lenses and laptops. Money did. She’d spent a lot moving her studio from New York to Chicago. Yes, she was building a reputation and business was good. This one check, though, could do some nice things for her bottom line.
If she deposited the check tonight, then by this weekend, she could be happily shopping for laptops online while everybody else in the world unwrapped ugly sweaters and ate rock-hard fruitcake. She had bookings lined up all next week—a few of them big ones that could lead to some serious money. Plus, she was hoping to hear from a children’s magazine in New York, to whom she’d submitted some work. She wanted to be ready if they called and said they wanted more.
“Okay, if you can pay me now, I’d really appreciate it,” she finally told the administrator, who’d been waiting patiently, watching Lucy watch Ross.
“Excellent, come along.”
Lucy put down her camera and lens bags, and followed the woman, who’d introduced herself as Stella when she’d called a week ago to hire her. They left the party behind, heading down a long corridor toward the executive offices. Lucy couldn’t help noticing the opulence of this area, the thick carpet sinking beneath her feet, the beautiful artwork lining the walls. Somebody had spent a lot of time decorating this place and she suspected their clients ranked among Chicago’s most wealthy.
At the back end of the executive wing was an enclosed suite, into which Stella led her. A broad receptionist’s desk stood in the middle of a waiting area, blocking access to an imposing set of double doors. Stella breezed through them, into what looked like the head honcho’s office. It was huge, a corner room with floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls. The building wasn’t terribly high, but the location right on the water on the very outskirts of town meant nothing interrupted the beautiful view. The desk was as big as the kitchen in her tiny apartment, and in a partially blocked-off alcove, she saw an area for relaxation, complete with a refrigerator, TV and a fold-out couch…folded out. “Wow, is your boss a slave-driver? Do you have to be on call 24/7?”
The woman glanced around, then realized what Lucy was talking about. “That’s just for him. Our CEO is only hard on himself.”
“Does he live here or something?”
“It sometimes seems that way,” Stella said. “When we moved into this new building, he was spending so many hours here, I ordered the couch and make it up for him when I suspect he’ll pull an all-nighter.”
“That’s dedication.” On Stella’s part, and on her boss’s.
“It’s paid off. Elite is thriving when new construction is down nationwide.”
“I could tell by the party,” she admitted, knowing it must have set the company back a pretty penny. Few corporations bothered these days, and she suspected the happy atmosphere contributed to the company’s success.
Stella stepped behind the desk and picked up a pile of sealed envelopes, shuffling through a half-dozen of them before she said, “Ah, here we are!”
Lucy accepted it, tucking the very welcome check into her purse. “Thanks very much.”
“Thank you. Your photos were the hit of the party. I am actually glad the other company canceled. We’ve used them in the past and they’ve never had the response you did today. You’re wonderful with children.”
Lucy smiled, appreciating the praise. It was funny—six years ago, she probably would have been horrified at it.
Honestly, she wasn’t sure herself how it had happened. She just knew that, after two years in Paris, photographing cold-faced fashion models had lost all appeal. Same with old, lifeless buildings and stagnant landscapes.
Then Kate had started having kids. Lucy had visited for summers and holidays, becoming a devoted godmother and falling head-over-heels for those babies. She had delighted in taking their portraits, finding in children’s faces an energy and spontaneity she seldom found anywhere else.
So she’d gone back to New York. She’d set up a studio and begun exploring the amazingly creative world of little people. One thing had led to another,