Romancing the Holiday (14 page)

“You know about Dad’s lung cancer diagnosis. Sure, he’s getting chemo and radiation, but it isn’t a cure. It means instead of dying in two months, we might get a whopping two years with him. He wants me to do this. He expects me to step up and finally do my part for LTS Industries.” The lump in his throat made it hard to talk, so he tossed back a burning gulp of coffee to wash it down. “It would finally make him proud of me.”

Caitlin tipped her head sideways to rest against his. A few soft-as-a-cloud strands of hair brushed against his cheek. “Oh, Kyle.”

So much empathy weighed down those two words he literally felt them press against his heart like a hug. She knew how he’d striven for his father’s approval for years, to no avail. So far, he’d had about as much luck in that department as he would trying to hold back the entire defensive line of the Chicago Bears with his pinkie.

“Yeah. Think about it. For my entire life, he’s called me a disappointment. Even once I joined the company, he called me a brainiac desk jockey. And that was on a good day.”

Righteous wrath popped her head back up and sparked her eyes. “For goodness’ sake, you
are
the brains. The security side of LTS practically folded before you came along and rejuvenated it. You head up the whole department.”

The security division had come into LTS via his dad’s third marriage, or rather, thanks to the machinations of his dad’s divorce lawyer. Dad saw it as payment due for putting up with a wife who left him after only a year for her personal trainer. But it left a bad taste in Kyle’s mouth that continued to this day. “Yeah, well, ex-fighter pilots respect gumption and action. If a job doesn’t rev your adrenaline, it isn’t worth doing. Writing lines of computer code to make a security system unbreakable doesn’t impress Dad.”

Caitlin sipped her cocoa. “So why not have Craig do it? Marry the favorite son off instead?”

Craig was everything to their father that Kyle wasn’t. After graduating top of his flight school class at the Air Force Academy he became a combat pilot. Innumerable incursions later, as well as one memorable crash where he parachuted down behind enemy lines, Craig came back home a genuine military hero. If Kyle didn’t love him so much, he’d hate the guy.

“I don’t know. Maybe because Craig’s too busy running the airplane division?” Or because Dad preferred to delegate the crappy jobs to Kyle. God knows he’d made no secret of playing favorites.

“You’re just as busy.” Caitlin’s voice rose to an offended shriek that almost drowned out the carols. He loved how fiercely she leapt to his defense.

“I’m not going to fight with you. Am I thrilled about a marriage on paper? Of course not. But Monica Selford is a perfectly nice woman. We like each other well enough. And though it may sound morbid, it doesn’t have to last forever. We’ll sign an ironclad pre-nup. If we aren’t happy together, once Dad is gone we can get a streamlined divorce.”

Caitlin bent to unlace her skates, but had trouble through her mittens. “Is Monica in on this big plan you two have hatched?”

Using his teeth, Kyle stripped off her gloves and took over. “No.”

“I know you’re a big sexy stud, but why would she agree to marry you? Marriage is a big deal—well, to a woman, it is,” she said in an arch tone.

“Her family’s pressuring her to settle down. Monica’s been in a bit of hot water lately.”
Talk about an understatement.
She’d been splashed across the covers of three magazines, and countless websites. It was weird reading about the girl you were dating, even casually, as a hashtag on Twitter. “Instead of being Selford’s public relations guru, she’s developed a reputation as a serious party girl. Their board of directors isn’t pleased.”

“Why sugarcoat it? Monica has a man in every city where there’s a Selford hotel. Sometimes more than one. And weren’t the last three in high-profile marriages, which have all fallen apart, thanks to her?”

Whoops.
He’d forgotten about Caitlin’s cold last week. She’d spent a couple of days in bed catching up on gossip rags. Guess she’d run across the worst of the stories about Monica. Too bad, because he wanted them to get along. “Monica doesn’t have your romantic streak. Her entire life is caught up in promoting the Selford Chambers. She’ll do whatever it takes to keep their profit margin in the black.”

“Really?” Caitlin drew out the word like a piece of saltwater taffy being pulled to its limits. “How did her affair with that congressman in California help Selford’s bottom line?”

The last time she’d whisked through town, Monica had told him about it. Kyle admired her honesty. Many of the women he’d dated over the years played games, rattled off dating rules he neither knew nor cared about. Monica always played it straight with him. He never had to wonder what she was thinking. It made her easy to be around. Well, that and how easy she was on the eyes. The woman was a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe.

He didn’t care that men flocked to her. She’d always been upfront about dating other men. Monica saw the male smorgasbord as a perk of her whirlwind travel. A psychologist friend of his claimed she used the high-profile affairs to try and get her father’s attention. Well, if anyone could understand
that
motivation, it was Kyle. “Like I said, she’s being pressured to project a more wholesome image. What’s more wholesome than marrying a computer geek? At least, in theory. Which is why I need a kick-ass proposal to seal the deal.” He rubbed her foot, warming it between his palms.

“You’re absolutely sure this is what you want?”

“Marriage? No.” But it wasn’t a prison sentence. It was an opportunity, and one he refused to overlook. “What I want is to finally hear my dad say he’s proud of me.”

Caitlin pulled up her feet and tucked them underneath her thighs. She didn’t say anything until Kyle unlaced his skates and threw back the rest of his coffee. “Okay. I promise I won’t run you through the ringer on this anymore. But your dad better mention me in the toast at your wedding, ’cause I’m the reason you’re going to pull off this proposal.”

Relief rushed through him, both at the fact the interrogation was over, and that he and Caitlin were back on the same page. “Don’t I know it.”

“Let’s go grab dinner and beers at Goose Island.”

“See? Another brilliant suggestion already.” As long as Caitlin stuck by him, everything would work out.

Chapter Three

Kyle wound his scarf more tightly as they left the parking garage and walked toward Macy’s. Caitlin had knitted it from yarn she’d searched for in five different stores to exactly match the deep Pacific blue of his eyes. She got a tingle of satisfaction every time he wore it. Plus a different kind of tingle from admiring how drop-dead handsome he looked in it. Caitlin didn’t allow herself to dwell on the secondary tingle for more than a second, though. Kyle had always been off-limits, but now he was doubly so.

“If you dragged me here to point out what you want for Christmas, you’re too late. I bought your present yesterday morning.” Kyle put a light hand on her shoulder to pull her to a stop at the curb.

“First of all, what makes you think I need only one present? And secondly, we’re here for another try at a Christmas proposal. It’s been two days since you vetoed my awesome ice-rink idea.” Her chocolate-a-day Advent calendar was a yummy—and painful—reminder of how little time she had left. “Have you noticed that the Christmas-themed commercials ramp up exponentially every day closer it gets? We need to nail down a plan, and soon.”

“A store? You’re bypassing every romantic restaurant in Chicago, the lounge with the incredible view on the ninety-fifth floor of the Hancock Building, and that champagne-only nightclub a few blocks up,” he jerked his thumb at the street, “so that I can propose at a department store? Where people shop for underwear and blenders?”

Yup, she’d known this idea might be a stretch for him. Which simply proved how desperately he needed her guidance. “Macy’s on State Street is the second largest department store in the world. Their Christmas tree in the Walnut Room is forty-five feet tall. It’s got twelve hundred ornaments and twenty-five thousand lights. Nothing succeeds like excess.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I’m ring shopping.”

“Sure you don’t need my help with that?”

He stroked his chin, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Yes, I’m sure I probably do need your help. However, I’m also sure there’s no way in hell I’m letting you loose in Tiffany’s with my credit card. That’ll be a solo mission.”

Rats.
Caitlin loved any excuse to roam the famous jewelry store. Kyle didn’t flash his wealth too often, but he’d probably spare no expense on an engagement ring. She’d hoped to use this opportunity to model something with multiple carats. “Whoa, where are you going?”

Kyle stood at the entrance, one hand on the door and a bemused expression on his face. “Inside. Didn’t you just give me the whole spiel on Macy’s as a potential location?”

“Glad to know you were listening, but popping the question
inside
the store is the backup plan.” She looped her arm through his, and tugged him into the sidewalk throngs inching forward.

“Really? Outside again, in December, in Chicago? I don’t know how this escaped your notice, but it’s freakin’ cold out here.”

“No, it feels like Christmas. The song’s called ‘Let It Snow,’ not ‘Let It Be Balmy and Seventy.’”

“Smart ass.” He grinned.

Good to know Kyle couldn’t see through the cheery façade she’d erected using every last shred of her willpower. Caitlin still believed the proposal to be an enormous mistake. Its ramifications would completely upend his life. What if being married to Monica prevented him from meeting the woman of his dreams? What if life in a loveless marriage sucked dry his warm, wonderful heart? But for years, she’d witnessed firsthand his father’s cold, dismissive attitude toward his son. If Kyle truly had a chance to make some sort of connection with the man, she couldn’t stand in his way. So she plastered on a teasing smile and tried to muster up her usual sassy attitude.

“Name-calling won’t get you very far.” The crowd of bundled, be-hatted and scarved people of all ages surged forward an entire step. “Hey, we never discussed a fee for my proposal-planning services. Did you know there are event companies that charge oodles for the brilliant ideas I’m handing out for free? Consider listening to my witty commentary as payment in kind.”

“I’d rather just buy you dinner. Want to grab a deep dish at Lou Malnatis after this?”

As if she’d ever say no to pizza—or spending an evening with her best friend. Especially since a very un-Christmasy cold bug had squashed her planned girls’ night. Lisa, Brooke and Raquel had all left voice mails canceling, so stuffed up she could barely understand them. “Kyle, get real. You were
always
going to buy me dinner. There’s nobody else in the city who’ll let you put anchovies on a pizza.”

“Good point.”

“Speaking of dinner companions, when is your fiancée-to-be breezing back into town? I’ve got two tickets to
The Santaland Diaries
burning a hole in my calendar for Friday night, if you’re free.”

Everything about him drooped—shoulders, eyebrows, lips. “Damn. I love that play. Makes me laugh so hard my abs are sore the next day.”

God, his abs were a work of art. As sculpted and defined as his ribs. Last summer they spent a weekend sailing along the Michigan coast. She’d gotten to ogle her fill with him shirtless on deck the whole time, but almost got whiplash from snapping her head in the opposite direction so he wouldn’t notice. “Wimp. Let me introduce you to the concept of crunches.”

Kyle jabbed two fingers into her side. Her coat provided less-than-decent protection against his tickling, and she jumped away, squealing and batting at his hand. “Thanks for the offer, but Monica will be in Chicago this weekend. In fact, she’s flying in just to come to the LTS holiday party with me on Saturday. Hey, did I tell you I tried to cancel it this year? I suggested we take the party money and give the staff bonuses instead.”

A number of possible reactions from his father zipped to mind. None of them were good. If it didn’t directly pertain to the security division, Mr. Lockhart did his level best to both ignore and dismiss his youngest son. “How’d that go over?”

Kyle jammed his hands in his pockets, hunching deeper into his long black coat. “His email back was a single word, in bold and underlined.
No
.”

“You took a shot,” she commiserated. “I’m sure your employees would’ve appreciated a little extra Christmas cash.”

“Yeah, but Dad likes to roll out the red carpet for this night and turn it into a networking event rather than a real party. He made it clear he expects me to get Monica there and introduce her around to everyone.”

“Sounds fancy. Do you think it’ll be themed, with peppermint schnapps-spiked hot cocoa? A roast goose? Piles of Christmas cookies as table centerpieces?”

“Hardly. Open bar. Carving stations. The only way anyone will know it’s a Christmas party and not a wedding is the single bowl of eggnog. Mostly it’ll be a bunch of guys in tuxedos showing off their latest trophy wives. God, am I one of them now?”

“No.” Actually, yes, come to think of it. Monica more than qualified as the trophy Kyle planned to wave in front of his father. But he looked freaked out at the possibility, so Caitlin fell back on her well-established best-friend duty of reassurance. “Trophy wives are window dressing to hide a midlife crisis. You’re not even thirty yet. And while Monica’s beautiful, she’s neither vapid nor moneygrubbing.” Maybe that was why Caitlin had disliked her at first sight. Smart as a whip—well, except where men were concerned, given her string of affairs with married men—and built like a 1940s’ pinup girl, Monica made Caitlin very aware of her unfashionable red hair and lack of a degree from an Ivy League school. Or even a subscription to the
New Yorker
. If she tried, really tried to be fair, Caitlin couldn’t point to a single instance where Monica had treated Kyle with anything besides respect. Of course, she also couldn’t point to anything specific that set off alarm bells in her head about Monica. But they were there, ringing as loudly as a handbell chorus.

They shuffled forward a few more steps, close enough to hear the festive carols jangling out of overhead speakers. Kyle gestured at the dozens of people ahead of them, pressed against the side of the building. “Are we in line for something, or just standing out here until we freeze to death? ’Cause I’m telling you right now, there’s no way I’m getting my picture taken with Santa.”

Although Kyle could run the fashion gamut from being suave in suits and habañero hot in workout gear, Caitlin couldn’t imagine him looking anything but uncomfortable on Santa’s lap. “Interesting idea, but we’ll back burner that for now. This idea is much more...artistic.”

“Ah. Your true colors are showing. Speaking of art, how did your interview go this morning? Which one was it? You’ve been awfully secretive about this whole process.”

“Not secretive. Superstitious. I don’t want to jinx anything.” The direction of her entire life would be decided in the next two weeks. She’d made it to the final round of candidates at two very different companies. After college, Caitlin had gone straight to work in an art gallery. While fun and exciting, she soon realized the lack of a higher degree would allow her only to stagnate professionally. It took vats of coffee for her to successfully juggle work and the grad school program in Curatorial Studies for two years. Faced with the frantic final month of papers and critiques and the endless thesis, Caitlin had quit her job at the gallery. With school behind her now, she had free time to volunteer at the gift wrap booth while waiting to hear what her new job would be. As long as she didn’t fritter away her scant savings on all the amazing Christmas sales she encountered daily at Water Tower Place.

“But you graduate in a week, right? Next Wednesday?”

“Glad to know it’s on your calendar.” Even though she’d typed the date into his calendar herself, it gave Caitlin a warm, fuzzy feeling to know he remembered without any prompting. Kyle usually had too many theorems or computer code lines swirling in his head to remember birthdays, or dates of any sort.

Kyle’s arm encircled her shoulders for a quick hug. “Are you kidding? You drove all the way to Massachusetts for my grad school ceremony. The least I can do is drive five miles down Lakeshore Drive to the Art Institute.”

“I’ll save you a good seat, in the back, so you can work on your iPad except for the two minutes it’ll take me to walk across the stage,” she teased.

“You know me so well. Besides, taking the iPad will keep me from embarrassing you by falling asleep while the speaker drones on and on about art.”

“Philistine. I droned on and on about art at both my interviews, and nobody fell asleep. The Art Institute sat me down with a team of six people who hung on my every word.”

A long, low whistle burst from his pursed lips. “Six? That’s more than the entire offensive line of the Bears. Were you intimidated?”

“Nope. I’m a double threat, with real life experience and, oh, the shiny prize of graduating at the top of my class.” She’d been bursting with the news for two days. The temptation to wait and let him be surprised on graduation day buckled under the thrill of sharing it face to face.

“Caitlin—that’s terrific!” Kyle threw both arms around her in a bear hug and lifted her high in the air. He swung her around until her legs flew out behind her. Caitlin barely registered the people in line around them leaping back to avoid being kicked, Happiness at her accomplishment bubbled through her veins. It almost managed to cloak the insidious happiness at being in his arms. What was wrong with her? Kyle was her best friend, period. End of story. She’d kept her panting lust for him under wraps for more than a decade. Why was it popping out now, as unwelcome as a pimple on prom night—and just as hard to ignore? “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m pretty proud of me, too. And it makes this slot as an associate curator at the Art Institute almost a lock. The best part about that job—” She stopped mid-thought when he squinted a
duh—are you an idiot
look right at her.

“You mean besides working at one of the top museums in the entire world?”

Kyle could squint all he wanted, but his comment was so obvious, it merited an eye roll right back. “Of course. The other best part would be that I’d get to stay in Chicago. With you.”

His squint morphed into a grimace. “Uh oh. Does that mean you don’t want the job I pulled so many strings to get you shortlisted?”

“Geez, don’t make it sound like I owe you a kidney. You asked Monica to look at my resume. Period. Actually, the best part about her job opening is the travel. Handling the artwork for all the Selford Chambers hotels would entail constant bopping around the country. I’ve never really gone anywhere. This could be a whole new, exciting life for me.”

Kyle shifted his hands up and down, miming a scale. “So—which one do you want more?"

In a perfect world, the decision would be taken out of Caitlin's hands entirely. She'd only be offered one of them. "I don't know. Really, I don't care. Either one would be amazing. The cache of working for the Art Institute is matched by the freedom, and frankly the better salary of the Selford Chambers."

But her heart gave a little stutter every time she considered leaving Chicago, and Kyle, behind. The glamorous life of travel sounded more than a bit lonely. Or maybe not. Finally putting school behind her meant a fresh start, in every way. She'd dated college guys, artsy guys, and Board of Trade guys. Maybe it was time to dip her toe in the water in other states. Maybe do a whole national comparison thing, and date a guy in every state? Write a blog pointing out the pros and cons by region? Or at least email her findings to Brooke and Raquel. They'd get a kick out of it.

"I've got a bottle of champagne on ice. The minute you hear, I'd better be your first call."

"If you're bribing me with champagne, of course you'll be first." The carols increased in volume, as did the squeals from the children in front of them. "Great, we're almost there. Welcome to Christmas proposal, version 2.0."

"Again, I say, why a department store?"

"Because Macy's goes all out with their Christmas windows. As you're currently witnessing, people line up for the chance to see them. The windows stretch all the way around the building."