In Love Before Christmas (2 page)

“So help me.”

“How?”

“Do something! I can’t marry that jerk. I mean it is bad enough he’s our boss.”

“True,” he grumbled. “Speaking of bosses, he wants you up covering the photo shoot. I was supposed to tell you that the moment you came in. They’re up on the top floor.”

“Why? I can write the article based on the photos from the shoot. What’s the point of being there? It’s just a dress that nobody in their right mind is going to want to wear.”

Matt shrugged. “Hey, maybe you’ll fall in love.” He chuckled and she slapped his shoulder.

“I’ve known you since we were twelve, Matt.”

“I know. And actually part of that is why you and Derek stopped being friends.”

“No, we stopped being friends because he treated you like crap and I realized he was a jerk. I was so angry with him when he and his friends took your clothes and locked you out of the school gym naked.”

“You gave me your coat.”

“It was pink,” she laughed. “But it’s better than being naked right?”

“I was mortified. I didn’t want to go back to school, but when I came back I found out nobody was talking about me.”

“I know.”

“They were all talking about Derek and his friends because you got them back for me.”

“Yeah, boys were not supposed to wear pink, but I found the photos his mom had taken when they dressed up as Little Bo Peep and the sheep that one Halloween and I plastered it all over the school.”

He laughed hard. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do, but in love in three weeks is going to be hard, Lani.”

“Just help me make it happen. I can’t marry him.”

“Okay; okay, just get upstairs and get to work before boss man comes down here to my office. I don’t want to see him either.”

She moaned. “I wish he hadn’t bought the magazine. I miss the old owner.”

“Me too…boy do I ever second that sentiment.”

“Okay, I’ll come back after,” she pointed upstairs and he nodded. He had his work cut out for him. How on earth was he supposed to make her fall in love before Christmas?

Chapter Two

L
ani took the stairs instead of the elevator, as she always did. She was a woman who liked to keep her body healthy. She didn’t always have time for a run in the park, but she did manage to work it in at least three times a week before work, sometimes after, sometimes only twice a week on her days off. She did what she could when she could and she relied on the rest of the normal daily activities to make up for the cardio she couldn’t get in that week. Walking to work, taking the stairs, eating relatively healthy—it was all part of her grand plan to keep her body in mint condition. There was no way she could do her job if she couldn’t keep up with the hectic pace, and getting sick was so not an option—something she should have thought of before she left the house with wet hair. At least her hair was starting to dry—a little. She wasn’t still leaving a trail of water droplets to follow.

“You,” the photographer shouted. “You’ll do.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she knew her name wasn’t “you,” and it would be nice if he had known that. “Pardon me?” Lani gripped her notebook a little tighter.

“The model didn’t show. There was something about a car accident; not that I care. I need a model.”

“Oh no; I’m the writer,” she stated. He didn’t seem to be listening.

“She’s a little fat,” the assistant said.

“I’m not fat! I’m a size two.” She took great offense to being called fat. There was nothing fat about her. Working in this industry, even in the not so spacious town, there was always a constant reminder of what thinner models looked like. Typically she didn’t care. She was confident in her own body and her own looks. The models did their thing and she did hers. Besides, everybody in the office knew the models were Photoshopped because not even they had the perfection the industry demanded. A little trim here or there could shave off a few more pounds—pounds that didn’t need to be shaved off at all. A little work here or there could hide the scars makeup and lighting hadn’t hidden. Lani had laughed to herself when she saw the post shoot team work their magic on the pictures. Way back in the day people actually knew how to take pictures using film and great lighting, good makeup too, and they came out with beautiful photographs that hid the flaws and emphasized the natural beauty. Today everything was about quickly getting the photos and letting the guy in front of the computer manipulate it to perfection. She didn’t focus on any of that because it wasn’t her concern. She was a writer, not the photographer, magazine owner or ethics committee. She had bills to pay and she figured most people were smart enough, and jaded enough, to assume every photo was touched up and manipulated anyway.

Small town, or relatively small she would say, or not, the magazine was big. People read it, respected it and looked to it for fashion advice on a monthly basis. She was lucky to get on with the magazine when she did. What made her stories pop was her hard work and writing skills along with the writing voice that women love, as her old boss had said. He told her those things had made her such an invaluable member of their magazine staff. She had quickly moved up the ranks—not that she was looking to move up them. She was perfectly happy with her limited work load. Moving up the ranks meant more articles, longer, faster, and the pay still wasn’t on par with what she could have made at a larger magazine in Boston or New York. If it weren’t for her love of their town she probably would have moved on after Derek bought the magazine. She should have moved on, but she loved it here.

“Her butt is too big for that dress.”

“My butt is just perfect for my body!” Nobody was listening to her. Confidence in her body did not mean she would take snide remarks about her body. “Writer,” she reiterated. “Not model;” she said in a tone that told them she was seriously wondering why they couldn’t process her words the first time.

“I don’t care, put her in it. Nip, tuck, squeeze and pin if you have to. I need a model!”

“I’m not doing it—” She felt the assistant dragging her along and then the hair and makeup crew went to work on her so fast she didn’t know what was happening. Between getting her hair blown out, flat ironed and dominated into submission she felt people pulling off her clothes and getting her into the dress, which was, without any doubt, too tight for her. They pushed and squeezed and pulled on the zipper.

“Suck it in and hold it,” the assistant said as he tugged on the zipper until it went all the way up.

“I don’t think I can breathe in this thing,” Lani said.

“Tough,” he ushered her back out to the staged area. “Breathing is not important when you’re in a Valor original.”

“It’s important to me,” she mumbled as he pushed her to the small stage they had constructed for the shoot. She took the step up and then realized she was in the perfect location for what they had planned. She was directly in front of the camera.

“Just stand there and try to look modelesque,” the photographer ordered. He said just stand, so she just stood there. “Well at least try to look like you’re enjoying the dress.”

She sighed. The things she did for her job—a job she needed in order to keep the bills paid and food in the refrigerator. Oh what she wouldn’t give to be rich. “I get paid for this right?” Lani Andrews worked free for no man—or woman for that matter.

“You’ll get the model’s pay,” she heard Derek’s voice. “And I still want the article, but maybe I’ll have that no talent Matthew Taylor write it instead. You’ll have other things to focus on I know.”

“I will?” She turned and posed as the photographer kept snapping photos of her in the hideous army green gown with far too many feathers that made her look like a diarrhea version of Big Bird. Although the dress was hideous she would admit there was something fun about striking a pose and getting paid for it.

“Don’t you remember St. Mary’s?”

“Wh—what?”

“A certain promise we made there,” he grinned. “You remember I’m sure. New Years Day isn’t that far away.”

So he did remember. Oh God, that was bad. She was so distracted by the horrific image of her saying
I Do
to that jerk that she didn’t realize she had nearly backed up to the point of stepping off the podium until one of the five inch heals she was wearing slipped off the back and down she tumbled with a loud “Whoa!” Followed by a rather loud, “Ouch!” And then a very unmistakable ripping sound.

“The dress!” the assistant yelled. “She’s ripped the zipper clear off one side of the dress. I told you she was too fat for it.”

Well, at least she could breathe now. She would leave the fat comments for another time. Right now she had bigger things to worry about. Right now she had to figure out how to fall in love before Christmas.

Chapter Three

“S
o, what do you have for me my good man? Friends? Family? Escort?” Lani shed her coat and tossed it onto the coat rack, pulled off her boots and left everything neatly in the same spot where she always left things when she went to Matt’s townhouse. He really did have his ducks in a row, so to speak. He had bought his place, not leased it, not mortgaged it, but bought it. He out right bought the place because he had been smart enough to actually save his money as a child and make small investments. She had tried to save. She had started a child savings bank account that came with a new coloring book—three pages of coloring—and a few crayons when she made a deposit. Of course she had a tendency to make a withdrawal four days later to buy something she didn’t need but highly wanted—like a book or a magazine. Her parents never forced her to save and she was thankful for that. She did chores and they gave her an allowance. It was an allowance she was relatively free to do with as she pleased and apparently spending her money pleased her more than saving it. If only she could get a do-over her finances could be much different. She could maybe own her own little place in the city. She wanted a house though. She wanted the one down by the lake, right off from the rolling hills that looked so beautiful whether it was covered with spring flowers and butterflies or winter snow and ice. That place had been on the market for about a month now and she would love to call it home next year. Unfortunately she didn’t have enough money to buy it. “I wish, I wish, I wish; my Christmas wish is this, that I may grow old in that cabin by the lake with someone I love who loves me just the same.” She had chanted at the meet and greet with Santa last week when it was her turn to sit on the fake Santa’s lap—work took her to the strangest places.

Sitting on Santa’s lap had been one of Derek’s mandatory coverage tasks. Why was she writing about Santa meet and greets? She still hadn’t figured out the answer to that question. The magazine was all about fashion so what was the point of covering fake Santa meetings? She figured Derek was going to try to find some minute way to use the coverage to cover over his lack of charitable donations. The old owner, Delvin Gibson always gave a substantial amount to the homeless shelter and the toy drive for the less fortunate children in the area. “Every child deserves a gift,” he would always say. Maybe what she should have been wishing for was for somebody to replace the donations those organizations weren’t getting this year because the Grinch was now running the magazine. Maybe Derek wasn’t that bad—he was just that greedy. Of course it was his company now and that meant he was free to do what he wanted with his money. She didn’t own the company; she just worked for it.