The New Year's Wish, page 1
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ONE
OLIVIA LOOKED IN THE mirror one last time. She smoothed back a few stray hairs that had escaped her bun. “Oh well, that’s as good as it gets at this hour of the morning.” She shrugged and turned away. Barney sat staring at her, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.
“What?”
Barney tilted his head.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I have a choice.” She patted the big dog’s head on her way to the kitchen. The click click click of his nails against the hardwood floor followed her down the hallway.
With a sigh of resignation, she poured a second cup of coffee. She smoothed her hair back again and shifted to face the enormous black Newfoundland. “Look, Barney.”
He cocked his head, probably waiting to be fed.
“I know, I’m meant to be an entrepreneur, not an employee, but my trust fund is quickly dwindling. I have to get a job, at least for a little while.” Entering the workforce for the first time at twenty-five years old was a bit daunting, but how hard could it really be? The fact that she didn’t like being told what to do might be an issue. Being her own boss was definitely more appealing. So was making her own hours, since she was rarely, if ever, on time for anything. Of course, so far, that hadn’t worked out so well. “Besides, it’s your fault my catering business failed.”
He whimpered and lowered his head.
She turned back toward the counter and took a sip of coffee. A vision of her first catering job popped into her mind before she could stop it. She’d worked all night to get everything ready, had finished just in time and had all the trays lined up on the counter and ready to go. Then the phone rang. A shudder ran through her. It had pretty much gone downhill from there.
She’d returned to the kitchen after reviewing the schedule for the day and assuring her client everything would be perfect and then froze in her tracks. Empty trays lay haphazardly spread across the counters. Barney stared at her, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. Unable to resist even one morsel of food, he reached his tongue out and flicked the last hors d’oeuvre into his mouth, even as his gaze pleaded for forgiveness.
She sighed. She actually hadn’t liked catering all that much anyway. It had looked fun, and she enjoyed cooking, but it had turned out to be a lot more work than she’d expected. Plus, she’d been left with a huge mess to clean up.
She took another sip of coffee and struggled for compassion before she faced Barney again, then she squatted down in front of him and entwined her fingers through his thick fur. “I’ll tell you what, we’ll give it a few months. I’ll try to get a job for now. Who knows? Maybe being a receptionist will be fun. And a law firm is probably an interesting place to work, very LA Law, at least from what I remember of the reruns. In the meantime, I’ll keep working on starting a business. As a matter of fact, that will be my New Year’s resolution. By New Year’s Day, I’ll be self-employed full-time. That gives me about two and a half months.”
Feeling better with that decision made, she rubbed Barney’s head, poured some dry food into his bowl, and collected her belongings. By the time Barney had finished scarfing down his breakfast, she was just about ready to go. She grabbed the leash, hooked it onto Barney’s collar, and headed for the stairs. “Come on, boy. You have to hurry up this morning, or I’m going to miss my train. Then I’ll never get the job.” She grabbed a plastic bag on her way out.
A rumble of thunder greeted her as she opened the front door. “Great.” She studied the thick black clouds. The thought of returning for an umbrella flickered through her mind, but she dismissed it just as quickly. By the time she ran back up two flights of stairs, grabbed the umbrella, made it back down, and walked Barney, she’d miss the train. Besides, it hadn’t even started raining yet. She’d probably make it. “All right. Run out, do your thing, and get back in here before it starts raining. You got it, mister?” With one last suspicious glance at the ever-darkening sky, she bolted through the door with Barney in tow.
Barney tore through the gravel parking area, dragging Olivia behind him, and headed for the narrow strip of grass at the far end. A fat raindrop landed on Olivia’s nose. “Oh no.” A flash of lightning accompanied the clap of thunder. Another drop hit her head. She held the plastic bag over her head while she waited for Barney to do his business. Two more drops. She reluctantly removed the bag from her head and bent to pick up his mess. The sky opened up, dumping a torrential downpour over her. She stood, thought briefly of holding the bag over her head, gagged, and ran for the door. Barney splashed excitedly beside her, hitting a patch of newly made mud as he crossed a bare spot in the gravel. Olivia dropped the bag into the garbage pail, whipped open the front door, slid when her wet sandals hit the tile floor, and landed sprawled on the floor with her legs splayed in Barney’s muddy footprints.
Barney never even slowed, and she had to drop his leash to keep him from dragging her up the stairs with him. She sighed and reluctantly lowered her gaze to the pale-pink skirt she’d bought for the interview.
OLIVIA CLOSED THE UMBRELLA, shook it out, and tried to brush some of the rain splatter from her black slacks on her way into the building. She started across the lobby toward the elevator, whose doors had just started to close. “Hey. Wait. Hold . . .” She ran timidly on the wet tile of the floor. The last thing she needed was to fall . . . again. She reached to rub her sore bottom, looked around the crowded lobby, and thought better of the idea. She stood in front of the closed elevator door and jabbed the up button. Ms. Harris had been quite kind about the hour delay when she called and explained she’d been unavoidably detained, but the hour had already stretched into an hour and fifteen minutes.
Tapping her foot impatiently, she glared at the elevator doors, willing them to open. She heaved in a deep breath and struggled for composure. Mmm . . . is that . . . coffee? A chill ran through her. A cold rain had soaked her while she ran from the train station. Her thoughts turned to the full cup of coffee she’d left to grow cold on the kitchen counter. She inhaled deeply again, hoping for . . . The scent of freshly brewed coffee invaded her senses, tormenting her, teasing her. Surely Ms. Harris could use a cup of coffee on such a dreary day. She shivered and talked herself into grabbing two cups. With one eye on the elevator, she ran for the small coffee shop across the lobby. Great, no line. Maybe this day is getting better.
She ordered two coffees, then glanced around. Sticking the still-soaked umbrella beneath her arm—ugh—she shoveled some creamers and sugar packets into her bag, paid, grabbed a cup of coffee in each hand, and ran for the elevator. She uncurled a finger to press the up button again. Thankfully, the doors slid open almost immediately.
She jumped in and stared at the numbers overhead. One, two . . . come onnn . . . three. Yes. She bolted through the doors before they’d even finished opening and crashed into a very hard, unyielding body. In an effort to keep her grip on the Styrofoam cups, she squeezed the one in her right hand a little too tightly, crushing it. Coffee flew everywhere. “Oh jeez.”
“Are you all right?”
Heat ran like fire up her cheeks, and she struggled to maintain her footing. How rude is it to just flee without looking up?
A strong hand gripped her arm to help steady her.
Great. Now she’d have no choice but to face him.
She lifted her gaze slowly, wishing she were anywhere else, and froze when she came face-to-face with the most gorgeous male specimen she had ever encountered. Ugh . . . will this day never end? Maybe I should just go back to bed, pull the covers over my head, and start over again tomorrow. She stared at her savior and fell into the deep blue pools that were his eyes, aware she had somewhere to be but rooted to the spot.
“Are you hurt?” His brow furrowed as he looked her up and down.
She tore her gaze from him and spotted a garbage pail beside the elevator. “No, no. I’m fine. Thank you. I’m so sorry.”
“No problem.”
She dropped the cups into the trash and used her clean hand to brush halfheartedly at the mess that had splashed all over her, knowing the blouse wouldn’t be salvageable before her interview. Oh man, the interview. I’m going to be late. Again. Great. And now I don’t even have a peace offering.
She finally looked back up at him. Somehow, none of the mess seemed to reach him. His dark suit still appeared freshly pressed and immaculate. She lifted her hand to smooth back the hair she was certain had sprung free of its restraints and dropped the umbrella from under her arm onto his foot. “Umm . . .” That was brilliant. “Uhh . . .”
He smiled, and her knees went so weak she expected to end up back in a heap on the floor. “Hi. I’m Garrett Emerson.” He extended a hand and she took it without thinking.
“Olivia Calloway.”
He released her hand.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I . . .” She wiped the coffee from her hand onto her pants. Never mind going back to bed. I need to leave town.
He stood with his coffee-covered hand held out and a killer smile on his
She nodded mutely.
He waited.
She stared at him.
He cleared his throat.
The elevator doors opened directly behind her. “Oh.” She was abruptly pulled out of her fantasy. “Sorry.” She moved to the side to allow him room to pass.
“No problem.” He stepped into the elevator but held the door open. “Are you sure you’re all right?” The frown of concern had returned.
Disappointment surged through her. She really wanted to see that smile again. “I’m fine.”
“Wait. Garrett?” A tall woman in very high heels teetered down the hallway.
He looked past Olivia, and she took the opportunity to slip away.
“I need you to wait for . . .” The woman’s shrill voice followed Olivia down the corridor, but she tuned it out in an effort to find the office she needed. She looked down at the mess covering her clothes. Coffee splatters stained the front of her shirt and sleeve—a dark watermark marred the light-gray silk fabric beneath her arm and ran down her side, and somehow mud had managed to find its way onto her knee.
She found the office and stood staring. Why bother? Whatever small sense of responsibility she possessed propelled her through the doorway. She squared her shoulders and approached the desk. The receptionist lifted her head. “Yes, can I help you?” A small smile played at the corners of her mouth as her gaze flicked over Olivia’s shirt.
“I have an appointment with Ms. Harris.”
“Olivia Calloway?”
She nodded dully.
“You’re late.”
Heat burned in her cheeks. “I know. I’m sorry. I was unavoidably detained.”
The woman lifted an eyebrow. “You said that when you called and said you’d be an hour late. More than an hour and a half ago.”
Olivia didn’t respond. What could she say?
The woman tapped a perfectly manicured, bloodred nail on the desk. “Very well. Follow me.”
She followed the impeccably coiffed woman down a short hallway and into an office.
“Have a seat. Someone will be right with you.”
“But my app—”
The door fell shut behind the woman as she left.
Olivia looked around the luxurious office. A beautiful mahogany desk sat in the center of a lush Oriental carpet. A door to her left caught her attention and she peered into a small powder room. Oh, thank you.
She cringed as she studied her reflection in the small mirror. Her hair had frizzed, and coils had sprung out everywhere. She smoothed it back and realized her hands were still sticky with coffee. She started to wash them.
“Hello? Ms. Calloway?”
Oh great. She quickly dried her hands on a deep-burgundy hand towel and pulled the door open. “I’m sorry. I was just—” She froze. All the blood drained from her head, and her ears started to ring.
A wicked grin curved his mouth. “You dropped something.”
TWO
HE HELD UP THE umbrella she’d dropped on his foot in her mad rush to leave the elevator and laughed at the look of horror on her face. He couldn’t help himself. She was a complete mess.
“Uhh . . . thank you. I . . . I . . . uh . . .”
He couldn’t hold back the grin as she struggled for words. “Having a bad day?”
She blew a few loose strands of hair up off her forehead and rolled her eyes. “You don’t know the half of it.”
He laughed again and held the umbrella out to her.
Her blush darkened to a shade close to purple. She grabbed the umbrella and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I really am sorry. I was running late and . . . I should have been looking where I was going.” She twisted the umbrella in her hands.
He stiffened as the sudden urge to reach out and tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear surged over him. What the . . . ? He ignored it and moved to sit behind the desk, creating a barrier between them. “Come on in and sit down.”
“But?” Her brow furrowed in confusion.
“I’m sorry. I’m Garrett Emerson, vice president of Harris and Harris.” He extended a hand, and she took it, but still made no move to sit.
“Please, have a seat.” When he gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk, she finally moved toward it. “Ms. Harris had a meeting, so she asked me to conduct your interview on her behalf.” What she’d actually said was, “If that scatterbrain shows up, get rid of her,” but he didn’t have the heart to tell Olivia that.
He studied her as she moved hesitantly toward the chair across from him. She had dirt on her pants and stains on her blouse, and her hair had come loose of its tie and frizzed into a halo around her head. Yet she carried herself with grace and self-assurance and a certain level of confidence that belied her haggard state.
She didn’t lean back, instead choosing to sit perched on the edge of her seat as if she might bolt at any moment, given the slightest provocation. “Thank you, Mr. Emerson.” A tentative smile lit her blue eyes until they sparkled. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and waited.
“Do you have a résumé?”
“Um . . . well, not exactly.”
“What do you mean not exactly?”
She tried to smooth her hair back, but it seemed to have a mind of its own. “Well, I have a résumé, but I left it on the table when I ran out of the house. I was afraid I would miss my train and . . . well . . . you know.” She gave up and settled on biting her lip again.
He leaned back. “You’re applying for the receptionist position, right?” He shuffled through the thin folder Carol had shoved into his hands when she cornered him at the elevator. Why did I stop? I should have just kept walking when she called my name. Oh. Wait. I couldn’t. Someone was blocking my path. He heaved in a deep breath and searched for patience. “Why don’t you tell me a little about your work history?”
“Okay, well . . . um . . . I worked at a small boutique when I was in high school. Then I went to college for a while. Since then, I’ve started several businesses, but none of them really took off.” She fidgeted nervously, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap.
Hmmm . . . definitely a story there. He’d let it go for now. It was obvious she was a nervous wreck. If he pushed her too hard, she might flee. Did that matter to him? He was surprised to find it did. Something about her touched him. She was, without a doubt, beautiful, but in more of a girl-next-door kind of way than any classic sense.
He tried to envision how she’d look with her hair down. From the strands that had escaped her bun, he imagined a mass of blond curls, filled with streaks and highlights of various shades of blond and brown. He tried to picture all that hair framing her delicate features, but her enormous blue eyes kept drawing his focus. There was something more there. Something in her eyes—depth, strength, determination. A subtle contradiction to the vulnerability exposed by her actions.
She blew out a breath. “Look, I’m not usually like this. I usually have my act together. I was thrown by having such a bad morning, but I really, really need this job. Could I maybe reschedule this meeting with Ms. Harris when she has more time?”
Fat chance. Charlotte the Hun would never give Olivia a second chance after she’d shown up more than an hour and a half late for an interview she’d already called to say she’d be an hour late for. He contemplated her disheveled appearance and lack of office experience as she worried her bottom lip. She didn’t seem very together. If he was smart, he’d probably cut her loose and be done with her. She was obviously nothing but trouble, and he didn’t have room in his life for trouble . . . or anything else, for that matter. “Actually, Ms. Harris won’t be doing interviews in the near future.”
The light of hope in her eyes dimmed.
“Look, I’ll tell you what.” He raked his hand back through his hair.
She lifted a brow and cocked her head to the side.
