Snow Crystal Trilogy: Sleigh Bells in the Snow / Suddenly Last Summer / Maybe This Christmas. Sarah Morgan
she looked at her husband. “Jackson wants her here for a reason. Perhaps he’ll surprise you, and perhaps she will, too.”
“Maybe I have his best interests at heart.”
“Maybe you don’t always know best when you see it, Walter O’Neil.”
“I married you, didn’t I?”
Alice smiled. “Which proves you’re capable of knowing what’s best. Better do as Jackson suggests and open those eyes a little wider.”
SHE’D BLOWN IT.
Stumbling through the snow on her high heels, Kayla knew she should stop and change into her boots, but she wanted to put as much distance between herself and the O’Neils as possible. Ruined shoes were the least of her problems.
For the first time in her life, she’d blown a meeting with a client.
How had that happened?
She was good at what she did. She knew she was good, and yet she hadn’t controlled the meeting; she’d crumbled.
Cold crept over her legs and up her skirt. Her feet were freezing. Her hands were freezing.
Her laptop bag crashed against her hip and she hugged it against her, terrified of slipping and breaking it.
Her humiliation was total but worst of all were the other emotions. Emotions she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Over the years, she’d dealt with almost every situation except this one.
She’d come here to avoid Christmas and families and suddenly found herself slap bang in the middle of both. And the O’Neils weren’t just any family. They were more closely knitted together than anything Grandma Alice produced with her needles and balls of yarn.
From the moment she’d stepped into the warm, cozy kitchen, she’d known she was in trouble. The kitchen in her New York apartment was ultramodern, and she rarely entered it except to reheat take-out food or make yet another cup of coffee. Yet the O’Neil’s kitchen was clearly the heart of the home. With its cheery blue range cooker and huge scrubbed table with seating for their large extended family, the room had glowed like an advert for togetherness. The walls of her apartment were glass, her view the skyscrapers of Midtown. There were no photographs. No memorabilia. Nothing personal. The interior had a sterile, generic elegance that offered no clues as to the identity of the person who lived there.
Everything about the O’Neil home was personal. It was a place they’d created together. A place built on the foundations of a thousand precious memories unique to them, and those memories had been immortalized and proudly displayed for all to see. That cheerful catalog of family moments had ripped open her hidden vault of secrets and made it impossible to concentrate. Her focus had been constantly rocked until the lines between the business and the family had blurred to an indistinct mess.
And then there were the smells. Oh, God, the smells. Cinnamon and spice, freshly baked rolls and the sharp fragrance of pine. The association with Christmas had been so powerful it had taken all her willpower not to turn and run. If Jackson hadn’t been standing behind her, she would have done just that.
Unable to feel her toes anymore, Kayla slipped but this time managed to stay upright.
“Kayla!” Jackson’s voice thundered through the freezing air, and she gave a moan of denial.
She wasn’t ready to face him. She’d snap, like one of the slender icicles dangling from the frozen fir trees.
He was going to fire her, and she was going to have to slink back to New York and face not only Brett and her colleagues, but also all the craziness of a New York Christmas.
“Kayla!” His voice was closer this time, but still she stumbled on, her feet soaked and freezing.
Panic lodged itself in her throat, as solid and real as a decoration from a Christmas tree.
Only when she heard the sound of an engine did she stop.
He pulled up next to her. The window was down, his breath making clouds in the freezing air. “Get in the car.”
“I really don’t—”
“Now.”
She thought about arguing but one glance at the hard set of his jaw made her rethink. She wondered how she ever could have thought Jackson O’Neil friendly and approachable.
Right now he looked grim-faced and intimidating. It was obvious he was furious with her, and she didn’t blame him. She was furious with herself.
Furious and humiliated. This was a million times worse than landing flat on her back in the snow. This was her job, and she hadn’t been prepared for failure. She’d been flying high for so long she no longer even thought about flapping her wings. It just happened. But not tonight. Tonight, she’d fallen out of the sky and crashed to the ground, and now she had no idea what to do.
It hadn’t occurred to her that she wouldn’t be able to handle the Snow Crystal meeting. But it hadn’t been Snow Crystal that had been her downfall; it had been the O’Neil family. Grandma, grandpa, mum, niece, pets, food, decorations, photographs—
“Kayla—” he spoke through his teeth “—get in the damn car.”
Kayla slunk into the car, shivering like a puppy that had fallen into a snowdrift.
She expected him to drive but instead he sat there, his expression incredulous.
“What the fuck happened back there?”
She flinched. Yet another question she’d never before been asked by a client. At least no one could accuse Jackson O’Neil of not getting straight to the point. No that didn’t go quite as planned, or that could have been better.
When she didn’t answer, he spread his hands in silent question. “You’re supposed to be the best. You handle CEOs who know nothing, but think they’re experts. You’ve managed to build links with hardened, cynical journalists who won’t even pick up the phone to most PR people. According to Brett you’re the youngest associate vice president your company has ever appointed—you achieve all that and then you allow yourself to be bullied into silence by one eighty-year-old man? What is that about?”
It was about so much more than the man. “You have a right to be upset.”
“I’m not upset. I’m confused. And, frankly, disappointed.”
The word was like a blow in the gut. She’d never disappointed a client before. Never.
“Jackson—”
“I don’t want excuses. I want the truth. I want to know what the hell went wrong! What happened? Was it the people? I told you it was a family business.”
“Yes, but I didn’t expect them to be so—so—” So like a family. She couldn’t say that. It sounded ridiculous. “I expected to talk business. I didn’t expect all the cooking and the photographs and all the small talk—the personal stuff.”
“So? It’s a little distracting, I admit. Annoying on occasion,” he added under his breath, “but you’re a professional. You told me there were no difficult questions you couldn’t handle.”
“I meant business questions.” Her voice rose. “I didn’t expect to be asked if I was wearing thermal underwear.”
“Oh, for—” He broke off and leaned his head back against the seat, tension visible in his jaw. “Alice is eighty. Since my father died she worries about everything from hypothermia to avalanches. You should have just smiled and ignored her. You should have ignored all of them and said what you wanted to say.”
“I couldn’t ignore them.”
“Why? It should have been obvious to you they don’t understand public relations. They don’t understand marketing. They’ve done things the same