Under The Mistletoe. Kristin Hardy

      Chapter Four

      Hadley stomped up the grand staircase, fuming. Gabe Trask had to go, pure and simple. The man was impossible. She’d come in with a simple list of action items and he refused to even talk about them. And he had the nerve to defend his unprofessional behavior by attacking her for coming in without warning. So what? Plenty of managers would do the same. Why should she have warned them so that they could put on a nice face? She wanted information, and information she’d gotten.

      So she hadn’t worked in hospitality before and maybe she didn’t have any experience with this particular hotel. That didn’t mean she couldn’t draw conclusions and make business decisions.

      And that didn’t give him the right to defy her.

      Is there anything that means more than profit margins to you? Robert would have laughed at him. And Hadley?

      She couldn’t go there. Her response didn’t matter; only satisfying Robert did. So it pained her to cut away the touches that made the hotel graceful. No matter. Her job depended on meeting the targets. And if Gabe Trask posed an obstacle to that, Gabe Trask would have to go.

      She stopped and took a deep breath. She hated getting angry. Irritation was one thing. Irritation could be useful. As Robert had shown her, there was power in controlled emotion, in focused disapproval. Anger, on the other hand, only left her shaky and unsettled. She didn’t indulge in the kind of altercation she’d just had with Gabe Trask any more than she’d screamed on the roller coasters the time the twins had badgered her parents into taking them to Disney World.

      Feeling jittery, she walked the rest of the way to her room. If she could get rid of the emotion, she could calm down, and the best way she knew of getting rid of emotion was working.

      With a grim smile, she unlocked the door and headed for her computer. It was time to write a memo.

      Gabe walked through his front door with the pizza box just in time to hear his mother’s voice on the answering machine. Cursing, he stepped swiftly into the living room, snatching up the cordless handset just as she was saying goodbye. “Hey, Ma.”

      “Gabriel.” Warm pleasure filled Molly Trask’s voice.

      “How’re you doing?”

      “I’m well. How about you?”

      Still carrying the pizza, Gabe headed down the hall to the kitchen. “Okay.”

      “You doesn’t sound all that okay. Is something going on with you, too?”

      “With me, too?” Setting the box down, he reached into a cabinet and pulled out a plate and a wineglass. “What’s that supposed to mean? What else is going on?”

      “I don’t know, exactly.” She hesitated.

      “Come on, Ma, you never just go quiet. Tell me what’s going on. Is it Jacob? Nick? Or both? I thought they worked things out at Thanksgiving.” And for all the times he’d played peacemaker, his mother had never been the one to ask him to do it.

      “It’s nothing to do with Jacob,” she said quickly. “He and Nick have mended fences, I think.”

      “So what’s going on?” Propping the phone against his ear with one shoulder, Gabe poured himself a glass of Chianti.

      “I don’t know,” she said again. “I talked with Nicholas today and he didn’t sound right.”

      “Define ‘didn’t sound right.’”

      “Down. Frustrated.”

      Frustrated? That made two of them. Gabe took a swallow of the wine. “Did he get the results of the firefighters’ exam yet? If he didn’t do well, that would be a good reason right there.”

      “No, I asked him. He says he probably won’t know for another week or so. I think he got in a fight with that nice girl he brought to Thanksgiving.”

      “Sloane? Jeez, they looked like they were on their way to three kids and an SUV. That was what, like a week ago?”

      “It only takes a minute or two sometimes. There were a couple of times I was happy as a clam with your father one minute and ready to take a frying pan to his head the next.”

      Gabe leaned against the kitchen counter and grinned. “You never are going to forgive him for buying you that vacuum cleaner for your anniversary, are you?”

      “I suppose I should finally let the poor man off the hook.”

      He heard the smile in her voice, a smile that had disappeared for so many months after his father had died, and felt a wave of relief. “Generous of you. Anyway, what’s the deal with Nick? You want me to give him a call?”

      “Would you? I hate to put you up to it, but I’m worried about him.”

      “It’s okay. Just call me Mr. Fix It.”

      Which he was, Gabe reflected as he hung up. He never set out to take care of people, but somehow he always wound up doing it. Hell, even his job was all about taking care of people. The funny thing was, he didn’t mind. Sometimes—lots of times—it made him feel like a world-beater. Then again, sometimes it backfired on him, like helping out Hadley Stone had backfired.

      Of course, that hadn’t been why he’d approached her, not really. And it hadn’t been why he’d pulled her into his arms in the warm glow of the dining room.

      He didn’t need to go there, though. The last thing he should be thinking about was what it would be like to taste that delectable mouth, to press his lips against her soft throat. It didn’t matter that he’d seen both heat and surrender in her eyes that moment on the dance floor. Things had changed. He needed to keep his distance, pure and simple. He needed to get her out of his mind. He definitely didn’t need to be thinking about her laughing at him in the candlelight, or the way she’d looked at the end, mouth tempting and full and waiting for his.

      With an oath, he carried his dinner out into the living room and sprawled on the couch. With one hand, he dialed his brother’s number. With the other, he picked up a piece of pizza.

      “Yeah.” Nick’s voice was flat and exhausted-sounding. Gabe understood, now, his mother’s concern.

      “Do you have a dog?” Gabe asked.

      “What? You know I don’t.” Irritable, which was at least a sign of life.

      “Good. ‘Cause if you had I’d have guessed it just died.”

      “You’re cute. How’d you get to be so cute?”

      “Just natural, I guess,” Gabe said modestly. “Jacob’s surly, you’re antsy and I’m cute. Except right now you sound like Jacob. What’s up?”

      “Talking with my brother the great conversationalist always does that to me.” In the background, a series of bells sounded.

      Gabe took a bite of pizza. “You at the firehouse?”

      “Yeah.