His Wicked Christmas Wager. Annie Burrows
mentally rolled my eyes. If scare tactics were all he was working with, he didn’t stand much of a chance against my dad. But he quickly switched topics, and after a few minutes, I found myself paying attention. The proposal they were making—she was making—involved saving a run-down community center. I wondered why it was so important to her.
Bomner talked about the youth center and its various programs, and appealed to the councilmen’s sense of community. He gave all the credit to the girl standing silently beside him, and I had to admit, it really sounded like the redhead had done a lot of work. She was running the project from behind some kind of nonprofit organization. I was impressed. Which meant that my dad wouldn’t be.
I needed to concentrate on making a list of what I would have to do to put a stop to her plans. I glanced down at my notepad. All I’d done was scribble a question mark beside the word name. Somehow, I’d missed it.
I looked back in her direction, wondering what it was about the other man that was making her stare down at her hands in such a defeated manner. I couldn’t decide what I wanted more—to comfort her or to punish him.
“So,” the lawyer said as he closed up. “We’ll have half the funds ready within the designated time. There will be no need to consider other options.”
The city officials looked convinced, and one of them went so far as to nod his head enthusiastically. My father wasn’t going to be happy with the way things were looking.
And you can forget about having anything to do with the redhead on a personal level.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” Bomner snapped his briefcase shut, nodded his head at us, and ushered the girl out.
I jumped up, automatically inclined to follow the redhead out. One of the older men coughed emphatically. I paused in my pursuit, released a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding, and turned to face the table. The man named Mark was staring at me curiously.
“Did you get the information you needed?” he asked.
I nodded dumbly, because I didn’t trust myself to answer him in a calm manner. I hated him, even though I didn’t know him.
“Do you have any questions?” This came from one of the grey-haired, suit-wearing men.
I glanced at the door, then shook my head. The only real question I wanted an answer to was what the girl’s name was, and it would look as if I hadn’t been paying attention if I asked.
I wondered if Mark knew it.
He must.
I resisted a desire to demand that he tell me what it was.
“Excuse me,” I choked out, and exited the room, knowing they were all staring after me, and not really caring.
* * *
I caught up to her in the stairwell.
“Hey!”
She spun my way and stopped, like she was startled to see another human being, then looked guiltily at her hands, which clasped her shoes tightly. I suppressed a grin. Her gaze came up again, and for a breathless moment, they held me fixed to the spot.
Then her eyes narrowed in recognition.
“Are you going to trip me again?” she asked.
“I didn’t trip you. You came running at me.”
“You were sleeping in the hallway. At my house.”
She started to turn on her bare heel.
“Wait!”
“Dammit,” she muttered. “What?”
“I’m with the school paper,” I lied.
She stared at me blankly, and I shoved down irritation that she hadn’t noticed me in the meeting.
“I sat in on your meeting with the city just now,” I clarified. “I was hoping we could do an interview? An exclusive, maybe?”
Her pretty mouth tightened up. “Press inquiries go through my lawyer.”
“I’m not real press.”
“Please?” I turned on my sexiest grin. “It’s mean a lot to me, Miss—”
Crap. What was her name?
She rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding, right? You work for the paper and you sat in on the meeting and you didn’t even catch my name? That doesn’t bode well for your career in journalism.”
“I just started. And it’s more of a hobby than a career.”
“Find a new hobby,” she suggested.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and in the brief second I glanced down, the redhead disappeared down the stairs.
Dammit.
My phone buzzed again, and I fought an urge to toss it out the window. Instead, I answered it without bothering to check the display.
“What?” I growled.
“Is that any way to greet a nice girl like me?” asked a teasing voice.
My heart did the weird twist and release thing it did every time Amber called. I knew what I owed her, but she was still a constant reminder of my past.
I took a breath and put a smile into my reply. “Hey, sweetheart. Bad timing on my part. I thought you were my dad.”
She laughed. “You’ve got to start remembering who I am.”
“How could I forget?” I joked.
I meant it in a light-hearted way, but the second I said it, my mind went to Beth, and I wished I hadn’t spoken. They were cousins. I’d known Amber first, in fact. She was the daughter of one of my dad’s golfing buddies. Our mothers attended the same social functions. At a party one night, Amber had introduced Beth and me, all those years ago.
“Too late,” I murmured out loud.
“Pardon?” Amber said.
“Nothing. It’s just always a relief to hear your voice.”
She snorted, but I knew she liked the flattery. “You promised me you’d show up tomorrow.”
“I promise a lot of girls a lot of things,” I teased.
“I’m sure that’s truer than I want to think about,” Amber said. “But you made this one to me.”
“Babe…” I searched for the kind of excuse that usually came so easily, and failed. “I’m not going to be great company tomorrow.”
My honesty was a testament to how on edge I was feeling.
“I know. You really aren’t all that much fun in general. But you did promise,” she told me in a sweet voice.
I wanted to laugh at her obvious manipulation. I’m generally impervious to any and all attempts to reel me in, and I was sure Amber knew it. Maybe my emotions were just raw enough, or maybe I just wasn’t in the mood for letting anyone down. Whatever the reason, I found myself agreeing.
“A promise is a promise,” I said.
“Yes it is.”
For one second, I thought I heard a hint of smugness in her voice, and I was immediately regretful of agreeing to meet her. I held my temper in check and refused to back down. I clenched my teeth together and made myself bury the irritation under a chuckle.
“You’ll have to remind me where I said I’d be,” I told her cockily. “Lots of promises mean lots of forgetfulness.”
She drew in an irritated breath, and this time I chuckled for