Christmas with My Grumpy Ex (Feuding Hearts Christmas #1)

2. Unfinished Business

2

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

ELLA “ELLIE” HAWTHRONE

"Ms. Hawthorne?" Carson's voice snaps me back to reality. "Are you alright?"

I blink, my heart pounding as I stare into familiar green eyes.

Max Wellington.

Here. Now. In the middle of my interview.

I force a smile, tearing my gaze away from Max. "Yes, of course. I apologize. You were asking about my experience with large-scale events?"

Carson nods, but I can see the curiosity in his eyes. He glances between Max and me, clearly sensing the tension.

Max, for his part, has schooled his features into a mask of indifference. But I know him—or at least, I used to. The slight tightness around his eyes betrays his discomfort.

I launch into my prepared spiel about the Hollywood Heart Foundation gala, focusing on the logistics and the millions raised.

My voice sounds steady, professional. Inside, I'm a mess of tangled emotions.

Why is he here? How am I supposed to concentrate with him sitting there, looking annoyingly handsome in his tailored suit? The years have been kind to Max Wellington, damn him. His jawline is sharper, his shoulders broader. But those eyes—God, those eyes are the same. The ones that used to look at me like I hung the moon.

Now they're guarded, giving nothing away.

I finish my explanation, and Carson nods approvingly. "Impressive, Ms. Hawthorne. Now, about crisis management?—"

"I'd like to hear more about that," Max interjects, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. "How do you handle last-minute disasters?"

I meet his gaze, steeling myself against the rush of memories. Late-night study sessions that turned into makeout sessions. Stolen kisses between classes. The way he'd wrap his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder as we watched the sunset from the roof of my dorm.

No. Focus, Ellie.

"I thrive under pressure, Mr. Wellington," I say, injecting confidence into my voice. I tell them about the water main burst, the rooftop event. As I speak, I see a flicker of something in Max's eyes. Pride? Amusement? It's gone before I can be sure.

The interview continues, a delicate dance of professionalism and unspoken history. I answer Carson's questions with practiced ease, all while hyper-aware of Max's presence. He chimes in occasionally, his questions pointed but fair.

I find myself falling into old patterns, anticipating his thoughts before he voices them. It's like muscle memory—the way we used to finish each other's sentences, the shorthand we developed over late-night conversations and shared dreams.

But those dreams shattered long ago, didn't they? I remind myself harshly. I'm here for the contract, not a walk down memory lane.

As I outline my vision for the gala, I catch Max watching me intently. For a moment, I see a flash of the young man I fell in love with—curious, engaged, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Then it's gone, replaced by the cool, professional mask.

I push down the pang in my chest and refocus on Carson.

"I believe we can elevate the gala by incorporating interactive elements that highlight the charity's mission. For example, we could set up virtual reality stations that allow guests to experience the impact of their donations firsthand."

Carson leans forward, intrigued. "Go on."

I elaborate on my ideas, warming to the subject. This is what I'm good at—taking events beyond the typical champagne and caviar affairs, creating experiences that resonate. As I speak, I feel my confidence returning.

This is my element, my passion. Not even the ghost of my college romance can take that away.

"That's... quite innovative, Ms. Hawthorne," Max says when I finish. "But how do we ensure it doesn't overshadow the core purpose of the event?"

I meet his gaze steadily. "The key is integration, Mr. Wellington. Each element should tie back to the charity's mission. The goal is to create memorable moments that inspire guests to give generously, not just for the sake of spectacle."

He nods slowly, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the connection we once shared. The way we used to challenge each other, pushing our ideas further. Then he blinks, and the moment passes.

Carson claps his hands together. "Well, I think we've covered everything. Thank you for coming in, Ms. Hawthorne. We'll be in touch soon with our decision."

I stand, smoothing my skirt. "Thank you for the opportunity. I look forward to hearing from you."

As I gather my portfolio, I chance one last glance at Max. Our eyes meet, and for a split second, his mask slips. I see a whirlwind of emotions—regret, longing, confusion. Then it's gone, replaced by a polite nod.

I turn to leave, my heart pounding. Just as I reach for the door handle, it swings open.

"What my baby-daddy say?" Quanie Wellington stands in the doorway looking like she’s about to pop.

“He said they’d call me.”

“Girl please, I’ll wop this thang on him and have him giving you a bonus.” And her ass has the nerve to swing her hips like she’s not carrying a wide load.

“Girl, you better stop before you drop that baby on the conference room floor.”

“ Lies . Jr ain’t coming until Christmas day.” She scrunches her face and pulls me in for a hug, then holds me at arm's length. "How'd it go? Wait, don't tell me here. Let's get out of here."

I nod gratefully, chancing one last look over my shoulder. Max is watching us, his expression unreadable. Carson says something to him, but he doesn't seem to hear.

We walk towards the elevators. Her presence is a balm to my frayed nerves.

Quanie loops her arm through mine, guiding me out of the room. "Come on, girl before Carson sends me back to bed. Plus, you look like you need a strong latte and some girl talk."

She guides to what looks like a private elevator, and I feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease. The further we get from that interview room—and Max—the more I can breathe.

"So," Quanie says as we step into the elevator. "Spill. How'd it really go?"

I lean against the wall, exhaling slowly. "It was... intense. I think it went well, but..."

"But?" Quanie prompts gently.

The elevator doors open, and we step out into the bustling lobby. "Can we go to our spot?"

“You got it.” Quanie nods, understanding in her eyes.

“You sure you’re supposed to be walking this much?”

Quanie is eight months pregnant and all belly. “Yeah, the doctor says it’s good for the baby.”

“And what does Carson say?”

“Girl, if I sneeze that man tries to rush me to the ER. I told Mamma Pat to bring a pillow because Carson’s gonna hit the damn floor when I start pushing.”

I laugh imagining her billionaire husband, in his fancy suit laid out on the hospital floor. Quanie and I met back in La La Land. She was an assistant to a certified jerk, and I was a stylist. We were the only brown faces on set and quickly became the best of friends.

Quanie leads me out of the hotel and down the block to our favorite café tucked between two towering office buildings.

She heads to the counter to order and I slide into our favorite booth at Bean There Café. It's a little mom-and-pop-style spot that always goes overboard with the holiday decorations.

Twinkling lights drape every surface, and there's a miniature Christmas tree on every table. The aroma of gingerbread and peppermint swirls around and I’m instantly in Christmas heaven.

Quanie’s laughter fills the space as she chats with the barista, and I shake my head chuckling. Then my thoughts slide back to the interview.

There’s no way I got that contract , I groan dropping my head on the cool table.

"Girl, you would not believe—" she starts to say as she slides on the bench across from me, but then she catches the look on my face. "Spill it, Ellie Cat. And don't leave out any juicy details."

Quanie is the bridge between Los Angeles and New York. My love of Hollywood and the Big Apple. Not knowing my history with Max. A history I've managed to keep tucked away, a precious moment that taught me all about love and heartbreak.

A heartbreak that taught me life is nothing like the movies.

In the movies, love wins. In the real world, love buckles under expectations and distance.

I hesitate for just a moment before diving in. "Max was at the interview."

“Get the fuck outta here!”

I swear this woman keeps me laughing.

She leans in closer across the table, her curiosity piqued. "So what happened? Did he still look like every Christmas wish wrapped in a fine-ass bow?"

The man I once thought I'd spend my life with is her brother-in-law. How small is the freakin' world?

I can't suppress the smile that comes with the memory of seeing him again.

His dark suit. His intense green eyes. His captivating voice.

Max is the man I once knew, all grown up.

"He's... changed. Like there's more weight on his shoulders now."

Quanie reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "And what about you? How did you handle it?"

"I was professional," I say, pride swelling in my chest despite the awkwardness of our encounter.

"That's my girl." Quanie grins before signaling to the waiter to bring over two of their special holiday lattes. "What did Carson say, since you won't let me put in a good word for you."

"I want to get it on my own."

"Girl, fuck on your own. This is the one time you get to use nepotism. And baby, I say, use it ."

I shake my head. "I won't let you put your reputation on the line to get a gig. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Chile, please. I'd just swirl this thang on him." She throws her hands in the air, rolling her hips with her beach-ball-sized belly.

I burst out laughing. "Quanie, why are you insane?"

"Because the world is too fucking serious. Besides, this is the best time of the year. I say, ask for everything your heart desires and let fate handle the rest."

I stop and think about her advice.

Quanie leans forward, her dark brown eyes twinkling with holiday mischief. "What do you have to lose? You moved across the country to make this happen. At least let ya girl hook you up."

Quanesha Wellington oozes Christmas wishes, candy cane dreams, and frosty fantasies. This is her season. The woman flew across the country, nailed a billionaire, married on her favorite holiday, and now she's due on Christmas day.

It's like she has this special connection with Old Saint Nick. A connection that makes me want to crawl into Santa's lap and tell him my yuletide yearnings. But I resist.

"I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long. The gala is in less than a month." She takes a sip of her latte, and a moan escapes. "Tasha, girl , you put your foot in this."

We laugh until my side hurts, and I'm so glad to have this woman in my life.

"Tell me about the interview."

I nod and recount the interview, leaving out the stumbling and stuttering over Max.

Quanie listens intently, nodding along and interjecting with her usual spice of humor. "You're the shit. Don't worry. Carson ain’t no fool."

Her words are like balm to my soul, soothing away some of the insecurities that have been gnawing since I saw Max in conference room.

The waiter arrives with another round of lattes, topped with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon, which immediately has us both cooing in delight.

"What did you do, Quanie?"

"Ordered all the Christmas specials, even though I have to drink this damn decaf." She shrugs as if it's totally normal to order ten lattes for two people. "You know how much I love Christmas, and if this baby has his way, I'll spend the rest of it locked inside. So, I'm living my life like that TikTok… Bitch, I'm outside ."

We laugh and sip our drinks. Then Quanie sobers and leans back against the booth, her gaze thoughtful. "You know, Ellie Cat, no matter what happens with this gala thing, you're amazing at what you do. Never forget that."

Her words hang between us, heavy with sincerity and personal experience.

"I appreciate that," I reply softly. "But part of me can't shake off the feeling that Max being back is... complicating things."

Quanie cocks an eyebrow like her husband. "Complicating how? Like stirring up old shit or making you second-guess yourself?"

"Both?" I admit.

She snorts before taking another sip of her latte. "Listen," she begins with more seriousness than I'm used to from her. "Max Wellington or no Max Wellington, you've got this gig in the bag because you're brilliant and dedicated and all kinds of wonderful. I love Max, but don't let that man fuck with your head. This is the event of the year. Adding your name to it will set you up right for your relocation."

I nod slowly as her words sink in.

"And hey," Quanie adds with a glint in her eye, "if he tries any funny business or gets in your way... well," she grins wickedly, lowering her voice to a mock-whisper, "we'll just have to remind him who runs this town during Christmas."

Laughter bubbles up from deep within me until tears gather at the corners of my eyes. Quanie is the unofficial Christmas mascot for the universe. It sounds like bull until you see her home during the Christmas season.

The woman has their mansion covered from floor to ceiling with decorations from around the world. And Carson, her husband, takes her to a different country every year to find more exotic holiday souvenirs.

Black Santas, train sets, snow globes, and I stopped counting trees after the fifth one. It's the best winter wonderland in the United States, and every year it gets better.

"Thanks," I say once I regain my composure. "I needed that."

"Anytime, honey. That's what friends are for."

Quanie gives me a final pat on the hand before we stand up to leave. We walk and talk about her latest movie script and their post-production project.

Quanie knows what it's like to fly across the country, hoping for a Christmas miracle. And now she's married to an amazing man, carrying her first child, and producing a movie with none other than Violet Masters.

I have to believe that if it worked for her, it can work for me too.

As we walk back towards the hotel, I steel myself for what lies ahead. If I get this job—and I'm determined to get it—I might have to face Max again.

It won't be easy. But I've worked too hard to let old ghosts hold me back now.

I say goodbye to Quanie in the lobby, promising to call her as soon as I hear about the contract. As I step out onto the busy New York street, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, my heart skipping a beat when I see the caller ID: Carson Wellington.

This is it. The moment of truth.

I take a deep breath and answer the call, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach.

"Hello, Mr. Wellington.”

“Hello, Ms. Hawthorne. You impressed us today, and we’re on a tight schedule. The next three weeks will be a whirlwind, but if you’re up for the challenge, I think it will be an experience you’ll never forget.”

He chuckles, and I join him realizing Quanie was right. I have this in the bag.

“What I’m saying is, the contract’s yours, if you want it, and can start right away."

“Yes, sir. I want it. And Mr. Wellington, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Merrilyn will call you with the details. Welcome to The Wellington.”

I disconnect the line and praise dance all up and down the block. I can’t wait to tell Zoe.

OMG! I got that contract.