The Christmas Crush

Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Elena sat alone in Lawrence’s winter-sun-soaked kitchen, coffee in a chipped mug, her journal open on the round table. When she arrived last night, she’d found him slouched on his sofa, dazed. He’d buried his face into her midsection. She’d stood before him, fingers in his thick hair, desperate to help him, unsure how. In the end, she sensed he just needed her by his side, quiet and present.

All night he tossed in the bed like a fish out of water, reaching for her time and again to reassure himself he wasn’t alone. Then, before dawn, his phone bleated, woke her with a racing heart. Neither of them had gotten more than a few hours’ broken sleep. A tiredness she didn’t know herself capable of settled into her bones. She yawned, her whole body quaking with the force of it.

The doctors had scheduled Nana for surgery this morning to repair her broken wrist, but her blood pressure had spiked, made her short of breath and panicky. She might have fallen again if not for the nurse by her side. Lawrence raced to the hospital at five, promising to update Elena as she shoved a granola bar and cup of instant coffee at him on his way out. A lousy breakfast but better than nothing.

“Do you think someone will give him something real to eat soon?” she asked Sugar, who lay at her bowl, munching kibble with conviction. “His mom is there; we don’t have to worry. And Trey will come for you in a while. I’d stay, but I have the quarterly meeting today.”

Sugar’s tail swished across the linoleum floor at the sound of Trey’s name, then stopped when Elena mentioned the meeting. Even the dog understood what a rough day lay before Elena. Thankfully, she’d had the presence of mind last night to pack well despite her antsy fervor to be with Lawrence as soon as possible, spilling her duffel bag twice as she hurried around her apartment. Hair dryer, curling iron, makeup, and best suit in a garment bag. Somehow, everything she needed had made it to his house. Derick and the CEO would have no clue she’d barely slept.

Pencil in hand, she closed her journal, impressed with herself for sticking to her new practice despite a hectic twelve hours. She’d decided to write out one complicated feeling toward her family per day in an effort to be less sarcastic and more honest the next time she saw them. With minutes to spare before her commute, she switched to her sketchbook.

She hurried to draw a quick picture—a way to calm herself, and a surprise for Lawrence when he returned—then left the house.

Little houses like Lawrence’s ran up and down the quiet street behind snowy lawns and big leafless trees. Pausing on the porch, she let herself revel in the tranquil atmosphere. The gentle scene stood in stark contrast to her harried mornings in the city—horns honking, pedestrians grimacing, garbage overflowing in cans along the sidewalks. How amazing would it be to start every morning on this sweet street? A peace she never felt on a workday settled over her, until she remembered she had to hurry.

Her career would take a steep dive if she blew off the meeting. And she couldn’t expect Priya and Sarah to face the CEO and Derick without her. Lawrence would understand, and she’d be back as soon as she could . A few hours , she told herself, vowed to the closed door, then I’ll be back.

Once at Sparkle, she took the elevator to the top floor, to the fabled upstairs Derick loved evoking to terrify his staff. Against all odds, the temperature upstairs ran even cooler than on her floor. Her lavender cashmere sweater and wool suit felt suddenly thin. Priya got off the elevator a minute after her. They exchanged a tense glance, then went together to the executive conference room.

This conference room had a high ceiling, all the better for the CEO’s commands to echo throughout. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a majestic view of the city, the cloud-rich sky, but also suggested the possibility of being thrown through one to hurtle to the street below for making a mistake. They took a seat near the end of a marble-top table the length of a football field.

Each place had a binder prepared by an admin, filled with reports and projections, some of which Elena had put together and triple checked yesterday. Next to the binders sat signature Sparkle sample boxes, doubtless holding the special cookie for the New Hope grand opening.

Elena gazed around the room as department presidents, VPs like her, and assistants filed in, all in their best lavender-accented clothing. The mood as heavy as a wake, Elena went over her dad’s maxims for success in her head while they waited for the CEO to grace them with her presence. The room at least smelled nice, soothing and familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place.

Margaret Zimmerman, the CEO, a conventionally attractive woman in her late forties with expensive blond hair, glided into the room. Derick followed hot on her designer heels, whispering some private tidbit to her. Did he realize how desperate he seemed? Elena would bet he’d waited outside the door like a groupie for the CEO to show, frantic for one extra second with her. Disgusting.

“Everyone, please take your seats,” Margaret said, making no apology for keeping them waiting five minutes past the scheduled start time. Elena knew from her dad this was a common, deliberate play to prove one’s importance. Superiority. Elena tried to imagine Lawrence making his assistant Carm wait around for him as a flex. She smirked at the idea. Her chef would never need to stoop so low to lead.

Margaret’s executive assistant, a cowed young man who looked strangled by his tie, clicked on the projector. Pie charts appeared on the screen. Margaret began a sermon extoling Sparkle’s vision for the quarter, for the upcoming new year. Elena’s thoughts were a beat behind thanks to no sleep. She strained to remain attentive. Remarks about deliverables and growth slurred together, smearing in her tired mind.

The CFO took a turn, yakked about projects and margins, diagrams taking the place of pie charts on the screen. Elena found it hard to focus, her thoughts drifting to Lawrence and his nana. How long could this meeting drag on for? She needed to make a call, have another cup of coffee. Conserve some energy for tonight so she could drive to the hospital. She fought off another yawn, eyes watering.

“Let’s turn it over to Derick Cunningham, president of marketing. He’s going to explain his strategy for our latest grand opening,” Margaret said.

Elena straightened in her seat. She needed to feign interest at this point. Derick loved to call on his team during these meetings, show off how he’d browbeaten them into submission. Derick stood, which seemed unnecessary, like he was trying to appear more important than he was.

“As you can see, based on my VP’s report on page fifteen in your binders,” he began. Elena hated it when he called her my VP , as if she existed solely in relation to him. I am not yours. “We made a big goal for ourselves for the location in New Hope, set to open this weekend on Christmas Eve. I’m sure we can all agree a Christmas Eve opening is a lot of fun.”

Elena could disagree. Who wanted to spend the holiday stressing at work? And the minimum-wage bakers and customer service team at the store wouldn’t be excited either, she’d wager. Those workers couldn’t afford to ask for a day off, and she knew overscheduled managers from other locations were expected to be on hand all day to lend their experience.

“My VP has outlined the steps we’ve taken thus far,” he continued. Did any of the upper management team know her name, or did they think her birth certificate read Derick Cunningham’s Vice President of Marketing ? Dad would want her to find an opportunity to interject here to make sure they learned her name. She cast around for a statistic she could add to Derick’s recitation of her work.

“I have come up with a little something special on my own, though,” Derick said, cutting her off as she opened her mouth to speak. “We all know that an exclusive flavor makes the grand opening the place to be. Our customers love to collect the experience of tasting these one-day-only cookies.”

Why was Derick acting like he’d invented a strategy they employed companywide? Get to the point already. Let this nightmare end.

“The test kitchen offered me a white-chocolate pistachio exclusive for this opening, but I think we all can agree that isn’t very festive.”

Oh, Derick cared about holiday spirit? What a farce.

“Which is why I invented a brand-new cookie. I know, you didn’t think I had it in me, but I’m full of surprises.” Some department presidents laughed along, though others rolled their eyes. “Open up those boxes and have a taste. I think the test kitchen did a phenomenal job executing my vision.”

Elena flipped up the box top, and the room spun around her. Her hands flew out, grabbed hold of the table for support.

“These gingerbread latte cookies will help us meet—even exceed—our ambitious grand-opening sales goal. Messengers are out delivering boxes of them to our top influencers as we speak. By end of day, I expect to see #iSparkle trending along with my hashtag #NewHopeNewCookie . Everyone within a hundred-mile radius of sleepy little New Hope will be at my grand opening. I am going to send our sales through the roof.”

The executives applauded, a sound like thunder all around her. The cookie, a near exact replica of the cookie Lawrence had devised with her assistance, blurred in front of her eyes. She felt a cold hand on the back of her neck, someone asking her in an urgent voice if she was okay.

But how? How had he stolen it? She’d tried her hardest to keep Derick away from Lawrence. Even gone to her dad for help. Stood up to her own discomfort and told her boss straight out not to meddle.

Then she saw it in flash, ears ringing, insides roiling.

Her own careless, foolish, love-drunk error.

Lawrence’s handwritten recipe on her desk, Derick with his phone out, and a wicked smile on his face.