The Holiday Games

Chapter 10

ten

. . .

Leo

C aroline’s a genius, and so charming I’m not the least bit surprised when she manages to get all four of her “guests” organized into a roller-skating conga line that she parades past the hot chocolate stand, sparing herself the hassle of handling the tray in skates.

A beat later, she has her giant bag in hand and is making her halting way toward several large chunks of fake coal.

“That’s cheating!” Jenna shouts from across the band shell, where’s she’s handing out her last mug to a man in a black scarf.

“It’s not,” Ainsley calls out. “It’s creative problem solving. Better hurry, Jenna. You’re no longer in the lead. Jenna and Caroline are now tied for first!”

Jenna hurls her tray like a frisbee, sending it sailing over the low temporary wall surrounding the rink. Then, she’s off like a shot, speed-skating over to the bags at Krampus’s feet. On her way across the open space, she leaps over a piece of coal, landing with the skill of an Olympic skater.

Dirk, who’s a few feet away, gasps and thrusts an arm her way, causing the hot chocolate on his tray to slosh over the rims of the mugs. “Ridiculous! This is ridiculous! She’s a plant! A ringer. We’ve been hoodwinked. Hornswoggled!”

His gesturing grows so animated that he knocks himself off balance and goes crashing to the ground, spilling hot chocolate all over himself and a silver-haired woman in a green scarf. Thankfully, she takes the soaking with a good-natured laugh and assurances that she’s fine as Dirk climbs awkwardly back to his feet, apologizing profusely.

But he’s so far behind now, I don’t see how he can possibly recover.

Still, he fetches his tray and rolls back toward the beverage stand, managing not to trip over the pieces of coal Jenna kicks away from the other contestants as she fills her own bag.

Millie nearly gets a skate in the forehead, but rolls away just in time, shouting, “Careful, please! I don’t need a concussion for Christmas.”

“Then you’d better move faster,” Jenna calls back, cackling as she kicks another piece of coal away before Millie can grab it, even though her own bag is full, and her first place win assured.

Across the band shell, Caroline lunges to the left, opening her bag in time to catch the missile, filling her bag to max capacity as well.

“First and second place are locked,” Ainsley says. “Now, we play to see who’s still standing at the end of the night, and who’s leaving with a bag full of coal.”

“It’s me,” Dirk says from the hot chocolate station, where he’s somehow managed to spill another four mugs full of cocoa all over himself. “That’s it. It’s over. I give up. Just throw me a towel to help mop up my shame, will ya?”

“Oh, come on, Dirk,” Millie says as she cruises in a wide arc, filling the rest of her bag. “You can do it. Innkeepers never say die.”

“But they do say uncle,” Eduardo crows as he snags a particularly large piece of coal and shoves it into his overflowing sack. “That’s third place for Millie and fourth for me. That leaves you at the end of the line, Dirkly McGee.”

“My name isn’t McGee, it’s Hathaway, of the Hathaway Inn in San Diego, California,” Dirks drawls, his lips pushing into a pout as he flicks his salt-and-pepper hair from his forehead with damp fingers. “At least get that part right before you kick me out. If I don’t get some free publicity from this, my financial advisor is going to have a stroke. Bookings have been in the shitter since the new Gaylord resort opened down the street.”

“Aw, you’re the only gay lord I’d want to stay with if I were cruising Southern California,” Millie says, rolling over to pat Dirk on the back.

Dirk rolls his eyes with a smile. “Well, thank you, doll. I do keep the vibes strong at the Hathaway Inn. Show tunes every morning at breakfast, not a tacky piece of word art in sight, and a discreet, but fabulous, shrine to Britney Spears in the garden.”

“Sounds like a good time,” Eduardo says.

“Agreed.” Caroline motions to Dirk’s soaked clothes. “And if you don’t mind me saying, you look great in hot chocolate. Dark brown is your color.”

Dirk laughs, gesturing to his soggy khakis with a flourish. “Thank you, darling, but every color is my color. I’m a summer with winter undertones. I can wear the shit out of anything except lime green. And no one should wear lime green.”

“Agreed,” Eduardo says. “My ex said the same thing, and he was a fashion designer. Sorry about the early exit, friend. I’d love to book with you the next time I’m on the West Coast.”

“Gag. Jesus, what’s next? You four going to sing Kumbaya and start a hug circle?” Jenna asks from where she’s perched beside Krampus on his pedestal, sipping from a silver flask I’m positive wasn’t part of her wardrobe. “The lack of competitive instinct is…stunning.”

“Talk to her about the flask as soon as filming is over. This is supposed to be a family-friendly show,” I murmur into my headset, earning a slight nod from Ainsley. “And we need to remind the rest of the cast members to keep the cursing to a minimum. We can always bleep them afterwards, but better if we don’t have to.”

Ainsley nods again before declaring the challenge at an end and thanking Dirk for being part of the competition. When I first pitched the idea of having my director double as my host, my industry friends thought I was crazy. But Ainsley’s doing a fantastic job, and I think the audience will enjoy the glimpse behind the curtain.

But not too far behind the curtain…

When one of the cameramen in charge of capturing “color” of the contestants outside the challenges shifts his lens my way, I wave him off with a scowl. “Not me. Them,” I hiss. “Get some reaction footage from the woman who had hot chocolate spilled all over her. And Caroline’s conga line,” I add as he hurries away.

Caroline’s conga line…

They were as charmed by her as I am. The rest of the cast seems to be taking to her, too, despite the fact that she’s joining the competition a couple days after the initial members. As I make my way back to the production tent to check our shot list with the head of photography, I hear Millie ask Caroline if she’d like to be her roomie, now that Meredith’s gone.

I glance up at the monitors flickering above the control panel, watching the two women chat in black and white.

“No way am I leaving you to bunk with Jenna,” Millie says. “You might wake up with your blood sucked dry by morning.”

Caroline laughs. “Thanks, I appreciate that. I had a room at the conference hotel for two more nights, but Leo and Ainsley said I’d need to move in with the cast. Are they really going to film us brushing our teeth and getting ready for bed?”

“Yes,” Millie says, as they settle onto a bench to remove their skates, their every word captured by a cameraman hovering a few feet away. “They also really love waking you up first thing with a lens in your face. Don’t you, Blake?”

“You can’t talk to me when I’m filming, Millie,” Blake mutters. “I told you that this morning.”

“And I told you that if I wake up with a camera within striking distance again, it’s getting a swat,” Millie says pleasantly, before adding to Caroline, “I was a very sleepy child. Spent all ten years of Girl Scout camp waking up to someone drawing a moustache on my lip. Or spraying whipped cream into my hand so I’d slap myself with it when they tickled my nose. I learned to swat first and ask questions later.”

“I didn’t know Girl Scout camp was so perilous,” Caroline says. “Makes me glad I went to a tiny country school without after-school activities.”

Millie pulls a face. “Nah, it was great. Just kid stuff. Those girls are still some of my best friends. One of them is my landscaper and another caters weddings at the inn in the summer.”

“That’s great. My best friend and I run our inn together. It’s been our dream since we were in third grade. She’s just the best. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Female friendships are so important.”

Caroline nods. “A vastly underrated form of love.”

“And way less likely to break your heart.” Millie sighs, “Though I did have a friend betray me pretty badly once. It was so painful and just…came out of nowhere.”

Caroline makes a sympathetic sound. “I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I caught my boyfriend making out with a Rockette earlier today. Betrayal happens to us all.”

Mille gasps. “Oh no! Oh my God, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Caroline rolls her eyes. “It was all so ridiculous it was hard to get too upset about it. And the Rockette apologized and dumped him on his ass after, so that was fun. She seemed cool. I’d rather hang out with her than my ex.”

Millie giggles. “Yes! Girl power for the win. I’m glad we’re in an alliance.”

“Me, too,” Caroline says, laughing with her. It’s a softer version of her big, shameless laugh, but still fucking…perfect.

I lift my gaze, watching over the monitors as Ainsley approaches their bench for the post-contest interviews. Caroline looks up with a wide, easy smile that makes her even prettier. She’s fucking beautiful, this woman, and it’s becoming clear it’s more than skin deep.

Which means she’s even more dangerous than I thought…

There are thousands of beautiful women in New York, many of whom would consent to date me, if my matchmaking friend, Deborah, is to be believed. But it’s always been easy to resist her pleas to let her set me up. I’ve lived in the city long enough to know that most of the single people here are obsessed with their jobs, their social status, and how often they can make it to Spirit Cycle in a week. They have very little spare time and what they do have, they don’t waste making an effort to become kinder, gentler people.

Hell, maybe I wouldn’t have either, if Vivian hadn’t ended things the way she did. Her bizarre cruelty made me even more determined to be the man my parents raised me to be, a man with integrity whom they would be proud of…if they were still around.

I glance up at the few stars bright enough to compete with the city lights, where my dad promised me he’d be someday, watching over me. I’m sure he never imagined that time would come when I was only nineteen, a freshman in film school who wasn’t remotely prepared for both of his parents to be killed in a car crash.

For the better part of a year, I was a disaster. Then, slowly, but surely, I discovered improv comedy, started writing sketches for a scripted show, and learned to laugh again, the way Dad would have wanted. As a kid, he always let me stay up late to watch Sketch Night Live with him. We’d laugh so hard we’d wake Mom in the upstairs bedroom.

He would have been so fucking proud that I had a chance to write for our favorite show, and Mom would have loved me for taking care of Greg, even though I was under no obligation to keep my ex’s evil feline.

I can’t help wondering what they would think of Caroline.

If they would see the way she shines from the first moment the way I did…

“The new girl’s incredible on camera,” Smythe, the director of photography says, drawing my attention back to the monitors. “I mean, they both are,” Smythe adds, “but Vermont’s going to steal the show. What a knockout.” He lifts a fist for me to bump. “Good job, boss.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, suppressing the caveman urge to tell him to keep his eyes and his comments about Caroline to himself.

He didn’t say anything inappropriate. She is a knockout and very compelling on camera.

But still…

“Just make sure you upload all the footage to the Cloud before you clock out,” I say, my voice gruff. “We don’t want to lose anything. We’re already behind as it is.”

Smythe salutes me as I leave the tent, not seeming to notice my crankiness. But then, he grew accustomed to my “take no prisoners” style of shooting during the last season of Horny Housewives. He isn’t bothered by it.

I’m glad Caroline isn’t either, a fact she proves by seeking me out to say goodbye before boarding the van to the hotel with the rest of the cast.

“I’m glad we ran into each other in that igloo,” she says, her blue eyes dancing. “Tonight was more fun than I’ve had in ages.”

I smile. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“I did,” she says. “And not just the competition part. The troubleshooting was great, too. Isn’t crisis containment a rush?”

I exhale a ragged breath. “I don’t know if I’d call it a rush, but it kept me awake without my usual post-dinner cup of coffee.”

“Drinking coffee after dinner.” She clucks her tongue. “You city folks are wild.”

“And untamed,” I agree dryly, loving the way the banter flows with her.

She laughs. “I think the roller skates worked out great, though, don’t you?”

“They were perfect,” I say, but I’m not thinking about the skates.

I’m thinking about Caroline Candy Cane.

About her laugh, her quick mind, and how much I want to squeeze her ass again while we kiss.

She really is the entire package.

The entire forbidden, off-limits package.

“Get some sleep,” I say. “Clown cleanup starts early tomorrow.”

She winces. “Yeah, that… Want to give a girl a clue what we’re in for? Just so she can get her ‘afraid of clowns’ game face on before seven a.m.?”

I grin and lift my arms in a gesture of surrender. “I would, but that would be cheating, Ms. Cane. And I’m not a cheater.”

“So, I’m coming to believe,” she says, a warmth in her gaze that makes my stomach twist as she backs away. “See you tomorrow, Leo. Thanks again for the chance.”

“Tomorrow, Caroline,” I say, her name sweeter than cocoa on my lips, proving I need to get my head on straight before filming picks up again.

With that in mind, I finish the last of my oversight duties before turning the circus over to Ainsley and heading home, where I’m sure Greg will be waiting to cackle over his gaslighting victory earlier tonight. A verbal altercation with my demonic pet spawn is just the thing to remind me that romance is a losing game, one that ends with lies, betrayal, and unwanted furballs shitting on your pillowcases.

But when I get the apartment, Satan in already asleep on the couch, no doubt dreaming of the birds he’s going to murder if Caroline really does take him back to Vermont.

I head to bed, where I dream that Caroline takes me home, instead, leaving Greg to take over my life here in the city. But I’m not mad about it. Not even when Greg wins an Emmy for his writing on a late-night comedy sketch show.

I’ve always wanted an Emmy, but right now I might want this woman, this near stranger, more.

I’m in deep doodoo.

Even deeper than my contestants will be in come tomorrow morning…