Christmas at Tiffany's (3 page)

He understood. The realization pushed relief through her system in a spinning rush.

After shifting gears, he left the table just long enough to retrieve a manila folder of his own, which gave Tiffany time to relax once more and further scope her surroundings. Mitch had shucked the suit coat he typically wore. A silk number in deep gray hung neatly against the back of his chair. Broad shoulders were swathed by a crisp, white shirt and accented by a perfectly knotted tie of deep gold that fell to an even line against his chest.

That's when Tiffany realized—she wasn't focused on her surroundings at all—she was focused exclusively on the man.

Unaware, thank goodness, Mitch returned to the mini-conference table and opened the file; she discovered it contained the information she had forwarded days ago about Pets Finding Home. He didn't seem to miss a beat, but Tiffany stared after him, mysteriously pulled.

“I'm glad you brought this group to my attention. I could tell the organization means a lot to you by the e-mail you sent to the selection committee. The vote of the philanthropy board was unanimous. We intend to support your work at the shelter.”

The affirmation snapped her mind from attraction and planted it straight back on solid ground. She had agonized over the nomination papers and poured her heart into its words. Happiness danced against her skin. “Thank you! I'm so glad to hear that.”

“I'm further proposing that the monetary benefit be just one aspect of our Christmas donation.”

“Really? What do you mean?”

“I want InfoTraxion to consider an effort to recruit staff members to volunteer at the facility. We could organize a weekend or evening volunteer shift. It's service, yes, but I also see it as a team-building exercise.”

“That would be amazing.” There was no way she could dilute the pleasured surprise in her tone. “I know Pets Finding Home would welcome the support; there's so much to do and like any non-profit they struggle to find a steady pipeline of hands-on help.”

“Tell me about the work you do there. You're a regular volunteer, correct?”

“Yes, I'm classified as a non-veterinary volunteer. I don't assist with the medical treatment of incoming animals. Instead, I try to place people with animals, whether that happens through the adoption process, or through using animals in conjunction with efforts at counseling and therapy, or even participating at PR events like adoption drives or information booths at civic events, you name it.”

“And aiding human counseling and therapy through the use of animal contact is what you're studying at school, right?”

He
knew
about that? Really, why should that surprise her? Of course he did. She had spelled out a number of details about her volunteer efforts and college curriculum as part of her formal pitch to win some much needed funding. All the same, he paid close attention to details and she found that impressive.

“Yes, I'm studying to be an LPC, a Licensed Professional Counselor. When I graduate, I want to counsel people using both direct therapy and animals. I'd be able to provide assistance at retreats for troubled teens, or with inpatients at psychiatric hospitals. But in the meantime, I volunteer each week at Pets Finding Home. It gives me experience, and more to the point, I love it. I build and help maintain the intake records when animals are found or surrendered. I also spend time with families who are looking to adopt a pet and help them understand what to expect. Other times, I simply provide care at the shelter, feeding, filling water dishes, cleaning cages and playing with them. It may sound corny, but I believe animals have spirits. Just like human beings, I think they need to know they're loved. Animals are powerful—and untapped—adjuncts to the process of helping people heal.”

For the longest time, Mitch rested in silence, watching her. Tiffany climbed close to the point of worrying that she had overstepped boundaries with her level of enthusiasm.

“Wow.”

“Wow?”

“I admire your passion, Tiffany. It's impressive, and contagious.”

A light laugh bubbled through her chest. “I was thinking the same thing about you, and your efforts to have the company help out. Corporate support is a tremendous benefit to the organization. Truly, I can't thank you enough.”

Silence swirled for a moment. “Actually, the smile in your eyes says more than enough. I'll work on the authorizations, and I'll also see about getting some of our employees on board for a volunteer session. Let me get to work on that and I'll keep you posted.”

“That's more than I ever expected—and I appreciate it very much.”

Tiffany's afternoon, featuring Eric's machinations and hot-winded posturing, had begun on such a sour note. Thanks to Mitch, she had found even footing. At the conclusion of their meeting, she all but floated from his office.

~*~

“Hey. You're still here. I think we're the last ones standing.” Mitch's smooth stride came to a stop at Tiffany's desk.

Tiffany looked away from her monitor after checking the time in the lower corner—it was closing in on six o'clock. She absorbed his presence then wondered why he left her tongue-tied. She regrouped fast, though, and gave him a ready smile. “Instead of battling the rush-hour crowds and the snow, I figured I'd catch up on a few assignments I've had to push to the back burner while finishing my analytics for Webber.”

“Dedication bordering on psychosis. I can relate, so I laude your efforts.”

“Oh, I'm slightly more mercenary than that. It's mostly because I don't want to endure the crowds that are piling onto an already storm-sluggish mass transit system right now.”

“Good call.” He glanced out the nearby window and heaved a sigh. “I won't lie. With all due respect to hearty New Yorkers, this kind of weather, and the way it turns the city into a tangled up parking lot leaves me longing for California.”

“Yeah, because traffic patterns are so much better in SoCal.” She glanced away from her monitor to deliver a cheeky grin which earned her a lovely wink of acknowledgement. He was brunette featured, with a strong, angular face touched by Mediterranean-style olive skin. He fit into the east coast mold, but she knew he had spent his life out west.

“Teasing aside, I've lived in New York City all my life but I'm still not used to episodes like this, so I can't say that I blame you.” She didn't want him to walk away, which was surprising, since by nature she was most happy being an introvert. The recognition prompted a light, nervous drum of her fingertips against the keyboard. “I saw your email to the staff about the Shelter Helper Drive in two weeks. What a catchy name for the volunteer effort. Thank you for that.”

“You've been saying ‘thank you' a lot today.” The teasing spark in his eyes stilled her nervous strumming, at once drawing her into a land of hard-focused warmth.

“That's because I've meant it a lot today.”

“Touché. We'll need to get the Christmas party out of the way first, but I'm looking forward to recruiting people to help. It's a great cause.”

Her heart did a happy flip, launching into a rapid-fire thud. Her senses were going haywire all of a sudden—maybe because of a sudden shift in the barometric pressure or something… “I'll be the first to sign up, and you might want to be careful. I'm just about ready to say ‘Thank you' again.”

“For?”

“For referring to our corporate gathering this weekend as a Christmas party.”

He lifted a shoulder then leaned against the window frame. A handsome man, framed by the silver, brick and glass structures of midtown—and a blanketing snowfall. She nearly sighed with a purely female sense of admiration.

“Company policy prohibits religious references, so I have to call it a holiday party in office communications, but to my mind the season is Christmas. Period.”

“I like that attitude, and I agree.” The man was a believer. Could this sudden and rampant swell of attraction become any headier?

He straightened and returned to the side of her desk. “Are you at a point where you can stop what you're working on? If so, let me at least treat you to a meal. I think the deli downstairs might still be open.”

Eats and Treats was the shop to which he referred; the restaurant and sundry was a ready convenience Tiffany haunted frequently during the work week.

“That sounds great. Give me a minute to polish off this section and click
SAVE
.”

“I'm going to sign off as well. Be right back.”

He turned to walk away; that's when a thought crossed her mind. “One more thing?” Brow arched, he slanted a look over his shoulder and waited. Tiffany fought an intoxicating inner dance. “Thank you.”

His answering laugh tripped against her skin.

~*~

So, the quiet one had some spark and sass. Mitch enjoyed that small, but powerful revelation. An elevator ride to the lobby led to the discovery that Eats and Treats was closed, prompting Mitch to modify their plans and lead the way to Scarpello's instead. Scarpello's was an on-site Italian restaurant that catered to higher-end lunch and dinner gatherings and the place was filling fast. Evidently a number of snow-bound detainees had chosen to wait out the five o'clock to seven o'clock commute blitz. Tiffany matched his stride with an even, effortless grace that for some unknown reason appealed to him.

“I'll bet the store owners shut down early rather than waiting it out. They're open at six o'clock every morning.” She hiked her purse strap against her shoulder and fingered back her hair in an absent, automatic manner.

“You know this because…?”

“Because I'm addicted to their sausage-and-waffle breakfast sandwiches. When I get to work early, I treat myself. The owners, the Yong's, know me pretty well.”

Her easy spirit warmed away the chill of a marble lobby that was half office building utilitarian and half an effective effort to create natural light and green space. Live ferns and tall trees edged a window line that soared high and wide. Tiffany kept her focus straight ahead as they crossed the threshold of the restaurant, which gave Mitch time to study her unaware. Lovely, he thought—unassuming and sweet. That warming sensation slid even deeper.

“Once the rush is over, where are you headed?”

“To Brooklyn. And you?”

They settled on stools at a high-top table. Handing one of the two menus to Tiffany, Mitch opened his and pored over meal selections. “When I took on the interim management position, the company set me up at condo in Long Island. A corporate rental.”

“Nice.”

Her eyes went wide. The wistful tone spoke volumes. Mitch considered her—and admired her—all over again. Here sat a woman in her mid-twenties, building her career and following through on her passion via hard work on the nine-to-five front along with what had to be an equally demanding level of school work that would lead to a Masters. She wasn't a struggling fresh-out-of-college type, but she continued to work hard to earn every inch forward and most likely those efforts didn't include much in the way of extravagances, or unplanned expenses. She was impressive. Considering some of the self-centric, entitled people who populated the landscape of his life in New York and Los Angeles, Tiffany's personality breathed through his mind like fresh air—even if it came to him wrapped by a dense, sparkling snowfall.

Their seats overlooked a portion of 54th Street and Madison Avenue that was blanketed by untouched snow drifts. They placed an order for sodas and an entrée of spaghetti and meatballs. Once the wait for the food began, Tiffany gazed out the window, lost within the view outside. “It's going to be so pretty in the morning before the city comes alive.” Her lips curved; her eyes went dreamy once more. “The storm will have passed and I imagine the sky will be a clear, dark blue just full of sunshine. Sure, it won't last…sure, everyone will return to their routines…but for that brief, undisturbed bit of time, the snow will still be white, and the trees and buildings will sparkle.”

Never once did she look his way. Rather, she seemed to dive headlong into the visual she described. Tiffany watched plows and cabs flash by; same as he, she tracked wool-shrouded people bustling past, pushing for home. Mitch didn't see much more than annoying, oversized vehicles of yellow, lights casting strobes against the cold of a descending winter night. He saw folks buffeted by the inconvenience of inclement weather. Tiffany saw magic.

Hoping he wouldn't break some kind of rich spell, Mitch let go of a quiet breath he was holding. Seconds later, their waitress arrived with beverages which provided a cooling-off period he desperately needed. Tiffany sipped, sighed, and he was pulled toward her all over again.

“Tell me what inspired your love of animals.”

Something immediately shaded her eyes—something dark that she dismissed with a blink and the power of her smile. “If you ask me, they're tough not to love. They're innocent. And, just like people, they know only good things unless the world shows them otherwise. Put them into a situation where they can aid in a person's healing, and I find it takes their beauty to a whole new level. I'm not naïve. I know and understand the pitfalls of psychological recovery and rehabilitation. That doesn't stop me, though. I keep on hoping.”

“It sounds to me like you've been there.”

She sipped her drink, didn't meet his eyes. The reaction spurred his curiosity.

“Not as intensely as some of the people I've come across since I've started to study the field of counseling, but I've had strong connections to animals during the course of my life. I've always had pets. My current companions are Audrey and Oscar, two long-haired, gold and white tabby cats. They're brother and sister.”

Wearing a smile, she removed her suit coat and hung it on the back of her chair. The subtle diversion and topic shift didn't push him into submission. Rather, he fell into a deliberate but gentle silence meant to encourage more.