Together for Christmas (3 page)

“I’ll try to find out why he’s here,” Kristen broke in, sensing this could go on a while. “I’ll see what I can do about keeping him away from your special, too.” For instance,
asking
him to stay away might work, she reasoned. Telling him her sister was a temperamental artist who couldn’t “create magic” while under stress might work . . .
if
she could pull off calling her own sister an “artist” with a straight face. “Maybe he doesn’t even know about your budget overruns and on-set delays.”

Heather snorted. “He knows. He knows
everything
.”

“Fine. He knows everything.” The easiest way to placate her sister, Kristen had learned through long experience, was to agree with her. “Now can I get back to my customers? The diner is jammed. Some of us have to work for a living, you know.”

“Hey! I work for a living.”

“Of course you do. Sexy dancing is backbreaking.”

“Har har. Just help me, okay?”

“I already said I would.”
And I never go back on my word.

Her sister breathed a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t done anything.”

“You will. I know you will! You’re smart like that.”

At that blatant cajolery, Kristen smiled. Living in L.A. had certainly changed her sister. When they were kids, Heather would have tried bullying her into going along with this plan. She wouldn’t have bothered with flattery.

“You don’t have to sweet-talk me. I already said yes.”

“But it’s true! You’re the smartest person I know!” Heather assured her. “If anyone can successfully distract The Terminator, it’s you.”

“I’m not going to call him The Terminator.”

“Fine. If anyone can successfully distract Casey Jackson, it’s you. I mean it, Kristen. He totally arrived here out of the blue! You have
no idea
how disruptive that can be!”

“Hmm. I have some idea.” Heather’s unexpected return to Kismet had thrown Kristen’s entire life into turmoil—and put a serious hitch in her Christmas this year, too. She didn’t exactly want her sister to leave town already . . . but she would have preferred
not
having her holidays hijacked by the glam squad. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

Biting her lip, Kristen considered the tricky logistics of trying to extract information from and/or “distract” a professional career killer and/or sneaky snake like Casey Jackson. It was a good thing Heather was prone to exaggerating—and there probably wasn’t a genuine problem here—because Kristen definitely didn’t have time for this.

Especially not when . . . “He
really
hates Christmas?”

“Almost as much as he hates children and puppies.” A dramatic pause. “That’s right: He hates children and puppies.”

“Come on.”

“Cross my heart and hope to end up on
TMZ
tomorrow.”

Uh-oh. This
was
serious. Heather hated trashy tabloids. Especially
TMZ
. Tabloid “news” shows, magazines, paparazzi, and stalkerish celebrity bloggers were her nemeses. Which was ironic, given that gossip media had, arguably, created her fame—and did a lot to keep it stoked, too.

“And
speaking
of
TMZ,
” Heather went on in a harassed tone, clearly winding up for a good tirade, “do you know what those bastards think they caught me doing now?
On camera?
”

“Actually, I have to get back to work now. So—”

“Buying toilet paper at Walmart. The economy pack!”

Genuinely mystified, Kristen shrugged. “So?”

“So I have
people
to do that stuff for me! I wouldn’t be caught dead doing my own toilet-paper shopping!” Heather’s voice dropped meaningfully. More on-set hubbub came over the phone. “
You
wouldn’t know anything about that
TMZ
story, would you?”

“Huh? Why would I know anything about that?”

“Just wondering. Okay. Never mind. We’ll talk soon!
Ciao!
”

And that, as they said, was that. Thanks to one typically baffling and overwrought phone call, Kristen was stuck running interference between her self-absorbed celebrity sister and the supposedly robotic, number-crunching, child-hating, puppy-kicking, soulless, Grinchy,
charming
bastard who’d just hit town to shut down Heather’s TV special.

As if Kristen didn’t have enough to deal with right now.

Because as much as she wanted to be on her sister’s side—first, last, and always—Kristen knew better than to blindly trust Heather’s take on things. Her sister’s judgment wasn’t the best. Heather’s view could be . . . well, seriously skewed.

Her advisors were completely out of touch with reality, too. A person only had to look at the indoor set for her holiday TV special to realize that. There, Heather had four glammed-up Christmas trees, all “sponsored” by various companies, each with a particular “designer” theme:
Vogue
Christmas, “Russian Czar” Christmas, prairie Christmas, “Elvis-in-Vegas” Christmas . . .

And the madness hadn’t stopped there, either. Since sweeping into town, Heather’s “glam posse” had taken over Kismet, pretty much ruining the holidays in the process. Who knew what other havoc they’d wreak before they were through?

Things had been fine until Heather and her entourage had arrived. Kristen had been content with visiting her sister in L.A. or New York or London. She’d been content with having a long-distance sisterly relationship via phone calls and Facebook and texting. She’d been
perfectly
content with her cozy, happy, regular-gal life in Kismet, her job, her friends, her modest apartment, and her weekly Drunk Yahtzee night. She’d been looking forward to Christmas, too, just the way she did every year. But Heather’s invasion had thrown everything into a tizzy.

Now everything that Kristen had worked for, everything she treasured, everything that was good and normal and non-showbizzy and
real
in her life was at serious risk of vanishing.

She
was at serious risk of vanishing.

At least it felt that way.

And since even her parents—who were normally caring and sensible and smart—didn’t see the problem, she was on her own.

Except for her friends, of course, Kristen remembered as she pocketed her cell phone and headed back to work.

But her friends had all been inexplicably “busy” ever since Heather had stormed into town, so . . .

So Heather had abandoned Kismet years ago, and this was
her
territory now, Kristen reminded herself resolutely. It was her place to be herself, to live her life . . . and to find out exactly what Casey Jackson wanted before her sister had a full-fledged meltdown. It was the least she could do, right?

Grabbing a full coffeepot, Kristen shook out her hair, put on a smile, and then prepared to save the day, sister-style.

After all . . . how problematic could one “Terminator” really be?

Chapter 3

ANOMIA (uh-NOH-mee-uh)
noun
: the inability to recall names of people or objects

On set in Kismet, Michigan
December 4

Heather Miller hung up her cell phone, then used it to wallop the man standing next to her. “Quit laughing, you dope!”

Alex Taylor only guffawed harder. “You should’ve seen the look on your face.” He adopted a smug, smarty-pants expression—one Heather doubted
she’d
ever sported. “‘I guess he’s kind of a . . . necromancer,’” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “Ha!”

“
You’re
the one who got me that Word of the Day calendar.”

“I was being thoughtful. You said you left yours in L.A.”

“Oh yeah. Right.” Uneasily, Heather squirmed. She didn’t want to fib to Alex, but she didn’t want him to think she was stupid, either. “I guess I was just so happy to have another calendar that I got all overzealous about using it.”

“Aha. See there? ‘Overzealous’ was yesterday’s word.”

He smiled at her, probably unaware of the high-octane sex appeal he was unleashing. He seemed unaware of a lot of things. Like, for instance, the massive crush she had on him.

“I know.” She hadn’t. “I was testing to see if you knew.”

“Looks like I did.” Another smile. “So . . .”

“So . . .” Dreamily, Heather gazed at him. Alex was
so
smart. And talented. And disciplined. As the construction manager for her holiday TV special, he was responsible for designing and building all the sets she used. He had the muscles to show for all that heavy lifting, too. Not that Alex was just a meathead. He was also a trained architect, a partner in a firm in L.A.,
and
the holiday production’s unofficial trivia champion.

Ordinarily, Heather didn’t go for the brainiac type. But there was something about Alex that really got to her.

Unfortunately, the minute they wrapped production on
Heather Miller: Live! from the Heartland,
she and Alex would go their separate ways, probably never to see each other again.

Heather couldn’t let that happen. She just couldn’t.

She’d never felt this way before. Not even when she’d signed her first recording contract—and
that
had been a thrill.

“So . . . you really did everything you could to make Casey sound like a serial killer just now.” Alex nodded attentively, appearing wry and adorable and clever, as usual. “I thought you wanted to set him up with your sister. On a blind date.”

Again, Heather squirmed. She wasn’t good at fibbing.

She was good at
performing,
though. She was very good at pleasing people. So she pretended that the cover story she’d concocted—to ensure that The Terminator didn’t shut down her TV special before she managed to make Alex fall in love with her—was true, and hoped that it would please Alex, too.

“I
do
want to set her up with him,” Heather agreed, wide-eyed. “I think they’ll be perfect together. But it has to feel like
her
idea, or it’s doomed.” She gave a helpless shrug. “What can I say? The worse I make him sound, the more my sister will want him. It’s a reverse-psychology thing.”

“Wow. I will never understand women.”

“I know. We’re crazy, right?” Heather heard herself give a hideous giggle and wanted to kick herself. Alex already thought she was a vacuous airhead. He’d practically said so. She didn’t have to help along that impression, did she? But something about Alex just obliterated every ounce of her cool. “Kristen is kind of a . . . contrarian when it comes to dating,” Heather lied.

“‘Contrarian’!” Alex beamed. “That’s tomorrow’s word.”

Heather felt as though she’d scored a million points by using it. Maybe if she learned enough new things, Alex would be impressed. She needed to get more books. Like, yesterday.

Heather had never regretted leaving high school early to take her shot at stardom. After all, she’d succeeded. But now she regretted not knowing more . . . not
being
more than she was.

“You peeked, didn’t you?” Alex was saying. Adorably.

“At my calendar?” At his nod, she gave a carefree wave. “Well . . . I’m not very good at waiting. I shake all my Christmas gifts, too. I drive everyone crazy by guessing them.”

Alex tsk-tsked. “Naughty girl.”

Heather grinned. He had
no
idea the lengths she’d gone to to lock down some time with him. Such as “forgetting” the lyrics to her own songs and slowing down the shooting schedule for the pretaped portions of her TV special. Such as “changing her mind” about the theme for the live performance portion of her special and forcing the sets to be redone, putting them over budget. Such as facing down The Terminator and then purposely misleading him with that crazy story about her “starstruck, disruptive little sister” to get rid of him long enough for her to make one last stand at this.

Heather still didn’t know where she’d found the nerve.

Then Alex winked at her, and she remembered.

It was all for a good cause. It was all for love.

Unless Casey Jackson figured out what she’d done and came looking for revenge (an idea that utterly terrified her) or Kristen failed in her assigned mission to “distract” him, Heather figured she was good for another week or two. Given that much time, surely she could convince Alex to at least
look
at her in a way that went beyond friendliness. She
needed
that.

She needed
him
.

Right now, Heather was prepared to do whatever it took to get him . . . even if that meant broadening her vocabulary until she could double as a dictionary, reading until her eyes crossed, and typing all her Tweets with correct spelling and punctuation.

Maybe a pair of intellectual-looking glasses would help. Alex wore glasses. They made
him
look brilliant. Also, sexy.

Then something else occurred to her.

“Hey!” She grabbed Alex. “If you know what tomorrow’s Word of the Day word is, that means
you
must have peeked at it, too!”

At the realization, Heather felt tingly with excitement. Because there were two kinds of people in the world, she knew: people who guessed their Christmas gifts beforehand (like her—and Alex!) and people who wanted to be surprised (like Kristen).

But she and Alex were both peekers.

That meant they were
meant
for one another!

In acknowledgment, Alex only smiled. “I never said
I
wasn’t naughty, too,” he told her. Then he hefted a faux marble column over his shoulder, strode away across the downtown bungalow they were using as a set . . . and left her swooning in his wake.