Together for Christmas (37 page)

If he could get to Kristen, Casey knew, he could find out the truth. Maybe she would like the idea. Maybe the sponsorship deal could go forward and erase the budget overruns. Maybe he could do something nice for Kristen this Christmas. The deal was already put together, exactly the way Casey specialized in, awaiting only Kristen’s signature to make it happen.

Maybe he could still win on all counts and emerge a hero. Just the way he always did. This situation was still manageable.

“But the press is going crazy!” Shane followed him down the bungalow’s front walk, sliding as he maneuvered on the layer of SnoFoam the crew had put down to match the acrylic icicles on the eaves. “The story’s already hit the Internet—”

“Seriously.” Feeling beleaguered, Casey stopped. Wearing his most intimidating expression, he faced Shane. “I’m busy.”

“You should be ‘busy’ crisis-managing this impostor situation.” Shane shot an interested glance toward the bungalow, where Heather’s crew were still hard at work trying to make her holiday TV special happen. “Hey, is it true what I heard about Heather’s ‘twenty-four-hours or bust’ ultimatum? My sources say she’s already booked a private charter flight back to L.A.”

Casey wasn’t sure who Shane’s sources were, but they were uncannily accurate. “Heather won’t be leaving Kismet anytime soon”—
he hoped
—“whereas
I
have someplace else to be.”

“You’re leaving all this in chaos?” Shane spread his arms, indicating the bungalow set. “
Now?
Is that a smart move?”

Exasperated, Casey stared at him. It was just like Shane to taunt him with his looming potential on-the-job failure. But in that moment, Casey realized, he wasn’t worried about his job. He wasn’t worried about his reputation. Or winning. He was worried about Kristen and how she would react to the deal he’d made.

“Yeah. I’m leaving,” he said, and the decision felt weirdly easy. Weirdly right. “It looks like it’s your lucky day.”

“Lucky day?” With his usual disingenuousness, Shane frowned. “I wouldn’t say that. The fact is, I’m not here to—”

Screw up Heather’s production,
Casey could almost hear him saying, in defiance of every shady thing he’d ever done. At that moment, Casey just didn’t have the patience for it.

“If you want to try derailing Heather’s TV special, have at it.” Casey gave a belligerent gesture toward the set. “I won’t be here to stop you. There’s someplace else I have to be.”

“You’re giving up?” Shane’s frown deepened. “But I—”

“I’m not giving up,” Casey told him. “I’m reprioritizing.”

Then he turned his back on Shane and headed to his car.

Hunched in her favorite leopard-print coat and oversize designer sunglasses, Heather hid behind a light scrim on the bungalow’s front porch, listening to Casey and Shane Maresca argue. The minute Casey resolutely announced, “I’m not giving up. I’m reprioritizing!” she heaved a tremendous sigh of relief.

Her gamble had paid off. She’d given Casey an opportunity to prove himself worthy of Kristen, and he’d triumphed. So far.

Obviously, Casey was headed to work some of his deal-
un
making magic with the investors and businesspeople he’d contacted. What would happen after that was anyone’s guess.

Technically, that meant Heather should have cut her crew’s working hours again, the way she’d threatened to do. But that had been just that: a threat. Now that Casey had decided to reprioritize, there wasn’t any need to go through with that. She and her crew could have all the time they needed to finish her special. Not that Casey needed to know that.

Feeling a little better about herself in light of that dual success—and in spite of losing her longed-for joint ad campaign with her sister—Heather looked up at the holiday lights strung along the bungalow’s eaves next to the artificial icicles. Casey had told her she was capable of more than just a fake, crummy holiday TV special and all the ridiculousness that went along with it, and he’d been right.

She
was
capable of more. What she’d just accomplished with Casey proved it. She was capable of reconsidering her actions, evaluating the consequences . . . and changing her mind.

Biting her lip, Heather glanced over her shoulder to the bungalow’s interior. Alex was there, busy at work on the latest iteration of the finale set. He looked sexy and stalwart and full of all the qualities she’d ever wanted in a man (except a true Luddite’s loathing of picture-taking technology). For the umpteenth time, she wished things were different between them.

If you ever decide to get real, look me up.

Maybe, if The Terminator could grow a heart and turn into a real, loving man who put the woman he cared about ahead of his career prospects, Heather Miller could change, too. But first . . .

Jerking her chin in the air, Heather flounced down the bungalow’s front porch steps. She approached Shane Maresca.

He wasn’t quite as brilliant as Casey. Or as appealing as Alex. But Shane was certainly an arresting man in his own right. And his function on her holiday TV special’s set was similar to Casey’s. Shane was a consultant. He was trained to solve problems. And because Heather had foolishly sent away her assigned on-set troubleshooter, she needed a replacement. Stat.

She’d learned to trust Casey. She could trust Shane, too.

“Yoo-hoo! Shane!” Heather waved at him. “Hi!”

In the midst of watching Casey’s car driving away, Shane turned. His eyes widened at the sight of her. “Heather. Hi!”

Was it just her imagination, or did Shane seem positively
eager
to get down to work with her? Well . . . who wouldn’t be?

“I couldn’t help overhearing what you said a minute ago—about the Heather impersonator?” she began. She was definitely curious about that development—and the answers it might yield about her supposed secret pregnancy, discount-toilet-paper shopping, and unknown bohemian boy toy. “I’ve obviously got to know more about that, even if Casey didn’t.” Confidingly, she smiled at Shane. Then she chanced another longing glance at Alex. She gathered her courage. “But first, I need your help.”

“My help?” Shane seemed surprised. And maybe a little bit amused, too. “When I got here, you said you already had one too many—and I quote—‘interfering know-it-alls’ on set.”

Heather waved that off. “Well, now I have one too few.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Casey was serious about quitting?”

“He wasn’t quitting,” Heather reminded Shane. Loyally. After all, her sister loved Casey. “He was reprioritizing.”

Now Shane seemed doubly surprised. “You heard that, huh?” He gave her an appraising look. “You’re smarter than you seem.”

God, I hope so,
Heather thought. But Shane’s comment proved he was more similar to Casey than she’d realized. It proved he was prepared to see Heather differently than the rest of the world did. Right now, that was exactly what she needed.

“Come inside,” she told Shane, “and I’ll prove it.”

Then, with Alex undoubtedly looking on, Heather linked arms with Shane Maresca—miracle substitute consultant to the stars—and headed back on set to make holiday TV special history.

Chapter 22

Kismet, Michigan
Christmas Takeover: Day 15

Seated in Casey’s usual reserved booth at the Galaxy Diner, across from a journalist from the local
Kismet Comet
newspaper, Kristen paused to consider her answer to the next question.

Ordinarily, she wasn’t crazy about doing interviews. But she
did
need the publicity for her diner. And it
was
to support her own small-town daily. And it
would
(she’d reasoned) probably take her mind off feeling abandoned by Casey when he’d hotfooted it out of her apartment so abruptly after being summoned by her sister. So Kristen had agreed to meet the reporter and take part in her story about “Kismet’s downtown small businesses successes.”

“Well, what really inspires me are the people around me,” Kristen finally answered. She shot a contented glance at her diner’s customers, at the people waiting for a just-before-afternoon-closing-time table, and then at Avery, who was waiting tables. “All my baked goods are inspired by someone in particular. They’re not described that way on the menu. I don’t serve ‘Grandma Miller’s Dutch apple pie’ or ‘Walden Farr’s chocolate chip pretzel cookies.’ But when I’m creating a new pie-in-a-jar or a variation on a favorite recipe, I’m always thinking of the person who will ultimately enjoy it most.”

“It sounds like your recipes are really gifts.” The journalist smiled at her. “Would you say that’s true?”

“Definitely.” Kristen nodded. “In fact, just before lunch, I started working on a new creation with someone special in mind.” It was Casey, of course. She wanted to surprise him with a pie-in-a-jar that was custom made for him—and maybe, while she was at it, use that gift to segue into another, more forthright
I love you
declaration. “I think it’s going to be my best yet.”

“Any hints about who it’s for?”

“Mmm. None I want to share.” Kristen gave an enigmatic smile. “I’m not even sure it will be a menu item. It’s . . . private.”

“But you seemed so excited about it, just mentioning it!” the journalist said. “Surely you can dish out a hint or two.”

Kristen shook her head. “Sorry. I’d rather not.” From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed her cell phone lighting up. Although she’d silenced its ringer for her interview, she’d seen a number of phone calls coming in. “Any more questions?”

The journalist shifted her gaze from Kristen’s cell phone. Efficiently, she consulted her notes. “Just one more question.”

“Okay.” Eager to be finished, Kristen sat back. “Shoot.”

“All right.” With a glance around the busy diner, the journalist gathered her thoughts. Holiday music played over the sound system. Customers laughed and enjoyed their pies-ina-jar. The journalist fixed Kristen with a keen look. “How excited are you about your new association with Torrance Chocolates?”

“Hmm?” Distracted by an unusual pileup of customers at the diner’s entrance, Kristen glanced at her. “I’m sorry. My what?”

“Your pending deal to have your baked goods distributed worldwide in Torrance Chocolates’ thousands of luxury cafés?”

Kristen tilted her head in confusion. While she was familiar with Torrance Chocolates—anyone with a pulse and an appreciation for sweets knew about their famous chocolate boutiques and accompanying cafés—she certainly wasn’t in any position to partner with them. It was unthinkable. She owned a typical mom-and-pop diner. They were the Starbucks of chocolate.

“You must be mistaken,” Kristen said assuredly.

“No, I have the details right here.” The journalist reviewed her notes. “Galaxy Diner, pies-in-a-jar, Bandini Espresso, Torrance Chocolates, ads with Heather Miller—”

That’s when Kristen
knew
there’d been a mistake.

She almost laughed. “You’re confusing me with my sister!” she said, relieved to have an explanation for all this. “Heather has so many endorsement deals, it’s hard to keep them straight.”

“No, my source is impeccable.” The journalist didn’t seem amused by Kristen’s laughter. “This deal
is
happening.” She gave Kristen another shrewd look. As though settling the matter, she added, “The Galaxy Diner is a trending topic on Twitter.”

“It’s a mistake,” Kristen insisted doggedly.

“The @Heather_Hotline account confirmed it.”

Frozen in surprise, Kristen stared at her. That was her parents’ Twitter account—the one they used to brag to the world about Heather’s accomplishments. If the news had been broadcast there, then Heather clearly believed it was happening.

Just as clearly, Heather had gone behind Kristen’s back—not for the first time—and engineered a plan to “save” Kristen’s “cute little diner” from the big, bad bank. Kristen wished she’d never confided in Heather about that mortgage mix-up. Her sister could be condescending sometimes—especially when it came to the small-town life she’d left behind and seemed to want no further part of—but this was a new level of audacity, even for her.

She could have at least
asked
Kristen first.

Kristen could easily imagine Heather calling in a favor with one of her famous friends, though—friends like hotshot playboy chocolatier Damon Torrance. At the thought of Heather’s likely approach—which would have probably involved something about her “unsuccessful . . . but trying really hard!” little sister—Kristen deepened her frown. She didn’t want anyone’s pity.

She also didn’t want this deal. After all, this wasn’t about her baked goods. This wasn’t some long-awaited validation of her small-town diner and her baking expertise. This was about her accidental association-by-birth with a celebrity. Because there was no way an opportunity like this would have come her way if she
wasn’t
Heather’s sister. Kristen knew that for sure.

“I guess Heather is surprising me with a big-time distribution deal for Christmas,” Kristen said, still trying to make sense of it all. “You say there’s supposed to be an ad campaign, too?”

Despite the undeniably sarcastic edge to Kristen’s voice, the journalist appeared vindicated. And maybe a little self-righteous, too. “According to all the buzz”—here, she broke off to refer to her hand-scribbled notes again—“the ad agency reps ‘can’t wait’ to meet Heather Miller’s ‘glam little sister’ and get started on the ad campaign.” The journalist glanced up, having made air quotes with her fingers in all the appropriate places. “‘Glam little sister,’” she repeated in a withering tone. “Hmm. Obviously, they’re making a few unfounded assumptions about you.”

Speechless, Kristen stared at her. This was exactly what she’d feared—that people would compare her with Heather . . . and then inevitably decide that Kristen (obviously) came up short.

Well, Kristen wanted no part of it. Not now or ever.

“This interview is over.” She stood. “Enjoy your pie.”

But the journalist wasn’t finished with her. “Is this the pie inspired by your famous sister?” she wanted to know, calling after Kristen. “There
must
be a pie inspired by Heather!”