Together for Christmas (6 page)

Casey swept his gaze over her again. He genuinely did appreciate her straightforwardness, her confidence . . . her matter-of-fact way of confronting him while looking improbably sexy in a lumberjack’s shirt and a courtesan’s lingerie. The paradoxes inherent in that left him more captivated than he ought to be.

“No one is immune to flattery,” he said. “That’s a fact.”

“Some people are,” Kristen disagreed. “Smart people.”

Apparently, she had a lot invested in being intelligent. Casey figured he could use that. He needed a shortcut, or he’d be trapped here in Christmasville forever. He glanced across the diner, selected the most immediately brainy-looking person—a man picking up a to-go order nearby—and called out to him.

“Hey, nice choice on the pie-in-a-jar!” Casey offered the guy a nod. “I hear it’s really good. You must be an expert.”

With a grin, the burly customer raised his to-go bag. “My wife thinks so! Some pregnant women want pickles, but my Rachel is crazy about this cranberry-mincemeat pie. She can’t get enough of it.”

“You’re a wise and thoughtful husband to get it for her.”

“Yeah. I guess I am!” Appearing immensely flattered, the man prepared to leave. He saluted. “Thanks, pal!”

Casey lifted his eyebrow and glanced at Kristen. “See? I prove my point. He’s certainly smart.
And
easily flattered.”

She scoffed. “He’s not flattered, and he doesn’t look that thrilled with life because of
you,
” she disagreed. She gave the man a cheerful wave good-bye. “That’s Reno Wright. He got married a couple of years ago, and his new wife is expecting, so—”

“Reno Wright?” Casey goggled. “The former kicker for the Scorpions? The most in-demand, highest-ranked, most popular rookie kicker drafted in the NFL in a decade?
That
Reno Wright?”

Blandly, Kristen said, “You’ve heard of him, then? He’s kind of a local celebrity. A real hometown hero.”

Of course
Casey had heard of him. Reno Wright had single-handedly won several big games for the Scorpions by kicking spectacular last-second, long-yardage field goals. He’d been unexpectedly tough, too. On kickoff returns, players knew to avoid his quadrant of the field or get brutally tackled.

If he’d recognized him sooner, Casey knew, he’d never have tried making his point about people’s susceptibility to flattery by using Reno Wright for an example. But since he had...

“My point is,
everyone
can be flattered. Even you. So when I tell you that I admire what you’ve done with this place—”

“It
is
pretty fabulous. For a money pit.”

“—I hope you’ll believe me,” Casey finished, making a mental note about her apparent money problems. “I heard about some of the renovations you had to do. That must have been tough, trying to update the place while keeping its integrity.”

“It was.” Her posture eased a fraction, even as the diner racket continued around her. “There were issues bringing the property up to code, plus a whole laundry list of repairs to do and vintage replacement fixtures to find . . .” Abruptly, she quit talking. The sparkle that had entered her eyes while discussing her diner dimmed a fraction. Cannily, she said, “It took longer than I expected, but sometimes things don’t go according to plan. Sometimes you have to allow for the unexpected.”

He caught her drift. “Like with Heather’s TV special.”

A nod. “I’m not going to let you cause trouble for my sister. She’s working hard. Her special means a lot to her.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here to help.”

Kristen snorted. “Terrifying her isn’t helpful.”

Reassuringly, Casey grinned. “I’m not terrifying.”

“From where I’m standing? No, you’re really not.”

To emphasize that fact, Kristen looked at him as though making it plain that she
knew
he’d been transfixed by her lacy red bra a minute ago . . . and had fully intended for him to be.

Uh-oh. How had he missed that? Casey wondered. How had he been gulled so easily? He couldn’t afford to make mistakes on this job. He wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible, before Christmas caught up with him.

“But then, I don’t scare easily,” Kristen was saying matter-of-factly. “From Heather’s perspective, things are different. So why don’t we just cut to the chase? You tell me why you’re here and what it will take to make you leave—”

“I just got here. You want me to leave already?” Grinning anew, Casey clutched his chest. “Ouch. That hurts.” Somberly, he said, “You should know I survived a blizzard to get here.”

“—and I’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about turning antique gas stations into diners, if you’re really as interested as you seem. Deal?”

He thought about it. “I’ve never met anyone as direct as you before. Well, except me.” It was as if they were destined to be soul mates. Or archrivals. Either way . . . “I like you.”

A sigh. “Are you softheaded or something? I was pretty clear earlier. No flattery. No b.s. No flirting—”

“Flirting?” Casey couldn’t let that lie. “If you’re sensing something between us, maybe it’s not coming from
me
.”

“—just answers. Okay? Exactly why are you here?”

He wanted to answer her. He really did. But all at once, in that moment, Casey couldn’t quite find the brainpower to do so.

He’d never encountered a woman who fascinated him quite as much as Kristen Miller did. She was made up of equal parts devotion, generosity, and toughness . . . all mixed up with long legs and blond hair and a mouth that wanted to smile, but hadn’t.

Not yet.

Damn, but he wanted to be the one to make that smile of hers happen. He just knew it was going to be incredible.

“And by the way,” Kristen added with a glance outdoors, “that little snow flurry we had a while ago? Not a blizzard.”

“I’m from L.A. It was the mother of all blizzards.”

“Right. You’re very brave.” She crossed her arms. “So?”

So she was really busting him here. “The production company hired my agency to get Heather’s TV special back on schedule,” Casey said. “I’m here to do that, by whatever means possible.”

“Are you going to fire people?”

He couldn’t lie. “If it’s necessary. Usually, it’s not.”

“Are you going to shut down production?”

“Near as I can tell, it’s already pretty much shut down. I’m hoping to put things back on track before Christmas. Way before Christmas. Way,
way
before Christmas.”

“I’m sure.” Kristen compressed her lips in a telltale gesture. Evidently, she was familiar with the problems on set. That meant he needed more information from her. But first . . .

“Are you going to ruin my sister’s career?”

She kept her chin high, but there was an undeniable note of vulnerability in her voice. Hearing it, Casey regarded her with real empathy. He didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but the concern in Kristen’s face was real. He wanted to reassure her.

“If that homemade sex tape couldn’t ruin your sister’s career when it came out last year,” he said, “I doubt I have a shot at it.”

“Really? How sensitive of you, to bring up Heather’s most public scandal to augment your case,” she said drily. “Are you always this subtle, or is today a special occasion?”

“I don’t see the point in tiptoeing around things.”

She nodded. Again, Casey had the impression that he and Kristen Miller were on the same wavelength—if not the same side.

“Have you seen it?” she asked.

Casey raised his eyebrows. “Your sister’s sex tape?”

She nodded. “It was all over the Internet. She sued to stop the retail DVD version from being released, but it didn’t work.” Kristen gave him a direct look. “Well?”

Reluctantly, Casey rose. “Maybe I should leave.”

“Oh, no.” Narrow-eyed, Kristen pointed at him. “You’re staying right here, where I can keep an eye on you.”

“I can’t.” With faux helplessness, Casey spread his arms. A Heather Miller holiday song started playing over the diner’s sound system, reminding him of his mission. “I have work to do. Set visits to conduct. Phone calls to make. I can’t do that here.”

“You can if I rent you a booth.” With a
gotcha
gleam in her eyes, Kristen jutted her chin toward a corner booth near the cash register. “Two hundred dollars a day.”

He widened his eyes. “Two hundred? No, thanks.”

“It’s cheaper than a commercial space.
If
you could find one. During the holidays, most of the Realtors in town close up shop. Theirs is a summer business, really. Tourist rentals.”

“Technically, I don’t need a commercial space. I can get everything I need on set, where I can keep an eye on Heather.”

Kristen crossed her arms. “You can’t get access to me.”

“I don’t need access to you.”

“You do if you want to make any headway with my sister.”

Thinking it over, Casey gazed at her. “I doubt it.”

“Okay. Fine. Find out the truth the hard way, if you want to.” Wearing the most carefree expression he’d seen on her so far, Kristen handed him a menu. “I’ll be back for your order. I’ve neglected my customers too long already.”

Then, before Casey could even formulate a new approach, Kristen swept aside his neglected pie-in-a-jar, offered him a cheerful look, and flounced away across her diner . . . leaving him experiencing several contradictory revelations all at once.

First, he was pretty sure she thought (wrongly) that she’d outmaneuvered him, because she was wearing the same ridiculously cocksure look she’d had on while offering him her famous pie.

Second, he didn’t think she knew how to negotiate, because she was supposed to have made a counteroffer just now. Duh.

And third . . . well, third was the most damning of them all. Because third, Casey realized that Kristen Miller possessed a curvy derrière that had the power to make a man lose his mind altogether. Most likely, she’d adorned it in red lace, too.

Red lace to match her bra. Red lace to make him wonder . . .

Exactly what other surprises did Kristen Miller have in store for him, if Casey stuck around long enough to uncover them?

Chapter 5

Galaxy Diner, Kismet, Michigan
T-minus 20.5 days until Christmas

A few minutes later, Kristen looped back around, capably and conscientiously taking an order from another customer.

Casey watched her and felt duly mesmerized. She was feisty, gutsy, and quick on her feet. She was cute, well liked, and respected (even if she
didn’t
recognize a full-blown blizzard when one was raging outside her diner). She was . . . interesting.

He felt almost sorry to have already gained the upper hand with her (even if she didn’t know it yet). But Casey couldn’t go all soppy and sentimental now. He had a job to do.

Despite Kristen’s concerns, he didn’t expect that job to hurt her sister. Typically, he pulled off his intercessions without upsetting anyone—quite the opposite, in fact. Usually, people were happy to have had Casey involved. Although Heather Miller
did
have some explaining to do about the half-baked story she’d fed him about her problematic “little sister.” When Casey talked to Heather again, he intended to clarify matters—and to make it clear that he wanted honesty from her in the future.

Having finished up her stint with her other customer, Kristen passed by again. She trailed her fingertips over the countertop, absently tracing its edge as though reassuring herself it was still there, intact and invulnerable and
hers
.

Casey could relate. “I feel the same way about my watch.”

Kristen stopped. She glanced at him quizzically.

“Possessive. And proud.” He nodded at her fingers, still resting on the countertop. “Sometimes I can’t help checking to make sure it’s still there, just like you’re doing.”

An inexplicable defiance passed over her face. She whisked away her fingers. But she didn’t disagree. So he went on.

“It’s not that I never owned a watch before.” He nodded at its polished face. Its heavy band anchored his wrist with its comforting, familiar weight. “But usually they . . . disappeared.”

Her mouth quirked in an almost smile. “Forgetful much?”

“I was being nice. I mean they were stolen.”

“Oh. Multiple times?” A frown. “I know you have muggers in the big city, but to be hit over and over again like that—”

Kismet really
was
Mayberry Redux. “I grew up in foster care,” Casey told her curtly. He was sorry he’d mentioned this at all. “Things had a way of going missing. All I’m saying is, your diner is pretty great.” He grinned, pointedly gesturing at her. “Even if it
is
run by an amateur extortionist who wants way more than market value for a simple booth rental.”

But he was too late with his joke. Kristen was already giving him The Look. The gooey-eyed, distressed, pitying look. The sad
foster kid
look. The look that stripped him of who he was and turned him into a latter-day Oliver Twist with a suit, a cell phone, and several years’ more experience under his belt.

He hated The Look. It made him feel combative.

“But hey . . . maybe you’re just into fondling Formica,” Casey joked, wishing he’d never said anything—wishing he’d never felt that weird moment of connectedness with her. “I’m not judging.”

To his relief, Kristen grinned. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. I wasn’t into it at first. But then I started dating Mr. Clean, and that guy is all about taking care of the Formica.” She waggled her brows. “If you know what I mean.”

Casey laughed. “Kinky.”

“You’d better believe it. Me and Mr. Clean . . . whew! Hot!”

Her gaze met his, full of sass and brashness . . . and also compassion. Damn it. But suddenly Casey didn’t mind so much.

Then Kristen leaned over, peered at his watch, and lightly touched her fingertips to his wrist. A jolt went through him.

Stunned, Casey stared at her. But she didn’t seem to realize that she’d somehow delivered several volts of . . .
something
to him. Her gaze was fixed on his watch—the most enduring token of his success so far
and
the most difficult for anyone to boost without his noticing—and he had an unencumbered view of her smooth cheeks, straight nose, and downcast eyes. Her mouth was surprisingly lush, he noticed, feeling drawn to it again.