For This Christmas Only Page 14

  She folded the strip of paper and wrapped the pine cone’s ribbon tightly around it. “I’m still going to throw it. If the birthday wish mojo is gone, I’ve still got the Christmas thing going for me.”

  She raised her arm, took aim, and threw it hard at the Yule log.

  Bull’s-eye.

  It turned to ash almost instantly, becoming part of the smoke that carried it out to the universe.

  “Well, that’s that.” Mallory sighed beside him, her face turned up to the smoke and stars. “I guess we’ll just have to see what happens next.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The End.

  —How to Taylor Your Business Plan

  by E.L. Taylor

  Eli lingered under a pecan tree near the main gate.

  Mallory was happy to linger with him. This particular pecan had been strung with multicolored Christmas lights. They looked beautiful in the night, and they didn’t cast much light on the two people below. That was probably why Eli had stopped here, to keep his face in the shadows, waiting for the bulk of the crowd to clear the main gate before he took her...somewhere. With him.

  She remembered his seductive words, his husky voice when he’d spoken over her skin under the massive oak tree. And then, Friday night...happens.

  She’d melted into a puddle then.

  She could melt so easily now, if only Eli didn’t look so grim.

  “The crowd will clear out soon,” she said.

  He remained silent.

  “Are you worried about something?” Because I am.

  Eli was studying her as if she were some exotic bird who had landed near him.

  No, I’m your very own piece of a star.

  He broke his silence with words that sounded portentous. “I meant what I said, that you had no equal. This man who wrote a book you believe in—”

  “I won’t get a complex over Dr. Phil, I promise.” She tried to lighten the tone.

  “You’re determined to meet him, although conventional wisdom tells you not to.”

  She didn’t know if he was asking her or telling her this. “The rest of ‘never meet your heroes’ is ‘wait until they are your equals.’ I think we’re equal enough. He has a college degree from Masterson. I almost have a college degree from Masterson. He also has a Harvard MBA, but still, we’re equal-ish. When he was twenty-nine, he owned dozens of companies and sat on the board of dozens more. Now I’m twenty-nine, and I have the idea for a company.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that.”

  She clapped her hands together, ready to break this strange mood. “Look. I know you read that wish, so we both know who I’m talking about. It might seem like a long shot, but I think I can convince E.L. Taylor to invest in me. I told you I’m faking it, but only some of it. There’s no way I’d want him to know that my family was able to manipulate me into that huge gap between my junior and senior years. He’d be concerned that I could be that gullible again about something that would affect a new company, but I absolutely know I won’t be. Everything else, all the research, all the numbers I’ve run, everything will be solid. I have a good chance.”

  Eli’s intense scrutiny was unnerving.

  She tried for humor. “Nobody needs to know I’m wearing my grandmother’s clothes or my sister-in-law’s shoes.”

  When that didn’t get even one-hundredth of a smile, she slipped her arm around his waist, just to prove to herself that he was no longer that remote man who’d first shaken her touch from his sleeve.

  “It was a dumb wish, wasn’t it? I should have said I hope he’ll give me a specific amount of venture capital. I was feeling emotional, I guess. But if you think about it, nobody invests in someone they can’t stand to be around.”

  “Your goals aren’t dumb.” Eli stepped away and turned to face her squarely. “Why did you trust me with all of this tonight? A perfect stranger?”

  “Eli, what are you talking about, exactly? I feel like I’m missing something here.”

  “You told me your doubts. You let me see your tears.”

  “The tears happened despite myself. Then I told myself that it wouldn’t hurt anything if you saw me at my worst, because you were going to disappear after tonight. I’m so glad you’re not going to disappear now, because you’ve brought out the best, too. I didn’t know I could have as much fun as I’ve had tonight.”

  “But it was fun for one night,” Eli said. “A fake date from the start.”

  “Yes, but now that we’ve ended our fake date with a real kiss...” She trailed off at his expression.

  “That was the goodbye kiss, as we knew it would be.”

  She stepped close and put her hands on his chest. “It was real. You, kissing me, no games.” She tried for a smile. “Until the cops came.”

  He softened the tiniest bit. “We said ‘it might’ turn into something real, and I’m very sorry it didn’t.”

  She slipped her arms around his waist, locking him in tight. “We’ve been happy together, all night. Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

  “Fearless Mallory.” He reached behind his back, grasped her wrists and freed himself, but he didn’t let go of her. He bent his head and rubbed his cheek along her hand, just once. A farewell.

  A whisper was all she could manage. “You’re breaking my heart. Don’t disappear. Won’t we see each other again?”

  “If we do, you won’t see me the way you do now, not the way you have tonight. You may not like me at all. I want you to know, I’ll never forget the perfect date that Eli had with Mallory. There will never be another night like this. Thank you.”

  After a brief, hard squeeze of her hands, he let go and walked away.

  “Eli!”

  He kept walking.

  What can I do? What should I do?

  “Wait. I have your gloves.” She held out her hands, palms up, begging him to come back and get them. “Eli!”

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “Keep them.”

  Then he merged into the crowd and left her under the pecan tree, all alone.

  * * *

  Taylor straddled his bike wearily. Every limb of his body weighed a ton. It didn’t matter. The next time he saw Mallory, she would hate him.

  He wouldn’t be Eli. He’d be Taylor. E.L. Taylor. Mr. Taylor.

  He wasn’t anyone’s hero.

  The farther he drove from the park, the darker his thoughts got. No Mallory, no light—there was nothing to distract him any longer from cold reality. He was the empty, callous son of a bitch who stared at fires and couldn’t sleep. And when Mallory Ames came to find him in January, she was going to be devastated to learn that her hero was nothing more than that. Never meet your heroes might have been the only intelligent advice he’d ever given.

  He came to an intersection and stopped. To the right was Greek row, the street where most of MU’s fraternity and sorority houses were located. A little flicker of something came back to life inside him. It wasn’t joyful, but it made him feel alive. He turned right.

  It was obvious which house was Kappa Lambda. They’d erected ten-foot-tall Greek letters on their lawn to identify themselves. Judging by the crowd on the lawn and the number of people with red Solo cups in their hands, the odds were that at least one of those letters would be knocked flat on its face before the night was through.

  Taylor killed the engine and took off his helmet. Then he just sat, one foot on each side, keeping the bike balanced, waiting until he saw them.

  Mallory had asked him if his peripheral vision was a superpower. Others in his past had remarked on his ability to recall visual details. He just had to recall the scene, and it was like looking at a photograph. He could zoom in on different details, like the three fraternity brothers in burgundy hoodies, one in corduroy pants, one in khaki board shorts, one in jeans. White sneakers on all of them.

&nb
sp; There they were.

  He waited, knowing he was out of place, knowing the people closest to him on the lawn were starting to point and whisper. When the three boys spotted him, Taylor kicked the bike’s stand into place and dismounted. The three lacked his ability—and Mallory’s ability—to fake being cool and calm under stress. The moment they realized where they’d seen him tonight was comically obvious.

  Taylor walked directly toward them. The partygoers in his way scattered like minnows as a shark swam through their school. Girls then stopped at a safe distance to devour him with their eyes. The boys pretended they didn’t notice him, so they wouldn’t have to challenge his right to walk where he wanted to walk.

  Taylor stopped less than an arm’s distance from the three he’d come for. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m E.L. Taylor.”

  They were mute.

  “This is how it’s going to go down. First, you’re going to hand me my girlfriend’s mitten. Second, we’re going to have an educational conversation about the appropriate way to ask a woman to spend her time with you. Lastly, and this one will be in effect for the rest of your time at this university, when you see me anywhere on campus, including your own fraternity house, you’ll get out of my sight. Are we clear?”

  They exchanged nervous glances with one another, quickly coming to the correct conclusion that they should go along with anything E.L. Taylor suggested. After all, he was known for his plans.

  “Let’s begin. Step One.”

  He watched as two of them scrabbled in their pockets while the third hissed, “Do you still have it?”

  Taylor held out his hand, and the mate to Mallory’s lonely mitten was placed in his palm. “Step Two. How many times should you invite a woman to spend the evening with you?”

  They looked at one another again. The one in corduroy ventured a timid answer. “None?”

  “Once, boys.” Taylor gave them the same look he gave someone who was about to be fired for gross incompetence. “You invite her out once. If she says yes, you have the chance to show her your best side, such as it is. If she says no, then leave her the hell alone. Don’t be a pain in the ass and ask her out ten more times. Don’t be a criminal and stalk her. Once.”

  They mumbled some yes, sirs.

  “Step Three,” Taylor said.

  They stared at him. He gave them a minute to let their beer-soaked brains recall the itinerary he’d laid out.

  He unzipped his jacket and tucked Mallory’s mitten into the inner pocket. Then he zipped it up and looked at the boys who were still gaping at him.

  “I said three.”

  They turned tail and ran.

  Eli returned to his bike, put on his helmet and checked his gas gauge. He already knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight. He might as well burn up another tank of fuel.

  * * *

  The cursor blinked on Mallory’s computer screen.

  She changed it from a white arrow to a black one.

  She watched it for a moment, a stationary thing, unexciting. Uninspiring.

  It’s not supposed to be inspiring. It’s a cursor.

  She changed it from a black arrow to a hand.

  Eli, where are you? Are you okay? What happened?

  She’d gone to the Yule log three nights in a row, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday, hoping he’d be there. He hadn’t been. She shouldn’t go tonight.

  She changed the cursor back to a white arrow.

  She probably would go, anyway.

  “Is that him?” The woman in the cubicle to her right, Gladys, was a full-time employee, not a student. Her whisper was full of excitement, like she’d just spotted some juicy gossip. That was how Gladys always sounded, because she always sought out juicy gossip when she should be working.

  Mallory stared at her screen glumly. It wasn’t like she had room to criticize. She’d been staring at cursors for ten minutes.

  “It can’t be.” The answering whisper came from another cubicle. “But whoever he is, I’m glad he walked in the door.”

  Mallory ignored her coworkers and got back to typing. This basic data entry was simple drone work that did nothing to divert her from reliving a goodbye under Christmas lights. And reliving it. And reliving it, daily, during the longest week of her life.

  “Is he in a motorcycle gang or something? Say yes. That look is hot.”

  “He’s hotter than a man has a right to be, already. He doesn’t need to dress it up in leather, but I’m not going to complain, either.”

  “Oh, I hear you. Totally agree.”

  Mallory looked around. The excitement spreading from cubicle to cubicle was almost tangible. Everyone had stopped working, men and women, both. At the end of the row of cubicles, even Irene, the senior administrative assistant, had opened the glass door of her office and come out to see...something.

  Mallory gave up and stood. Whoever had just walked in was causing enough of a stir that it might take her mind off him.

  It was him.

  Eli had found her. She must have said enough about her job for him to deduce where she worked. He’d searched for her.

  With a little skip of happiness, she headed down the row of cubicles. He was walking toward the dean’s office, his expression deadly serious. She wanted to head him off before he asked her boss if a woman named Mallory worked here.

  His profile was just the same as when she’d first seen him. Stern, even grim. Silent, even while he was being greeted by the dean, shaking the hand he was offered.

  Shaking hands with the dean?

  Mallory stopped.

  Irene stepped away from her glass door with her most gracious smile for—for Eli. She gestured toward the door of a currently empty private office, the one that was reserved for January and the arrival of the Executive-in-Residence.

  The woman sitting in the cubicle where Mallory had stopped reached up and tugged on her sleeve. “Don’t you dare go ask for an autograph. Irene will kill you.”

  The warning was unnecessary. Mallory couldn’t go anywhere. She was sunk shin-deep in quicksand, and going under.

  Her Eli, her rugged and sexy and unsmiling Eli, who could be so charming if he only had a little oilcan for that rust, that Eli walked down the hall with Irene and the dean. As the dean kept up his effusive welcome, Eli turned his head and looked right at her. No flicker of surprise, no jolt of recognition crossed his face.

  He hadn’t needed to look her way at all, because he’d probably seen her just fine in his peripheral vision. But he’d turned his head; he wanted her to be certain that he knew she was there. Then he turned away.

  Eli had no intention of acknowledging her, for he was a multi-millionaire, and she was a student working part-time to pay off her tuition.

  They were not equals. He had already known that on Saturday night. She had not.

  E.L. Taylor followed the dean into his new office and shut the door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Learning Objective: Establish the parameters within which the business will operate.

  —Senior Year Project by Mallory Ames

  “I quit.”

  Mallory hissed the words under her breath.

  The pointing-hand cursor blurred with her tears.

  You must continue to play when the game isn’t fair, or you’ll never win.

  There was no game left to play. She’d wanted so badly to meet him—a man who’d written a book which stated that she should never meet him, not unless she waited until they were equals. She’d been so determined to break that rule. For two years, it had inspired her to take action.

  Meet E.L. Taylor? Meet him? She’d kissed him, damn him.

  It was so horrifically clear. She’d been open and honest with him, more than she’d been with anyone, even with her grandpa. She’d confessed to everything, from being a fool for her family to raiding her
dead grandmother’s closet. He was the one person who knew that every detail about her, even her appearance, was a lie.

  She’d babbled to the stars about birthdays and wasted years, while he’d sat silently on the next hay bale over. She’d drunk hot chocolate next to him—oh, what a fool she’d been, saying she’d buy him a cup if she could. She’d been so careful not to make him spend too much. Just the hot chocolate. I don’t need a cookie to go with it.

  It had amused him, no doubt. He’d enjoyed spending an evening with a woman who was too dense to realize who he really was.

  He was the hero whose philosophy she’d passionately defended throughout the evening, and he had egged her on, challenging her to explain his own rules. But after he’d read her wish, his mood had changed. He must have realized his little masquerade had gone too far. He’d left her under a pecan tree before she could fall in love with him and slobber all over him like a loyal Labrador.

  I quit.

  She wanted to scream it.

  She couldn’t. She had nowhere else to go, nowhere else to live, no way to get there if she did. She’d given everything up to be here at Masterson University, right here, right now. She couldn’t quit. She’d starve.

  Those were real-life stakes which the great E.L. Taylor had never faced. His face. She’d helped him to hide his face from a perfectly nice charity volunteer who’d started to recognize him.

  Why hadn’t Mallory recognized him?

  She dove under her desk for her backpack, jerked the zipper open and dug for her book. His book.

  She flipped the book over. The photo on the glossy book jacket was so familiar to her. Eli didn’t look anything like it. Even now, she had to know what she was looking for to see any resemblance. His eyes in the black-and-white photo weren’t that startling silver blue, of course. Just a dark gray. Too dark—the photographer must have touched them up so they wouldn’t appear too light or white.

  That smile—so polite, so empty. Nothing like Eli when he threw back his head and laughed.