A Christmas Message Page 17

His father reached for a pen and rolled it between his fingers as he mulled over Jake’s words. “I put you in charge of the toy department because I thought it would be a valuable experience for you. One day you’ll sit in this chair. The fate of the company will rest in your hands.”

  His father wasn’t telling him anything Jake didn’t already know.

  “If the toy department doesn’t show a profit because you went over Mike Scott’s head, then you’ll have a lot to answer for.” He locked eyes with Jake. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Jake nodded. If the toy department reported a loss as a result of his judgment, his father would question Jake’s readiness to take over the company.

  “Got it,” Jake assured his father.

  “Good. I want a report on the sale of that robot every week until Christmas.”

  “You’ll have it,” Jake promised. He turned to leave.

  “I hope you’re right about this toy, son,” J.R. said as Jake opened the office door. “You’ve taken a big risk. I hope it pays off.”

  He wasn’t the only one. Still, Jake believed. He’d counted on having proof that the robots were selling by the time his father learned what he’d done. Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, which was generally the biggest shopping day of the year, had been a major disappointment. He’d fantasized watching the robots fly off the shelves.

  It hadn’t happened.

  Although they’d been prominently displayed, just one of the expensive toys had sold. He supposed his father had a point; in a faltering economy, people were evaluating their Christmas budgets, so toys, especially expensive ones, had taken a hit. Children might want the robots but it was their parents who did the buying.

  Jake’s head throbbed as he made his way to the toy department. In his rush to get to the store that morning, he’d skipped his usual stop at a nearby Starbucks. He needed his caffeine fix.

  “Welcome to Finley’s. May I be of assistance?” an older woman asked him. The store badge pinned prominently on her neat gray cardigan told him her name was Mrs. Emily Miracle. Her smile was cheerful and engaging. She must be the new sales assistant Human Resources had been promising him—but she simply wouldn’t do. Good grief, what were they thinking up in HR? Sales in the toy department could be brisk, demanding hours of standing, not to mention dealing with cranky kids and short-tempered parents. He needed someone young. Energetic.

  “What can I show you?” the woman asked.

  Jake blinked, taken aback by her question. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Are you shopping for one of your children?”

  “Well, no. I—”

  She didn’t allow him to finish and steered him toward the center aisle. “We have an excellent selection of toys for any age group. If you’re looking for suggestions, I’d be more than happy to help.”

  She seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was the department manager—and therefore her boss. “Excuse me, Mrs....” He glanced at her name tag a second time. “Mrs. Miracle.”

  “Actually, it’s Merkle.”

  “The badge says Miracle.”

  “Right,” she said, looking a bit chagrined. “HR made a mistake, but I don’t mind. You can call me Mrs. Miracle.”

  Speaking of miracles... If ever Jake needed one, it was now. Those robots had to sell. His entire future with the company could depend on this toy.

  “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” Mrs. Miracle said again, breaking into his thoughts.

  “I’m Jake Finley.”

  “Pleased to meet you. Do you have a son or a daughter?” she asked.

  “This is Finley’s Department Store,” he said pointedly.

  Apparently this new employee had yet to make the connection, which left Jake wondering exactly where HR found their seasonal help. There had to be someone more capable than this woman.

  “Finley,” Mrs. Miracle repeated slowly. “Jacob Robert is your father, then?”

  “Yes,” he said, frowning. Only family and close friends knew his father’s middle name.

  Her eyes brightened, and a smile slid into place. “Ahh,” she said knowingly.

  “You’re acquainted with my father?” That could explain why she’d been hired. Maybe she had some connection to his family he knew nothing about.

  “No, no, not directly, but I have heard a great deal about him.”

  So had half the population on the East Coast. “I’m the manager here in the toy department,” he told her. He clipped on his badge as he spoke, realizing he’d stuck it in his pocket. The badge said simply “Manager,” without including his name, since his policy was to be as anonymous as possible, to be known by his role, not his relationship to the owner.

  “The manager. Yes,” she said, nodding happily. “This works out beautifully.”

  “What does?” Her comments struck him as odd.

  “Oh, nothing,” she returned with the same smile.

  She certainly looked pleased with herself, although Jake couldn’t imagine why. He doubted she’d last a week. He’d see about getting her transferred to a more suitable department for someone her age. Oh, he’d be subtle about it. He had no desire to risk a discrimination suit.

  Jake examined the robot display, hoping that while he’d been gone another one might have sold. But if that was the case, he didn’t see any evidence of it.

  “Have you had your morning coffee?” Mrs. Miracle asked.

  “No,” he muttered. His head throbbed, reminding him of his craving for caffeine.

  “It seems quiet here at the moment. Why don’t you take your break?” she suggested. “The other sales associate and I can handle anything that comes along.”

  Jake hesitated.

  “Go on,” she urged. “Everyone needs their morning coffee.”

  “You go,” he said. He was, after all, the department manager, so he should be the last to leave.

  “Oh, heavens, no. I just finished a cup.” Looking around, she gestured toward the empty aisles. “It’s slow right now but it’s sure to pick up later, don’t you think?”

  She was right. In another half hour or so, he might not get a chance. His gaze rested on the robots and he pointed in their direction. “Do what you can to interest shoppers in those.”

  “Telly the SuperRobot?” she said. Not waiting for his reply, she added, “You won’t have any worries there. They’re going to be the hottest item this Christmas.”

  Jake felt a surge of excitement. “You heard that?”

  “No...” she answered thoughtfully.

  “Then you must’ve seen a news report.” Jake had been waiting for exactly this kind of confirmation. He’d played a hunch, taken a chance, and in his heart of hearts felt it had been a good decision. But he had four hundred and ninety-seven of these robots on his hands. If his projections didn’t pan out, it would take a long time—like maybe forever—to live it down.

  “Coffee,” Mrs. Miracle said, without explaining why she was so sure of the robot’s success.

  Jake checked his watch, then nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Take whatever time you need.”

  Jake thanked her and hurriedly left, stopping by HR on his way out. The head of the department, Gloria Palmer, glanced up when Jake entered the office. “I’ve got a new woman on the floor this morning. Emily Miracle,” he said.

  Gloria frowned. “Miracle?” She tapped some keys on her computer and looked back at Jake. “I don’t show anyone with that name working in your department.”

  Jake remembered that Emily Miracle had said there’d been an error on her name tag. He rubbed his hand across his forehead, momentarily closing his eyes as he tried to remember the name she’d mentioned. “It starts with an M—McKinsey, Merk, something like that.”

  Gloria’s phone rang and she reached for it, holding it between her shou
lder and ear as her fingers flew across the keyboard. She tried to divide her attention between Jake and the person on the line. Catching Jake’s eye, she motioned toward the computer screen, shrugged and shook her head.

  Jake raised his hand and mouthed, “I’ll catch you later.”

  Gloria nodded and returned her attention to the caller. Clearly she had more pressing issues to attend to just then. Jake would seek her out later that afternoon and suggest Mrs. Miracle be switched to another department. A less demanding one.

  As he rushed out the door onto Thirty-Fourth and headed into the still-falling snow, he decided it would be only fair to give the older woman a chance. If she managed to sell one of the robots while he collected his morning cup of java, he’d consider keeping her. And if she managed to sell two, she’d be living up to her name!

  Chapter Two

  If God is your copilot, trade places.

  —Mrs. Miracle

  Friday morning, and Holly Larson was right on schedule—even a few minutes ahead. This was a vast improvement over the past two months, ever since her eight-year-old nephew, Gabe, had come to live with her. It’d taken effort on both their parts to make this arrangement work. Mickey, Holly’s brother, had been called up by the National Guard and sent to Afghanistan for the next fifteen months. He was a widower, and with her parents doing volunteer medical work in Haiti, the only option for Gabe was to move in with Holly, who lived in a small Brooklyn apartment. Fortunately, she’d been able to turn her minuscule home office into a bedroom for Gabe.

  They were doing okay, but it hadn’t been easy. Never having spent much time with children Gabe’s age, the biggest adjustment had been Holly’s—in her opinion, anyway.

  Gabe might not agree, however. He didn’t think sun-dried tomatoes with fresh mozzarella cheese was a special dinner. He turned up his nose and refused even one bite. So she was learning. Boxed macaroni and cheese suited him just fine, although she couldn’t tolerate the stuff. At least it was cheap. Adding food for a growing boy to her already strained budget had been a challenge. Mickey, who was the manager of a large grocery store in his civilian life, sent what he could but he had his own financial difficulties; she knew he was still paying off his wife’s medical bills and funeral expenses. And he had a mortgage to maintain on his Trenton, New Jersey, home. Poor Gabe. The little boy had lost his mother when he was an infant. Now his father was gone, too. Holly considered herself a poor replacement for either parent, let alone both, although she was giving it her best shot.

  Since she had a few minutes to spare before she was due at the office, she hurried into Starbucks to reward herself with her favorite latte. It’d been two weeks since she’d had one. A hot, freshly brewed latte was an extravagance these days, so she only bought them occasionally.

  Getting Gabe to school and then hurrying to the office was as difficult as collecting him from the after-school facility at the end of the day. Lindy Lee, her boss, hadn’t taken kindly to Holly’s rushing out the instant the clock struck five. But the child-care center at Gabe’s school charged by the minute when she was late. By the minute.

  Stepping out of the cold into the warmth of the coffee shop, Holly breathed in the pungent scent of fresh coffee. A cheery evergreen swag was draped across the display case. She dared not look because she had a weakness for cranberry scones. She missed her morning ritual of a latte and a scone almost as much as she did her independence. But giving it up was a small sacrifice if it meant she could help her brother and Gabe. Not only that, she’d come to adore her young nephew and, despite everything, knew she’d miss him when her brother returned.

  The line moved quickly, and she placed her order for a skinny latte with vanilla flavoring. The man behind her ordered a large coffee. He smiled at her and Holly smiled back. She’d seen him in this Starbucks before, although they’d never spoken.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said.

  “Same to you.”

  The girl at the cash register told Holly her total and she opened her purse to pay. That was when she remembered—she’d given the last of her cash to Gabe for lunch money. It seemed ridiculous to use a credit card for such a small amount, but she didn’t have any choice. She took out her card and handed it to the barista. The young woman slid it through the machine, then leaned forward and whispered, “It’s been declined.”

  Hot embarrassment reddened her face. She’d maxed out her card the month before but thought her payment would’ve been credited by now. Scrambling, she searched for coins in the bottom of her purse. It didn’t take her long to realize she didn’t have nearly enough change to cover the latte. “I have a debit card in here someplace,” she muttered, grabbing her card case again.

  “Excuse me.” The good-looking man behind her pulled his wallet from his hip pocket.

  “I’m... I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. This was embarrassing, humiliating, downright mortifying.

  “Allow me to pay for your latte,” he said.

  Holly sent him a shocked look. “You don’t need to do that.”

  The woman standing behind him frowned impatiently at Holly. “If I’m going to get to work on time, he does.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  Not waiting for her to agree, the stranger stepped forward and paid for both her latte and his coffee.

  “Thank you,” she said in a low, strangled voice.

  “I’ll consider it my good deed for the day.”

  “I’ll pay for your coffee the next time I see you.”

  He grinned. “You’ve got a deal.” He moved down to the end of the counter, where she went to wait for her latte. “I’m Jake Finley.”

  “Holly Larson.” She extended her hand.

  “Holly,” he repeated.

  “People assume I was born around Christmas but I wasn’t. Actually, I was born in June and named after my mother’s favorite aunt,” she said. She didn’t know why she’d blurted out such ridiculous information. Perhaps because she still felt embarrassed and was trying to disguise her chagrin with conversation. “I do love Christmas, though, don’t you?”

  “Not particularly.” Frowning, he glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Oh, sure. Thank you again.” He’d been thoughtful and generous.

  “See you soon,” Jake said as he turned toward the door.

  “I owe you,” she said. “I won’t forget.”

  He smiled at her. “I hope I’ll run into you again.”

  “That would be great.” She meant it, and next time she’d make sure she had enough cash to treat him. She felt a glow of pleasure as Jake left Starbucks.

  Holly stopped to calculate—it’d been more than three months since her last date. That was pitiful! Three months. Nuns had a more active social life than she did.

  Her last relationship had been with Bill Carter. For a while it had seemed promising. As a divorced father, Bill was protective and caring toward his young son. Holly had only met Billy once. Unfortunately, the trip to the Central Park Zoo hadn’t gone well. Billy had been whiny and overtired, and Bill had seemed to want her to deal with the boy. She’d tried but Billy didn’t know her and she didn’t know him, and the entire outing had been strained and uncomfortable. Holly had tried—unsuccessfully—to make the trip as much fun as possible. Shortly thereafter, Bill called to tell her their relationship wasn’t “working” for him. He’d made a point of letting her know he was interested in finding someone more “suitable” for his son because he didn’t feel she’d make a good mother. His words had stung.

  Holly hadn’t argued. Really, how could she? Her one experience with Billy had been a disaster. Then, just a month after Bill’s heartless comment, Gabe had entered her life. These days she was more inclined to agree with Bill’s assessment of her parenting skills. She didn’t seem to have what it took to raise a child, which deeply concerned her.
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  Things were getting easier with Gabe, but progress had been slow, and it didn’t help that her nephew seemed to sense her unease. She had a lot to learn about being an effective and nurturing parent.

  Dating Bill had been enjoyable enough, but there’d never been much chemistry between them, so not seeing him wasn’t a huge loss. She categorized it as more of a disappointment. A letdown. His parting words, however, had left her with doubts and regrets.

  Carrying her latte, Holly walked the three blocks to the office. She actually arrived a minute early. Working as an assistant to a fashion designer sounded glamorous but it wasn’t. She didn’t get to take home designer purses for a fraction of their retail price—except for the knockoff versions she could buy on the street—or acquire fashion-model hand-me-downs.

  She was paid a pittance and had become the go-to person for practically everyone on staff, and that added up to at least forty people. Her boss, Lindy Lee, was often unreasonable. Unfortunately, most of the time it was Holly’s job to make sure that whatever Lindy wanted actually happened. Lindy wasn’t much older than Holly, but she was well connected in the fashion world and had quickly risen to the top. Because her work as a designer of upscale women’s sportswear was in high demand, Lindy Lee frequently worked under impossible deadlines. One thing was certain; she had no tolerance for the fact that Holly now had to stick to her official nine-to-five schedule, which meant her job as Lindy Lee’s assistant might be in jeopardy. She’d explained the situation with Gabe, but her boss didn’t care about Holly’s problems at home.

  Rushing to her desk, Holly set the latte down, shrugged off her coat and readied herself for the day. She was responsible for decorating the office for Christmas, and so far, there just hadn’t been time. On Saturday she’d bring Gabe into the office and the two of them would get it done. That meant her own apartment would have to wait, but...oh, well.

  Despite her boss’s complaints about one thing or another, Holly’s smile stayed in place all morning. A kind deed by a virtual stranger buffered her from four hours of commands, criticism and complaints.