I'll Be Your Santa Tonight - Rebecca Sharp Page 0,3
Christmas event tonight.”
Whether it was the first or the twelfth, I avoided any kind of Christmas event on days that ended in y. “Oh, no. That’s—”
“Oh, you have to,” she insisted, beaming. “It’s just for staff. Not our Christmas party—that’s later. This is our meeting for the season.” She nodded like I knew what she was talking about. “Where he goes over with the staff all of the hotel’s holiday plans and logistics of who’s doing what and when.”
“Oh.”
“So, you’ll definitely want to be there for that because, obviously, the gingerbread house”—she clapped her hands in excitement—“that is a huge component of our attraction.”
I gulped. “Right.” I took one of the hotel maps from the counter. “And where is this meeting?”
“So, it’s in the Cirque Room.” She rounded the desk to direct me. “At the end of the counter here, you’ll turn left and then it will be just past the shops on your right. You’ll see the bar and the bright yellow seating—impossible to miss!”
“Great.” I took my room keys and all the other brochures and papers from her hand.
“It starts at eight. There will be food and drinks available. Oh! And plenty of decorations! I think I saw them bring in the balloon sleigh a few minutes ago! If you want, I can meet you down here before—”
“Thank you, but that’s okay,” I broke in, realizing Christmas would be here sooner than Noelle would stop her cheerful babbling. When her face fell, I added, “I’ll just see you there?”
“Yes! I’m the lead coordinator for the holiday recreational team,” she informed me proudly. “So, if you have any questions or ideas, I’m your girl. Or Mr. Nicholsen, of course.” She blushed.
“Great.” I sighed. “Well then, I’m going to settle in. I’ll see you later.”
If she looked any more excited about the prospect, I had a feeling she might just transform into a Who, which would only be fitting because I felt like the Grinch standing next to her.
Taking a deep breath, I double-checked to make sure my skin hadn’t turned green before tucking everything she’d given me into my tote bag, hefting it over my shoulder and reaching for my suitcase.
Biting my lip, I drank in the architecture once more while passing back through the lobby toward the far set of elevators, my carry-on rolling steadily behind me.
This was really going to be something once it was all decorated, and once my house was erected.
Just as the word magical crept into my mind, the least magical thing happened.
My suitcase caught on a lip in the carpet, pulling me back and throwing me off balance.
“Shi—” My arm, with the weight of my tote, jerked me backward and the ornate ceiling looked just as beautiful in a blur as I spun with a cry and tumbled toward the ground.
In my attempt to catch myself and avoid a completely mortifying fall in the center of the lobby, I reached out. I reached for anything.
And what should my wandering fingers should find, but a sleigh and eight giant reindeer.
In the kind of slow motion horror that only happened in films.
I realized my hand, grasping in panic for the chair I’d caught in the corner of my eye, instead latched onto several flimsy strings. Some of the plastic strands tangled in my fingers, doing nothing to stop my fall, while my flailing managed to free the others from their tether.
In complete failure, my ass landed with a thump that underscored my cry.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
In the kind of cruel irony that only happened to me, the massive balloons descended like a pack of rabid reindeer, and the more I swatted at them, the more my arms became lodged in the strings, pulling them closer. Reindeer heads head-butted mine. Tails jabbed into my arms. And I saw Rudolph’s red nose go somewhere a reindeer nose should never go.
“Woah, there. Stop beating the reindeer.” A rich chuckle made its way through enemy lines. “Just relax and let me help you.”
Panting, with my arms and legs locked in a blow-up battle, I stilled for a second. A clearing opened up in the reindeer and my head snapped up to see my savior.
I blinked in slow motion, my lips parting slightly at the perfectly proportioned speciman peered down at me.
My breath lodged in my throat like a fat man trying to shove himself down a chimney.
It was him.
Up close, the angles and ratios I’d admired from a distance were overwhelming in their gorgeous geometry.