Snowed In For Christmas: A Fun Feel-Good Holiday Romance Novel - Kimberly Krey Page 0,43
do. It’s why she’d flown to Colorado in the first place, on the company’s dime…
“Was there anything…inappropriate going on between you and Mr. Sparks?”
Whoa. “Inappropriate?” The echo came out in a squeak.
“Because if there was, I’d consider that to be an additional breach in your contract. Your job was to interview our potential bachelors for the show, not try to talk them out of it because you suddenly suffer from a fit of jealousy.”
“That’s not what happened,” Ivy assured.
“I’d like you to pack your things, Ivy. You can either take an assistant position with the production crew downstairs—an obvious demotion—or you can seek employment elsewhere. What will it be?”
This couldn’t be happening. Ivy shook her head, wishing it could somehow free her from the alternate realm she’d stumbled into. “I don’t…”
“At least if you accept a position with the production crew, you’ll have a chance of seeing Easton again before he enters the mansion.”
Ivy felt her eyes widen in shock. This time there was no hiding the gasp. “You’re going to make him do it?”
“Of course I’m going to make him do it. You’ve seen him.”
Her heart hammered out one despairing beat after the next, each pressing hard against Ivy’s ribs like an angry tide.
“We’d be crazy to let a specimen like that slip from our grip,” Marsha was saying. “Besides, men who say they don’t want to do it…they usually just want to be talked into it. Sometimes men need their ego stroked a little—that would have been the right thing to do. I assumed after all this time of working for me in this capacity you’d know that. So, what will it be?”
“The crew job,” Ivy blurted. “Thank you.” Tears pricked the corers of her eyes.
“Okay then,” Marsha said. “Ask for Sally when you get downstairs. I believe you know her.”
Yes, Ivy had trained Sally, in fact. She hurried to a stand and bolted for the door.
“Oh, and Ivy?” came Marsha once more.
Ivy looked over her shoulder from the doorway.
“This wasn’t easy for me. I’ve always felt that you and I had something in common—a mutual respect and even love for these types of productions.”
“I do,” she assured. “It helps people find love. What’s better than that?”
Marsha held her gaze for a blink, seeming to test her sincerity. Ivy sensed the woman—as hard-nosed as she could be—was genuinely hurt by this. At last Marsha nodded, then turned her gaze out the window. “Please close the door on your way out.”
Ivy dashed out, closed the door as Marsha instructed, and darted toward the lady’s room. The rather large foyer, equipped with lounge chairs, magazines, and tissues, was the perfect place to unload the tears. Tears that were already breaking through.
They were going to force Easton to go on the show. Or slap him with a hefty lawsuit if he refused. And it was all her fault. Ivy needed to warn Easton, she knew that. She would, but first she had to get herself together.
Chapter 14
Jazz music hummed over Jessie’s Diner as Easton took in his sister’s response. Sure, he could have told Chantelle about Ivy and everything that happened before now, but the timing hadn’t felt right.
“I have to say,” Chantelle said with the shake of her head. “I’m really surprised. And impressed.”
Easton squirmed beneath his sister’s scrutinizing gaze. “Don’t be. I still have no idea how this is going to work. I can’t pick up and move to LA, and I doubt she’d be willing to leave California.”
“It’s only like a three-hour flight, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Two and a half,” he corrected, glancing out the window. Beyond the glass, a snow tractor moved about the distant parking lot while thick layers of bright snow heaped high in the curved shovel. “I’m looking at flights to head out there after our January group comes through.”
“Hmm…” was all she replied.
It wasn’t the sort of response he’d anticipated. Easton had known Chantelle from the time she was born; he knew how exuberant she could get over things like this. Something’s not right.
Slowly then, his mind repeating the notion along the way, Easton moved his gaze back to the warm interior of the diner, first to the old oak table and paper placemats, then up to his sister.
His pulse jumped as he took in her expression—eyes dark and conflicted, her forehead and jaw tight with worry. Or even fear.
“What’s wrong, Chantelle?” A painful push of anxiety shot through his form, tightening his limbs as memories rushed in, of times he’d seen that