Mistletoe Over Manhattan

'I think Kevvie's sorry he got snookered into this lawsuit,' Maybelle went on. 'If he hadn't, we coulda had that bathroom upstairs regrouted already-heck, I could have done the job myself-and Kevviecoulda had free haircuts and manicures until all the green was gone, at least where's you could see it.' She snickered. 'And he could be waitin' tables and auditioning again instead of… other stuff.'

It was at that moment Mallory knew. It all came together, Kevin's peculiar behavior when he stepped into the conference room, his reluctance to reveal what his 'seasonal' work was, the joke nobody understood about cookies and milk, the traditional snack children left for none other than-

'Maybelle,' she croaked, 'who was Santa Claus?'

Maybelle looked disgusted. 'I never could keep a secret,' she said. 'Yep, hon, Kevin's yore Santy Claus.'

7

Carter stood at the bar, not drinking, just leaning his elbow on it for support while he watched the door and ticked off the minutes, eight-twelve, eight-thirteen, eight-fourteen…

There she was, looking at the sign on the window, probably wondering why the JUdson Grill capitalized both the I and the U and wishing she were somewhere else besides here. She stepped in, and even as his pulse speeded up and his heart started directing all his blood south, he observed that she didn't look especially happy to see him. In fact, he had to say she was looking frantic.

'Hi,' she said, looking at the room rather than at him. 'Been waiting long?'

'Four minutes,' he lied. He'd been there since eight, just in case the man she'd gone to see escorted her back to the restaurant, perhaps to see whom she was having dinner with. But she was alone. He examined her closely. 'Our table's ready.'

A very New York-looking woman, severely polished and self-assured, divested Mallory of her coat, and Carter steered her up to the headwaiter, another New York-looking woman who sent them off with a waiter-male, with a ponytail-to the table. Carter moved along behind Mallory. She was obviously upset. This was bad news. Her pants were the good news.

They weren't the loose-fitting, pleated ones she'd worn on the plane. These were so tight she'd have to call the fire department to help her get out of them. But what a lot of trouble to call the fire department when he'd be right there in the suite and happy to come to her rescue.

This delightful daydream faded when it occurred to him that she'd left the St. Regis wearing a skirt. What did a change in clothes indicate, a change of clothes that hadn't happened in the privacy of her bedroom?

They sat down. She leaned forward. Carter closed his eyes, and when he opened them, she was fiddling with the silverware. Her date must have given her a hard time, must have been mad that she wasn't going out with him, after all. So the man really liked her, or was really turned on by her, or both. Or maybe he was just a jerk with a bad temper, but Carter didn't think Mallory would go out with a jerk. So he liked her or was turned on by her and maybe she was turned on by him, too, and upset that Carter had sabotaged her plans for the evening. Damn. What had her plans for the evening been? Besides changing clothes.

The answer hit him in the stomach. The guy had ripped the skirt off her. She'd had to put on the pants, which she must keep in his apartment because Carter hadn't seen her in them before. Any fool could figure out what that meant.

The guy with the ponytail was back. 'Would you like to start with a cocktail before dinner?'

'No,' said Mallory.

'Menus?'

'Yes,' Carter said.

'And a wine list?'

'You bet,' Carter said.

He'd have to find out what her relationship was to this guy. Better to know. 'You're all wound up about something,' he said after he'd taken a cursory glance at the menu and another at the wine list. 'I hope your date didn't go ballistic when you told him you had to work.'

'Who?' She looked up from her menu. 'Oh. No.' At last she seemed actually to see him. 'I was thinking you were all wound up about something. Was Brie mad?'

'She was okay about it,' Carter said. In fact, Brie had said she needed to work, too, that stocks were down and bonds were up and she needed to strike while the iron was hot. Those were her actual words, and she'd added that she had some bonds she wanted to get him interested in.

'Is that Regis Philbin over there?' Mallory said next.

'It wouldn't surprise me,' Carter said. 'This is a media mogul hangout. Now, back to your date. If he didn't upset you, what did? Anything to do with Santa Claus?' He projected the words, noticing with satisfaction that she jumped, and with longing that her breasts undulated. The sudden emphasis on a couple of words was a technique he'd used in the courtroom, but it had never made anyone's breasts roll like that.

'What on earth do you mean?'

She was regaining her poise, but if he'd ever seen a guilty party he was seeing one now. 'I mean,' he said, 'that you and Santa did a lot of whispering while he was holding you on his lap-' he projected that word, too '-and if a department store Santa came on to you, he should be reported.'

'Are you crazy?' Openmouthed, she stared at him.

'Are you ready to order?' The waiter hovered above them looking a lot like the referee in a boxing match. Carter realized his voice must have projected farther than he'd intended it to. He had to calm down before he got Regis Philbin's attention.

'Yes, we are,' he said. 'Mallory?'

She spoke to the waiter while still staring at him. 'I'd like the pear and Roquefort salad and the sweetbreads.'

He stared back. 'I'll have the mussels and the steak. We'll share an order of your onion rings. And a bottle of…' He'd forgotten which wine and had to break eye contact to find it again on the list.

This couldn't be jealousy eating at him. He had no claim on Mallory. He felt responsible for her, though, a need to protect her from wolves and other predatory types.

Responsible for her in the big city. Yes, that was how he felt. 'I just don't want anything unpleasant to happen to you,' he said. 'I made you go up there, and if he-'

'Made me go up where?'

'To sit on Santa's lap.'

'Oh. There.'

Where else? 'So if he did anything like come on to you, or ask you out-'

'He didn't.'

'Then does it have anything to do with that Kevin person?'

This time she didn't tell him he was crazy. Carter almost wished she had. Instead, she was pink with embarrassment and guiltier-looking than ever.

'Your wine, sir,' said the wine steward, proffering the bottle for Carter's inspection.

'It's fine,' he said without looking at it. 'No, I don't want to taste it. Just pour it.'

Mallory had walked the distance from Bergdorf's to the restaurant hoping her sexy new snow boots would fail their first test. She'd slip on the icy sidewalk and fall down. As good as she was at not being noticed, she could lie there quietly on the cold concrete until she froze to death, which seemed infinitely preferable to telling Carter she'd sat on Kevin's lap and spilled out her soul to him.

She'd told the opposition's witness she wanted the lawyer for the defense for Christmas. Kevin could blackmail her. How far would she go to keep him from telling Carter how she felt about him? Worse, what if Kevin were, even now, telling Phoebe they had one of the defense lawyers in a bad spot? She groaned.

'Pardon?' Carter said, his eyebrows lifted.

'I'm dreading to tell you what I have to tell you.' There. That was a start.

He seemed to tense up a little. 'Always better to do it and get it over with.'

She sighed. 'It does have something to do with Kevin and with Santa Claus,' she answered him.