Mistletoe Cinderella

could confer over the answers, versus the debate team, which involved individual turns standing at a podium.

“I can understand the comfort of being surrounded by a team,” Dylan commiserated. “I think that’s been affecting me lately. For more than a decade, I had one team or another. Some of the guys who play for Atlanta still call me, but they have crazy schedules and it’s uncomfortable now that I’m a civilian.”

She tamped down the impulse to offer herself up as his new team. “I know it will probably never be the same, but do you think that after you’ve been at the television station longer, you’ll develop a similar sense of camaraderie?”

Frowning, he toyed with a packet of sugar. “Not unless they reassign the lead guy to another solar system. He’s all ego. He likes himself way too much to spare any affection for others, but he specifically dislikes me. On a personal level I don’t care. It’s not that I want to be his new golfing buddy or anything, but knowing I have to deal with his bs on top of whatever else is going on at work just adds an extra layer of frustration to a job that I’m learning as I go.”

“Do you think he feels threatened by you? There was…a girl like that once, who went out of her way to make me feel like an insignificant bug even though all I wanted was to avoid her.” Chloe thought of last night, when he’d told her he remembered very little about Candy. It had been a relief that Dylan wasn’t attaching any of the woman’s negative qualities from years past to Chloe. Such a hypocrite. She’d wanted him to associate her with Candy’s popularity and charisma, but didn’t want to take the blame for any lesser traits. “Natalie insisted she was jealous.”

“Maybe. Maybe they’re acting out of insecurity.” He grinned. “Or maybe they’re just asses.”

She let out a peal of laughter, his matter-of-fact comment helping to exorcise the last ghosts of adolescent insecurity. All through high school, she’d been unable to think of a comeback, to stand up for herself in a memorable manner. For weeks she’d felt herself changing, evolving. Perversely she half wished someone would insult her so that she could test herself. There was a possibility that now she could react with wit, or at least aplomb.

As long as the person making the cutting comment wasn’t Dylan. That-

“Well, hey, there.” The friendly female greeting came from mere inches away, and Chloe jumped. “I thought that was you I heard laughing, Ch-”

“Brenna!” And this is what I get for challenging the universe. Not that the tall redhead was likely to make an insulting comment, but seeing her here definitely shot Chloe’s supposed aplomb all to hell. “Um, have you met Dylan Echols? He’s a new client of mine. We were just having a consultation. Dylan, this is Brenna Pierce. She runs her own pet-sitting business. She’s Mistletoe’s dog whisperer. And cat whisperer. And iguana whisperer.”

Chloe knew she should really shut up, having already belabored a mediocre joke, but she was worried that as soon as she stopped talking, Brenna would mention the new Web site mock-ups Chloe had done for her.

Brenna was shaking Dylan’s hand, her gaze frankly admiring. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard about you, of course. You won’t regret hiring this genius. She-”

“Does the fact that you’re singing my praises mean you had a chance to look over the design suggestions?” Chloe interjected. She felt rude, panicked and generally nauseous.

Though Brenna looked surprised by the interruption, she nodded. “They’re so fantastic my only concern is choosing the right one. All of them had-”

“Positive energy, right? That’s my motto!” Did anyone else notice how manic Chloe sounded? “Brenna, Dylan’s on his way out of town after breakfast, so we’re trying to squeeze this in. Do you want me to call you later about what you’d like me to do?”

“Sure.” Brenna was eyeing her as if she thought Chloe had started the day with way too much coffee. Still, she took the hint, turning to go. “It was nice to meet you, Dylan.”

I’ll need to do some damage control later, Chloe thought. She’d cut Brenna off at least three times in a two-minute conversation and had tried too hard to seem bubbly and unconcerned, veering into deranged. She didn’t want to lose Brenna’s account.

Glancing back at Dylan, she acknowledged with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach that she risked losing something far more valuable.

Chapter Twelve

What did a woman wear to her own downfall? Chloe wondered as she scanned the contents of her closet Saturday at dawn.

Dylan had e-mailed her after his newscast late Thursday night to tell her he was really impressed with some of the notes she’d made regarding his condo. She’d happened to be awake at the time, working on her laptop, so she’d responded immediately. They’d gone from exchanging e-mails to instant messaging-it was almost a little sad how much easier it was for her to express herself through emoticons than face-to-face communication.

Though she’d enjoyed flirting and chatting during her cyber interaction with Dylan-typing was more deliberate than speaking, protecting her from the nervous babbling she was prone to-the computer screen was a lackluster substitute for the man. The more they’d talked, the more she’d wished she was with him. As a teen, she’d bought into the illusion that he was the guy who effortlessly had it all. The reality of him was far more fascinating, an intoxicating puzzle. She wanted to learn all his edges and pieces; everything he’d revealed about himself so far only attracted her more. As a bonus, when she was with him, she’d also been discovering more about who she was. The only downside to their time together was that she lived in fear of blurting out the wrong thing, clumsily exposing herself as a liar.

You’re living on borrowed time, C.J.

When he’d broached the subject of when she could go with him to look for furnishings and decor, she’d agreed to come to Atlanta today. They’d spend the day shopping then have an early dinner before he had to work. She was resolved that, over dinner, she’d tell him everything and hope for the best. She didn’t know if he would forgive her, but if she didn’t rectify the situation, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself. One way or the other, this stressful pretense would be ended by tomorrow.

She wasn’t sure what they’d be eating, but she hoped it would be good. A girl had high expectations for her last meal.

DYLAN TRIED to keep his eyes on the road, but it was damn difficult with Chloe right next to him, smiling as she reclined her head against the passenger seat. Some of the shorter strands of her layered hair had escaped the barrette, framing her face in soft tendrils.

“Enjoying the convertible?” he asked.

“Mmm. If I had this car, I’d get a job delivering pizzas so I could be driving all the time.”

He chuckled. “You’d need to make really good tips delivering pizzas if you were going to pay for it, though.”

She mock-glared at him over the top her sunglasses. “I’m daydreaming over here. Do not bother me with trivial stuff like reality.”

Reality. Was it as clear-cut as he’d once assumed? He’d been angry at her for lying, but there was more C.J. in her than she realized. Whatever her technical job description really was, she’d thrown herself skillfully into the task of suggesting changes for his apartment. Once, he’d assumed that the reality of his injury was that baseball wouldn’t be part of his life anymore, but maybe he’d been needlessly limiting his opportunities. On a gorgeous spring day like this, spending his afternoons coaching a bunch of eager kids who loved baseball as much as he did sounded far better than spending six nights a week alongside Grady Medlock. Maybe it was time for both him and Chloe to reexamine what was real and what was malleable.

They reached the interior-decorating warehouse shortly after it opened for the day. While Dylan secured the roof on the car, Chloe fussed with her windblown hair and withdrew a slim tube of lip gloss from her purse.

“I have to know.” He watched her put on the shiny layer of color, wanting to kiss it off of her before she’d even finished applying it. “What flavor?”

She blinked, looking startled by the question. “My gloss? Butter pecan.”

It made him think of ice cream, the cold sweetness of it melting on his tongue. He hardened at the thought of Chloe against his tongue.