Chapter Two
A man, also heading for the door, reached out and grabbed her arm, saving her just in time. “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
Riley, her heart racing, looked into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. For a moment she forgot she was standing in the middle of a snowstorm. Her writer’s mind was too busy trying to figure out if she’d describe this man’s eyes as sapphire or cobalt blue.
When she realized she was still clutching his coat in the death grip, she quickly snapped back to the reality and remembered her manners. “I am so sorry!” Riley said breathlessly. “I didn’t see you.” Her last words were lost in a gust of wind.
“Let’s get inside,” the man said, opening the door for her while still holding on to her arm, making sure she didn’t slip again.
Riley gave him a grateful look “Thank you so much.”
The man smiled back at her. “Glad I could help. Wait, you’re . . .”
But whatever else the man was about to say was cut off by Mike hollering at her. “Riley, over here!” he called out.
He was standing by the TV station’s spectacular twelve-foot Christmas tree. While the tree glittered in all its festive glory, Mike simmered in all his impatience. “Riley, come on. I already checked you in. We need to go. Now!”
As Riley rushed toward Mike, he kept waving her forward.
“Come on. Come on. Come on,” Mike called as he strode toward the elevator, impatiently pushing the “up” button. It was already lit up, but that didn’t stop Mike from jabbing at it several more times.
Riley got to the elevator just as the doors opened. As she slipped inside, she mentally braced herself for what she knew was coming. And Mike didn’t disappoint. Before the doors had even closed, he was already letting her have it.
“Riley, do you know all the strings I had to pull to get you this interview?!” Mike demanded.
Riley fought to keep her cool. “Yes, I know, Mike. You’ve told me over and over again. I’m sorry I’m late, but it wasn’t my fault. The car never came, and I was lucky to even get a c—”
Mike cut her off by holding his phone up to her face. “You’re live in eight minutes. Eight minutes! The producers are freaking out. I had to say you were already here in the bathroom. They were going to give away your spot.”
Riley let Mike fire away at her. Even if she couldn’t control the weather, or her weather app, or the town car not showing up—which Mike had scheduled, not her—she didn’t want to waste time arguing with him. She knew there was no point. Right now, she needed to concentrate on was making her live interview and making Mike, her publisher, and her agent happy.
“I’m sorry, Mike,” was all she said. She knew he didn’t want to hear anything else.
As Riley undid her coat and shook off the snow, Mike gave her a sharp look and frowned. “I told you to dress festive. You’re wearing all black. You look like you’re going to a funeral.”
Riley looked down at her black leather pants and a fitted black cashmere sweater. She met Mike’s disapproving stare with a forced smile. “This is all new and in fashion. We’re in New York. Everyone wears black.”
Mike shook his head. “But not for an interview about Christmas. You need to be wearing red. Red pops. Red is Christmas. And you need to fix all this,” Mike said as he circled his hand in front of her face. “You’re a mess.”
“Wow, you’re great for a girl’s confidence,” Riley snapped back at him as she dug a compact out of her bag.
When she checked her reflection in the mirror, she winced.
Mike was right. It wasn’t pretty. She was a hot mess. She looked like Rudolph with a red nose and a flushed face. Her shoulder-length hair was all tangled up from wearing her hood, and the static electricity in the air had the ends of her hair flying everywhere.
Mike had told her to come early for hair and makeup, but thankfully, she had worked as a television news reporter for ten years and knew to always come camera ready, just in case. This was a great example of why because at least some of the makeup she’d put on had survived the storm.
She was trying to tame her wild hair and touch up her cherry-red lip gloss when the elevator door opened, and Mike ushered her toward the studio.
“Tom’s not doing the interview,” Mike said. “He had a family emergency so a reporter is filling in hosting this morning.”
Riley’s steps faltered. “What? Mike, you know I’m not a fan of these live interviews, but I agreed to this because you said it would be Tom. He knows me. He knows my books. I’ve done lots of interviews with him . . .”
“Well, you won’t be doing an interview with Tom today,” Mike said impatiently. “You’re lucky you’re doing an interview at all. This new guy’s name is Joe. Let’s just get you in there before you miss your spot. You’re a pro. It doesn’t matter who’s interviewing you. You’ve been doing this for years. Just do what you always do.”
Riley didn’t like his dismissive tone. “Mike, I know you’ve just come on board working with me, but remember I’m the one paying you, you work for me, and I’m a pro doing interviews because I prepare. I’ve already talked to Tom about the questions he was going to ask me. I explained to him that we’re still in the planning stages for this Christmas Boot Camp thing . . .”
“Christmas Camp,” Mike interrupted her. “Everything’s branded as Christmas Camp. You have to get the name right.”
“Got it. Christmas Camp.” Riley said. “Christmas Camp,
