One More for Christmas(11)

“I do not think.”

“Are you sure? What better way to evaluate the commercial appeal of spending Christmas in Scotland than by spending Christmas in Scotland?”

“It would be work—and I am not working at Christmas unless there’s a client emergency. I am going to travel to my sister’s and then stay in my pajamas for the entire time. I’ll speak to him and arrange another time.”

“Hmm... You could be missing out. Laid by the Laird would be a good title for a book, don’t you think?”

“I do not. And please hold back from suggesting book titles if you ever meet him.”

“Got it.” Charlotte glanced out the window. “It’s snowing again.”

Samantha wasn’t listening. Instead she was thinking about the hunting lodge in the Highlands. Maybe a few days in Scotland wouldn’t be so bad. The Kinleven Estate looked perfect, and she could think of at least a dozen clients who would love it—and love her for finding it.

“Get him on the phone. I’ll try and fix a date between now and Christmas. I guess I can fly in one day and out the next. Is that it?”

“Kyle rang. Four times. He sounded irritated. Said he waited for two hours in the restaurant last night.”

“Oh...”

She’d been tied up with one of her favorite clients—an elderly widow who lived in Arizona and had decided to bravely embrace her new single life. So far Samantha had arranged three trips for her, and they’d spent an hour the previous evening discussing a fourth. She’d forgotten her dinner arrangement with Kyle. What did it say about her that she’d forgotten? What did it say about them?

“That was rude of me. I’ll call and apologize.”

Charlotte shifted. “He said to tell you not to bother to call unless you’re ready to take your relationship to the next level.”

Oh for goodness’ sake!

“The next level? It’s a relationship—not an elevator.” And as far as she was concerned they hadn’t made it out of the basement.

“That was kind of his point. He said you need to decide where you want to go with this. I got the impression he wanted to go right to the top floor.” Charlotte gave an apologetic smile. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“He—What? That’s not true. He isn’t any more in love with me than I am with him.”

What she had with Kyle was a relationship of mutual convenience. They were theater partners. Opera partners. Occasional bedroom partners. Only more often than not Kyle fell asleep the moment he was horizontal. Like so many people in this area, he ran a tech start-up and was busier than she was. And the most disturbing part of that...? She didn’t even care.

She should care, shouldn’t she?

She should care that they would both rather work than spend time together.

She should care that there was no passion.

When they were together, her mind wandered, as if searching for some more stimulating alternative to the evening she’d chosen. She looked forward to him leaving so she could get back to her book.

She knew that real life wasn’t like the romantic fiction she read, but surely it should come a little closer?

“Get him on the phone,” she said. “I’ll talk to him.”

What was she going to say? She had no idea, but she’d find a way to smooth it over and keep things the way they were.

“Before you speak to him, you should know a huge bouquet of flowers arrived an hour ago from the Talbots, who are now back from their honeymoon in Vienna and wanted you to know it was everything they dreamed it would be.”

“Which is exactly how they should feel about a honeymoon.” Samantha was pleased to have another satisfied customer.

“That’s it! We’re done. I’ll make those calls and—” She broke off as Amanda, one of the junior account managers, came flying into the room.

“Samantha! Sorry, but it’s urgent.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s your mother.”

Samantha almost said, I don’t have a mother, but then she remembered that wasn’t strictly true. Biologically speaking, she had a mother. Not a cuddly, rosy-cheeked loving mother, as portrayed by the movies, but still a mother in the most literal sense of the word.

Instinctively she kept her expression blank. She had her mother to thank for that skill—if the ability to hide the way she was feeling could be considered a skill. She had no problem with other people’s emotions—just her own.

She felt Charlotte touch her arm. “Samantha? Are you okay?”

No, she wasn’t okay. Mention of her mother was enough to ensure that.

“She called?”

“Not personally.”

Of course not personally. When had her mother ever done anything personal? And Samantha hadn’t heard from her in five years. Not since that last frustrating and disastrous “family gathering.” She could still feel her sister’s tears soaking through her shirt and remember the way her whole body had shuddered with sobs as Samantha had held her.

“Why is she like this? Why does she say these things? What did we do wrong?”

Samantha felt suddenly tired. “Who called? And why?”

Her mother would never make contact without a good reason.

“Someone called Cole. He says he’s her assistant. I had no idea your mother was Gayle Mitchell. I mean, I probably should have guessed... Samantha Mitchell, right? But I just didn’t—I mean, wow.” The girl was looking at Samantha with awe and a new respect. “What a woman. She’s a total legend.”