The Christmas Wager

Chapter 1
Bella

"Bella, what did you do?" Luisa groaned as she leaned across her desk toward me, her voice so low I almost couldn't hear. Her knack for the dramatic made me grin. In the time we'd worked and lived together, I'd got used to my best friend being a little over-the-top. Somehow she always expected the worst and was more shocked than surprised when whatever life-altering catastrophe she'd envisioned didn't materialize.

"I didn't do anything," I said, before hesitating a little. "I don't think so, anyway."

Maybe Luisa's instincts were spot-on, and I had messed up because at Dillon & Prescott, being summoned to my boss's office at 8:32 a.m. on a Friday was rarely good news. Valerie Johansen probably hadn't had her second cup of coffee yet, which meant she'd be more direct, our internal code for "blunt," than usual. Although whether that was possible had often been subject to intense debate.

"Are you sure?" Luisa didn't need to whisper, considering Valerie's envy-inducing, freshly remodeled corner office was one floor above ours. As mid-level minions-something I'd been working hard to fix-Luisa and I had a cubicle that was dead center of the building, devoid of most natural light. Even though Dillon & Prescott designed and built exclusive mansions and commercial structures, this floor of the national headquarters in Los Angeles left a lot more planning to be desired. Considering we were always among the first to arrive and last to leave, it was a wonder we didn't need three pairs of sunglasses when we stepped into the California sun.

Luisa nibbled the tip of her pen, her full, glossy lips in a semi-pout and hazel eyes flashing with concern. "I wonder what you did to make her mad."

"Nothing, honest, but if there was anything, I'm sure I can handle it."

I tried hard not to appear flustered as I got up, which didn't work because in my haste I knocked over my pen cup, sending my ruler, scissors, and pencils flying. A few of our colleagues turned their heads in our direction, including Miles Serpico, whom I'd ignored as much as humanly possible for the last few months. He craned his neck, no doubt trying to eavesdrop on our conversation and gather any bit of information he could use to get ahead. I shot him a piercing stare, wishing there was some truth in the saying if looks could kill.

I turned back to Luisa and lowered my voice. "I handed in the quarterly reports before they were due, and put the brochure for the McClellan building together, exactly how Valerie asked."

"Did you though?" Luisa joined me in giving Miles another glare. She didn't care for him either. "You added more about the amenities and swapped out the fitness studio photos."

"Yeah, because they were better."

"Agreed, but maybe she didn't approve of the initiative."

"I guess I'll find out."

As I gathered my notepad and pen, I gave the desk I'd worked at for nearly three years a lingering glance in case I never saw it again. Maybe I'd picked up Luisa's habit of projecting potential disaster, but employees from our floor who were ordered upstairs on such short notice generally didn't return. The thought filled me with fear. I loved my job, had worked so hard to heave myself a rung or two up the corporate ladder one late night at a time. I didn't want to slide back down because I'd made an impulsive decision.

"If anyone from security shows up to pack my stuff, will you message me?" I whispered. When Luisa gave me a nod and wished me good luck, I returned the gestures with what felt like a grimace before dashing for the stairs.

My pulse quickened when I pushed the heavy gray metal door open. Two seconds after slamming shut behind me with a solid clunk, it opened again. When I turned, Miles stood at the bottom step, one of the typical snide grins he usually sent my way plastered across his face. He was a handsome guy. Tall, square jaw, great head of hair, but he was pompous and ruthless. Something I'd learned the hard way.

"Trouble in paradise?" he said.

Instead of a reply, I gave him his third withering look of the day, which wasn't even a record, and continued upward, telling myself to keep calm and not let him get to me. Considering our history, it was easier said than done, and getting more difficult with each passing day.

Another flight of stairs later, and it was as if I'd arrived in a different world. Up here, instead of the splotchy coffee-stained, faded green carpet from my office, the floors were thick planks of polished oak. The kind where you fretted over leaving dusty prints in your wake, no matter how many times you'd wiped your shoes.

A sleek Christmas tree stood in one corner, covered with gold baubles and fancy crystal candy canes. This sophisticated Fraser fir looked nothing like the fake, sad, secondhand one on our level, which Luisa insisted we yank from the broom closet every December and decorate with yards of popcorn garland to hide the missing branches.
 
She'd gone all out with her side of our cubicle this year, too, with red tinsel and sparkly silver star ornaments, a giant plaid stocking, and a set of white pom-pom string lights. Last week, she'd added a motion-activated foot-high Santa, who wiggled his hips and sang "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" every time we moved until the batteries mysteriously disappeared. In contrast, my desk, which was the kind of run-down, chipped brown laminate relic from the '70s everyone had on our floor, was almost bare.

Unlike Luisa, I didn't care for the holidays. Not since my dad walked out on Mom and me three weeks before Christmas when I was ten. Things had never been the same between us since. Or between me and Mom. I couldn't wait to get the whole season over with for another year.

I pressed on. The scent of freshly brewed coffee from expensive chrome machines filled the air while I hurried past gleaming wooden desks and an array of conference rooms complete with bespoke oval tables, designer leather chairs, and sweeping views of the city. Only a couple of the rooms were already occupied. Unlike the staff downstairs, who always reminded me of manic bees buzzing around a huge hive, the employees on this level were permitted to arrive by a leisurely 10:00 a.m., oozing a serene professionalism. They waltzed into the foyer wearing expensive suits and starched shift dresses, and I felt self-conscious in my Target and H&M combos.

I only glimpsed this upper floor a handful of times a year, whenever I'd drop off reports for Valerie or attend the rare meeting, and each time I'd dream of being transferred up here on a permanent basis. It would certainly wipe the perma-smirk off Miles's face, although I refused to imagine his victorious sneer if Valerie fired me today.

It was no secret that I was ambitious and driven. I wouldn't celebrate my thirtieth birthday until the summer, but I'd set my sights on a high-flying career before graduating from high school in the tiny town of Bart's Hollow in Ontario, Canada. I'd escaped one of the most frigid places on earth as soon as I could, trying to leave behind the memories of my father's abandonment and the arguments with my mother that ensued thereafter, heading to Toronto to study business and work for a few years, and then on to L.A. I'd applied for jobs in California well before I'd received my U.S. passport, an uncomplicated task thanks to Dad originally hailing from Seattle, and the offer from Dillon & Prescott had been too good to refuse.

I hadn't been home in almost four years. Truth was, Bart's Hollow hadn't felt like home for ages before then, and I still didn't like small towns where everyone knew everybody's business and insisted on mixing in. Dad had always raved about the West Coast, and I'd dreamed of living in L.A. since I'd watched the first episode of Million Dollar Listing in my living room in Bart's Hollow during a snowstorm. In April. Couldn't believe it when I saw Luisa's ad for a roommate in a coffee shop the day after I got here. We hit it off immediately, and when a job opened up on my team, I helped get her an interview. I loved living in L.A. with Luisa, the sprawling city never short on new things and places to discover, which she'd often introduced me to as she'd arrived here from New Mexico a few years before I had.

Some people felt sick at the prospect of moving to a new town alone whereas all I'd ever seen was opportunity. After this, I could never go back to somewhere like Bart's Hollow. No, I needed things to work out at Dillon & Prescott.

Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that whatever Valerie said today, things would be all right. The ground beneath me would eventually steady itself. Wouldn't it?

When I rounded the corner, Blaise, Valerie's assistant, who was twice my age, made big eyes at me over his round glasses. He covered the mouthpiece of his headset and in his slight French accent said, "Where have you been?" Not waiting for my reply, he pointed to the door marked Valerie Johansen, VP of West Coast & Central Sales and shrugged. "Don't ask me what she wants, just go. Make sure you knock."

I wiped my clammy palms on my black-and-white pencil skirt, and gave my shirt a tug, hoping my cheeks weren't about to match its shade of pink. Hearing Blaise whisper a harried, "Vas-y! Go, go," I took another step and knocked on the opaque door, which immediately turned clear. Privacy glass was reserved for the elite, something else I'd added to my future-office wish list. I wanted to be in the big leagues, swim with the big fish, and all those other clichés. Maybe run my own company one day when I felt I'd gained enough corporate experience. That was the ultimate dream.

As soon as Valerie saw me, she raised a hand and gestured for me to step inside. My boss was in her early forties and wore black slacks and tailored tops. There never seemed to be a strand out of place on her short blond pixie cut, which accentuated a set of perfect cheekbones. A solitaire engagement ring and platinum wedding band glinted on one of her manicured fingers and I spotted the latest fitness tracker on her slender wrist. Rumor had it she wouldn't sleep until she'd reached her daily goal of twenty-five thousand steps. I bet sometimes she did those before lunch.

Judging by the photographs on the sleek charcoal desk, her life was perfect. Valerie had a doting husband and two cherubic kids under the age of six. Whoever said women couldn't have it all had never met my boss.

"Bella, good to see you," she said, her voice smooth. "Have a seat."

Inviting me to sit had to be a good thing. I glanced at the phone in my hand. Luisa hadn't messaged, and the image of my things being shoved into a cardboard box was quickly fading.

"How long have you been with our company?" Valerie asked once I'd settled in.

"A little under three years."

"How are you enjoying your career with us?"

"Fantastic. I love what I do."
 
Valerie put her elbows on the desk and steepled her fingers underneath her chin. "Let's try that again. Tell me what you really think, not what you presume I want to hear."

Half expecting quicksand or a trapdoor to appear beneath me, I shifted my body as I attempted to come up with whatever answer she was angling for. I meant what I'd said. I liked the company, for the most part, and had no intention of jeopardizing what I had. Then again, some things bugged me, and she had asked. Impulsiveness gave me a shove.

"I wish my career would advance at a faster pace."

"You went from marketing assistant to team lead in record time," Valerie said. "You leapfrogged everybody, including those who joined before you."

"True, but I work hard, and seniority isn't necessarily the best performance indicator."

"Fair. You applied internally for your current job six months ago. I recall you specifically wanted to report to me because of the exposure you'd get in sales so you could become an associate." She sat back, waited a few beats before continuing. "The competition between you and Miles Serpico was fierce. You both put up a good fight."

I forced myself not to grimace at Miles's name as I brushed away the thought of him putting up a very bad fight. "I'm thankful for the opportunity you gave me."

"The best person won. Plus, you and Luisa are a good combo." Valerie paused, crossing one slim leg over the other.

Catching a glimpse of her red-soled shoes, I tried not to stare. I wanted a pair of those power heels someday. Preferably in the not-too-distant future. Time to be a little more assertive and direct, like my boss. "I can offer the company more than it's currently allowing me to give," I said. "A lot more."

"I agree."

"Yes, and...Wait, you do?"

"Handy hint, Bella." Valerie lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Learn how to take a compliment. You can't seem incredulous, particularly when you've sung your own praises."

"Yes, sorry."

"Don't apologize." She tapped an index finger on her desk. "I've watched you the past few months and you're good at what you do. You take initiative. The input you gave during the meeting about the Carey project was impressive. Your research and insights into her vision pretty much sealed the deal. She still asks about you, apparently."

Mariah Carey asked about me? That was huge. I sat up straighter. "Thank you. I appreciate your recognition. I'd love to work with her again one day."

"I'd say the feeling's mutual. Also, I liked your changes to the McClellan brochure. Far better than the original."

"I agree."

Valerie chuckled. "Two for two. You're a fast learner, which is also why I wanted to see you. Bella, I'm about to give you the opportunity of a lifetime."

"Oh?" The word came out all breathy and high, and I planted my heels into the floor to stop myself from trembling hard enough to break open the San Andreas Fault.

"As you know, we're opening a branch in Denver to help take on our growing clientele. I'm thinking of suggesting you be the one to build and lead both the sales and marketing teams there. You'd have full autonomy, and a considerable raise to match the new job title, Associate Vice President of West Coast & Central Sales."

Associate VP? I opened my mouth, ready to pepper her with a plethora of questions like are you sure? Why me? Or simply Huh? And hold on a second...

"You want me to move to Colorado?"

"I’d mentor you from here until you get your footing, and you’d continue to report to me. It’s a fantastic prospect. A huge promotion."

Valerie was right. This was the role of my dreams, but I loved my life in LA. Running the sales and marketing teams of a new branch was an incredible opportunity though, just like she said. I’d be one of the youngest associate VPs in the history of the firm. It might put me on the fast track to becoming a shareholder. Perhaps I could return to California and take Valerie’s place when she got promoted. Maybe this would finally give me the push to overcome what Luisa called my impostor syndrome feelings while I was at it.

"Thank you for thinking of me for this position. When will I move to Denver?"

Valerie gave me a knowing smile. "Not so fast. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I said I’m considering you for the job. It’s not yours yet."

"Oh?" I said, trying to not let my disappointment show.

"First, I’m giving you an assignment to see what else you’re capable of. Then I’ll decide." She slid a manilla folder across the desk. "Maple Falls."

"Maple Falls? I don’t think I’ve heard of it. Is that near Denver?"

"About ninety minutes west of the airport. A small town in the mountains, quite picturesque and idyllic. There’s a property we’ve had our eye on, a building with an ancient knick-knack store." She waved a hand. "Holiday trinkets and such. It’s failing and has lost money for years. We want to transform it into a high-end duplex, and if all goes well, expand more throughout the town. Give the place some real class. Make it a high-end destination."

"Fabulous," I said, my smile faltering a little. She was sending me to a small town?

"I want you to negotiate the purchase of said property with the owner. I’ve spoken to him on the phone but he’s old school and will only consider an offer presented in person. I can’t fit the trip into my schedule because of the shareholders’ holiday retreat."

"You said the owner’s motivated to sell?"

"Definitely. All the details, documents, and contracts are in there. The only blank part is the placeholder for the price, which you’ll agree with the owner and within the range I’ve provided."

She paused, looked directly at me. "Not a cent more than what I’ve specified, Bella, do you hear? Frankly, you shouldn’t need to go anywhere near that high. I’d finalize this deal for the lowest amount with my eyes closed if I could do it myself. I expect you to do the same and prove you’re up for the challenge."

"Yes, understood."