Page 37 of The Humbug Holiday
I chuckled softly as his mom barreled forward.
“Good morning, Mrs. Linton,” I said.
She wheezed slightly and patted my arm. “Hi there, dear. I’m glad I ran into you two.”
“You ran after us, Ma. Not into us,” Joe corrected, pretending to wince when his mom swatted his elbow.
“Hmph. I put the Santa suit in your closet, along with extra padding. You need to be at the hall at two p.m. sharp.” She pointed a warning finger at him and turned to me. “Make sure he’s not late, please.”
I nodded. “You got it.”
“Good man. Oh, and I saved a seat for you at my table, Mr. Warren. Number three, just left of the stage. See you in a few hours, boys. Love you, Joey.”
She shuffled along the snowy sidewalk, fading to a pink blur in the distance.
“The bingo party is today?” I asked, sipping my coffee.
Joe sighed heavily. “Fuck me.”
I teased him all the way home. I couldn’t help it.
“Sexy Santa. Now that’s a new one for me. Santa doesn’t hit my fantasy top ten, usually. I generally have a thing for firefighters, lifeguards, or—”
He swiped my keys from me as we approached the house. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Lately, I’m all about construction workers,” I continued, stealing the keys back and jingling them out of reach. “But Santa? I don’t know if—”
“Cam! There you are!”
I stopped in my tracks at the sight of Martin rubbing his hands for warmth on the sidewalk in front of my house. Was I expecting him? I didn’t think so. It was the holidays, for fuck’s sake. Why was he here?
“Martin. Uh…Joe, this is my manager, Martin Schuler.”
The two men shook hands politely, while I mulled over the incongruity of my worlds colliding. Martin was a lanky fortysomething with thinning blond hair who somehow pulled off a cosmopolitan hipster vibe. It had to be the designer boots and herringbone coat. Joe’s basic Levi’s and puffy black North Face jacket were the epitome of utilitarian chic. He looked sexy and confident in his own skin.
And he looked confused.
That made two of us.
“Pleased to meet you, Joe.” Martin released Joe’s hand and shoved his own into his pocket. “I’ve been waiting for an hour and damn, it’s cold.”
I headed along the path we’d shoveled earlier that morning to unlock the front door.
“Let me guess…you just happened to be in town?”
“Yeah, right,” Martin snorted and gestured at the wreath. “Nice wreath. Oh…wow. This place is kind of nice. If I remember correctly, there’s a fireplace in your office. Let me thaw out while you pack your bags.”
I grabbed his elbow. “Whoa. What are you talking about?”
“The contract, Cam. We need you in LA to sign your name on the dotted line and pose for some promo pics the studio wants to release before Christmas. It’s time-sensitive. They need one or two days, max. You can be back on the twenty-fifth or the twenty-sixth and spend the new year in solitude writing your heart out. I can’t take no for an answer. Mega millions are at stake. Your fans are gonna go wild.” Martin paused for air, noting the mistletoe still hanging above the living room doorway with wide eyes as he ushered himself into my domain. “Oh, my God. There’s a fucking tree in here.”
I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water, unsure where to begin.
“Uh…”
“You’re leaving.” Joe’s deep timbre moved through me, scraping like sandpaper over a newly closed wound.
“No, I’m—no.”