Sleigh Bells in the Snow (9 page)

Alice looked confused. “There’s not much noise around here, honey. Snow Crystal is a peaceful place, isn’t it, Elizabeth?”

“Apart from Sunday mornings when you can hear the church bells. I swear there are times when I wish we hadn’t given money for the restoration.” Elizabeth stood up and removed a tray of baked potatoes from the oven. “One of these days I’m going to cut the ropes of those bells myself.”

Kayla felt a flicker of panic. “I—was talking about media noise. It’s an expression used to describe the amount of information we’re subjected to daily from news channels, social media—”

“Social media?” Walter looked blank and Kayla gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white.

“Social networking is playing an increasingly important role in travel planning right now. Many organizations are picking up on that and now run their own blogs, Twitter feeds and Facebook pages. It’s a way of interacting with customers and personalizing your message. That’s one of the things I suggest we look at when we’re developing a plan for Snow Crystal.”

The only sound in the room was the soft bubble of the casserole on the hob and the faint hiss of the kettle.

She’d silenced them, but it wasn’t an interested silence. It was a bemused silence.

Icing dripped from Alice’s knife onto the table, like snow falling from the branch of a tree.

The whole family stared at her, eyes glazed, and Kayla was reminded of the day she’d dropped a casserole dish while she was staying at her father’s house. Her hands had been shaking, and she’d been trying so hard to make a good impression she’d caught her foot on the rug and tripped. She could still remember her stepmother’s frozen expression as lumps of beef and red wine had spread across the expensive cream rug. She’d wanted to somehow melt away from the horrified stares. Wanted desperately for her father to hug her and tell her it didn’t matter.

But it
had
mattered because they hadn’t wanted her there in the first place.

She’d been the outsider then, and she was the outsider now.

The only person who wanted her here was Jackson, and he’d been relying on her to impress his family.

If she needed any confirmation that hadn’t happened, Walter gave it. “That’s it? If you ask me, we’d be better off leaving the money in the bank.”

Kayla made a last desperate attempt to recover the situation. “Why don’t I take you through some of the integrated marketing campaigns we’ve run for other companies? It will give you a feel for what can be achieved. For example, our campaign for Adventure Travel generated in excess of three hundred million media impressions, including prime spots on daytime television.”

“Media impression?” Alice looked blank. “What’s a media impression?”

Walter glared at Jackson. “Why do we care what she’s done for other companies? Is she saying we’re not unique?”

He didn’t even address her directly, Kayla thought. She might as well not be here.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

This time he did address her directly. “So tell me what is special about Snow Crystal.”

There was a hideous silence.

“I—I don’t know yet.” She had statistics, but that wasn’t what was needed here. For once she wished she had the backup of her team. She even would have welcomed Brett saying “no worries” and committing them to all manner of unachievable goals. Anything that would give her a minute to refocus. “But I’ll find out. That’s why I’m here. I intend to find out what is special about Snow Crystal.”

Jackson was staring at her with incredulity, and her cheeks burned because she knew she’d failed him. And herself. For the first time ever she’d failed at her job. There was no way,
no way,
he’d give her the business after her pathetic performance. And she didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t give herself the business, either.

Walter gave a grunt. “Then maybe we should be having this meeting when you’ve done that.”

“That’s enough.” Jackson didn’t move from his seat, but his voice was hard. “This family may be many things, but rude isn’t one of them. Kayla is an expert at what she does.”

Walter’s expression was mutinous. “Maybe, but she’s not an expert on Snow Crystal. She’s just admitted it, and that’s hardly surprising, is it? She’s an outsider. How can an outsider know more than us?”

“We need someone on the outside,” Jackson said coldly, “because the people on the inside have done things the same way for far too long.”

“Because they worked. You want to change things for the sake of it.”

“I have no idea who rattled your cage, Walter, but you need to calm down or you’ll be getting chest pains again.” Sending her father-in-law a reproving look, Elizabeth O’Neil placed the large casserole in the center of the table. “As for Kayla, she’s probably starving hungry, and no one can think on an empty stomach. She had a long journey and traveling always makes a person hungry. Do you like pot roast, Kayla?”

They were looking for excuses for her fumbled, inadequate performance, and there were none. Or at least, none she could offer.

Kayla couldn’t make her brain or her limbs work.

She glanced at the casserole as if a spaceship had landed in the middle of the table then stood up, graceless and flustered.

They didn’t want her here.

Jackson reached out and caught her arm, his fingers like steel. “Where are you going?”

Why don’t you eat in your room, Kayla?

“You’re having a family meal. I’m interrupting.” Shaking him off, she stuffed the notebook and computer into her bag without bothering to switch off the power.

“You’re not interrupting.” Elizabeth sounded confused. “We’re having pot roast. Élise, our French chef, gave me the recipe. It’s the perfect comfort food for a snowy day, and we have plenty of those around here. I’ll give you the recipe, then you can make it when you’re back in New York.”

She wished she were in New York now, back in her soulless glass apartment sealed away from the world.

Coming here had been a bad idea. She was running away, but you couldn’t run from something that was inside you.

“I’ll leave you to your meal.” Kayla stumbled toward the door and grabbed her coat. “Have a good evening.” Her coat half on and half off, she yanked open the door.

A young girl stood there. Pale-skinned and thin, she wore a thick Fair Isle sweater and was holding a puppy in her arms.

“I found her outside.” She put the puppy down, and it immediately ran over to Kayla and raced in circles around her, leaping up and leaving paw prints on her favorite black suede shoes.

“Oh, she’s making a mess of your beautiful shoes, I’m so sorry—” Elizabeth brandished the serving spoon. “Go to your basket, Maple.”

Maple paid no attention and Kayla heard Jackson sigh.

“Down!”

Responding to the voice of authority, Maple sank to her belly and turned wounded eyes to Kayla.

Kayla was willing to bet the look in her eyes was pretty similar.

I’m in much deeper shit than you are.

While the O’Neils were focused on the puppy, she seized the moment to escape.

“Kayla—”

“I’m fine. Enjoy your meal.” She took a last, wild look around the room and shot out of the door, slamming it shut behind her.

CHAPTER FIVE

W
HAT
THE
HELL
had just happened?

Jackson closed his eyes and spent thirty seconds mentally running through every swearword in his vocabulary while Maple leaped out of her basket and barked at the door as if she wanted to go after Kayla.

Everyone was talking at once.

“She seemed flustered.” Alice put her knitting down. “Something was wrong.”

Elizabeth took plates from the oven. “Of course something was wrong. She had Walter barking at her and on top of that she was hungry. No one can concentrate when they’re hungry. You need to take her something to eat, Jackson. And, Walter, you need to show tolerance when we have a guest in our house.”

“She wasn’t a guest. She was here to make us change things that don’t need changing. Things she doesn’t understand.” Walter pointed his fork at Jackson. “I told you it was a mistake to employ someone from New York.”

“You didn’t give her a chance.” Jackson hauled in his temper. The fact that Kayla hadn’t performed as expected intensified his feelings of frustration. She’d made his battle harder, not easier. “If you’d let her talk, you might have discovered she’s good at her job.” Except that she hadn’t been. Not today. Not when it counted. She’d crumbled in front of his eyes and he had no idea why.

True, Walter had been difficult, but no more difficult than the senior company personnel Kayla Green spoke to on a daily basis in her role as associate vice president. And yet the ballsy, gutsy woman who had manipulated her tough boss like modeling paste had allowed his eighty-year-old grandfather to walk all over her as if she were yesterday’s snow.

And Walter hadn’t finished. “I don’t care if she’s from Alaska. If you put all your savings into her you’re even more of a fool than you look. Might as well back a moose to win the Kentucky Derby.”

“Better legs than any moose I’ve laid eyes on.” Tyler’s attempt to defuse the tension had the opposite effect on Jackson.

He was trying not to think about those legs, just as he was trying not to think about her mouth and her smooth blond hair. Most of all he was trying not to think about the panic in her eyes.

What the hell had happened to her?

He’d known it would be a difficult meeting, but not even at his most pessimistic had he expected her to actually walk out. If he hadn’t witnessed it himself, he wouldn’t have believed such a competent businesswoman could crumble so completely.

Had he underestimated the impact of taking her out of a minimalist corporate boardroom devoid of personality or character and transplanting her here, in the O’Neil kitchen?

He looked at his grandmother, knitting steadily, a ball of yarn at her feet and several more on the table, his mother stirring the casserole and his grandfather scowling from his favorite chair at the head of the table.

Jackson rose to his feet as his mother put a plate in front of him. “I’m not eating, thanks. I need to talk to her.”

“Don’t bother,” Walter grunted. “She doesn’t have anything to say worth listening to.”

The comment snapped the leash on his temper. “That’s enough.” He saw his grandfather blink. “Once, just
once,
it would be helpful if we all acted as if we’re on the same side. Do you think I’m doing this for fun? For my own entertainment? Because I could find other more exciting things to keep me awake at night than the state of the Snow Crystal finances.”

Walter’s mouth tightened, but his face turned a few shades paler. “Then you should do that. I ran this place before you were born. I can run it again with my eyes closed. It’s what I want.”

“I know you do. And your eyes
are
closed. As closed as your mind.” Speaking through his teeth, Jackson strode to the door. “Unless you want to lose this place it’s time you opened both of them. And the sooner you accept that I’m the one running it and I know what I’m doing, the sooner we’ll be back in profit.” Grabbing his coat, he strode out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Walter’s shoulders sagged.

The food in front of Elizabeth sat untouched. “I’ve never seen him so angry. And she’s going to slip on the ice in those pretty shoes.”

“She’ll walk out,” Walter muttered, “then at least he won’t have sunk good money after bad.”

“Was that your plan?” Alice glanced up from her knitting, her gaze steady and unflinching as she looked at her husband. “Jackson wants her here for a reason. Perhaps he’ll surprise you, and perhaps she will, too.”

“Maybe I have his best interests at heart.”

“Maybe you don’t always know best when you see it, Walter O’Neil.”

“I married you, didn’t I?”

Alice smiled. “Which proves you’re capable of knowing what’s best. Better do as Jackson suggests and open those eyes a little wider.”

* * *

S
HE
’
D
BLOWN
IT
.

Stumbling through the snow on her high heels, Kayla knew she should stop and change into her boots, but she wanted to put as much distance between herself and the O’Neils as possible. Ruined shoes were the least of her problems.

For the first time in her life, she’d blown a meeting with a client.

How had that happened?

She was good at what she did. She
knew
she was good, and yet she hadn’t controlled the meeting; she’d crumbled.

Cold crept over her legs and up her skirt. Her feet were freezing. Her hands were freezing.

Her laptop bag crashed against her hip and she hugged it against her, terrified of slipping and breaking it.

Her humiliation was total but worst of all were the other emotions. Emotions she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Over the years, she’d dealt with almost every situation except this one.

She’d come here to avoid Christmas and families and suddenly found herself slap bang in the middle of both. And the O’Neils weren’t just any family. They were more closely knitted together than anything Grandma Alice produced with her needles and balls of yarn.

From the moment she’d stepped into the warm, cozy kitchen, she’d known she was in trouble. The kitchen in her New York apartment was ultramodern, and she rarely entered it except to reheat take-out food or make yet another cup of coffee. Yet the O’Neil’s kitchen was clearly the heart of the home. With its cheery blue range cooker and huge scrubbed table with seating for their large extended family, the room had glowed like an advert for togetherness. The walls of her apartment were glass, her view the skyscrapers of Midtown. There were no photographs. No memorabilia
. Nothing personal.
The interior had a sterile, generic elegance that offered no clues as to the identity of the person who lived there.

Everything about the O’Neil home was personal. It was a place they’d created together. A place built on the foundations of a thousand precious memories unique to them, and those memories had been immortalized and proudly displayed for all to see. That cheerful catalog of family moments had ripped open her hidden vault of secrets and made it impossible to concentrate. Her focus had been constantly rocked until the lines between the business and the family had blurred to an indistinct mess.

And then there were the smells.
Oh, God, the smells.
Cinnamon and spice, freshly baked rolls and the sharp fragrance of pine. The association with Christmas had been so powerful it had taken all her willpower not to turn and run. If Jackson hadn’t been standing behind her, she would have done just that.

Unable to feel her toes anymore, Kayla slipped but this time managed to stay upright.

“Kayla!” Jackson’s voice thundered through the freezing air, and she gave a moan of denial.

She wasn’t ready to face him. She’d snap, like one of the slender icicles dangling from the frozen fir trees.

He was going to fire her, and she was going to have to slink back to New York and face not only Brett and her colleagues, but also all the craziness of a New York Christmas.

“Kayla!” His voice was closer this time, but still she stumbled on, her feet soaked and freezing.

Panic lodged itself in her throat, as solid and real as a decoration from a Christmas tree.

Only when she heard the sound of an engine did she stop.

He pulled up next to her. The window was down, his breath making clouds in the freezing air. “Get in the car.”

“I really don’t—”

“Now.”

She thought about arguing but one glance at the hard set of his jaw made her rethink. She wondered how she ever could have thought Jackson O’Neil friendly and approachable.

Right now he looked grim-faced and intimidating. It was obvious he was furious with her, and she didn’t blame him. She was furious with herself.

Furious and humiliated. This was a million times worse than landing flat on her back in the snow. This was her
job,
and she hadn’t been prepared for failure. She’d been flying high for so long she no longer even thought about flapping her wings. It just happened. But not tonight. Tonight, she’d fallen out of the sky and crashed to the ground, and now she had no idea what to do.

It hadn’t occurred to her that she wouldn’t be able to handle the Snow Crystal meeting. But it hadn’t been Snow Crystal that had been her downfall; it had been the O’Neil family. Grandma, grandpa, mum, niece, pets, food, decorations, photographs—

“Kayla—” he spoke through his teeth “—get in the damn car.”

Kayla slunk into the car, shivering like a puppy that had fallen into a snowdrift.

She expected him to drive but instead he sat there, his expression incredulous.

“What the
fuck
happened back there?”

She flinched. Yet another question she’d never before been asked by a client. At least no one could accuse Jackson O’Neil of not getting straight to the point. No
that didn’t go quite as planned,
or
that could have been better.

When she didn’t answer, he spread his hands in silent question. “You’re supposed to be the best. You handle CEOs who know nothing, but think they’re experts. You’ve managed to build links with hardened, cynical journalists who won’t even pick up the phone to most PR people. According to Brett you’re the youngest associate vice president your company has ever appointed—you achieve all that and then you allow yourself to be bullied into silence by one eighty-year-old man? What is that about?”

It was about so much more than the man. “You have a right to be upset.”

“I’m not upset. I’m confused. And, frankly, disappointed.”

The word was like a blow in the gut. She’d never disappointed a client before. Never.

“Jackson—”

“I don’t want excuses. I want the truth. I want to know what the hell went wrong! What happened? Was it the people? I told you it was a family business.”

“Yes, but I didn’t expect them to be so—so—”
So like a family.
She couldn’t say that. It sounded ridiculous. “I expected to talk business. I didn’t expect all the cooking and the photographs and all the small talk—the personal stuff.”

“So? It’s a little distracting, I admit. Annoying on occasion,” he added under his breath, “but you’re a professional. You told me there were no difficult questions you couldn’t handle.”

“I meant business questions.” Her voice rose. “I didn’t expect to be asked if I was wearing thermal underwear.”

“Oh, for—” He broke off and leaned his head back against the seat, tension visible in his jaw. “Alice is eighty. Since my father died she worries about everything from hypothermia to avalanches. You should have just smiled and ignored her. You should have ignored all of them and said what you wanted to say.”

“I couldn’t ignore them.”

“Why? It should have been obvious to you they don’t understand public relations. They don’t understand marketing. They’ve done things the same way for the past sixty years, and they’re so terrified of change they’d rather sink like a stone than try something different. They’re scared. Confused. They can’t see the logic of spending money when we’re losing it. It was up to you to convince them. That was
your job.
”

“Yes.” And she’d failed. A lump wedged itself in her throat and she felt a rush of horror. Great. Now she was going to cry. Something she hadn’t done since she was thirteen. “I’ll contact Brett tonight and tell him to put someone else on the account. It’s too late to get to the airport tonight so I’d appreciate if I could stay another night and then tomorrow I’ll leave. I’ll pay for the accommodation.” She stared straight ahead. Straight into the snow and the dark, feeling completely alone. Even work, her closest and most trusted friend, had abandoned her.

“Leave? You’re going to leave just because your pride is bruised? Hell, if I walked out each time my grandfather bruised my pride I’d never be home.”

Kayla looked at him, confused. “I’m not leaving because of pride. I’m leaving because I assume that’s what you want.”

Fierce blue eyes locked on hers. “Why would I want that? If you’ve learned one thing tonight it’s that I need all the help I can get. You’re going to leave me to deal with them on my own?”

He didn’t want her to leave?

Her heart started to pound. “I thought—I assumed—”

“You’re not leaving. And I don’t want anyone else on the account.” His voice was roughened and deep. “I want Kayla Green. I mean the
real
Kayla Green, not the woman who turned up tonight.”

She wondered what he’d say if he knew that the woman who had turned up tonight
was
the real Kayla Green. “I can’t, Jackson. Even if I wanted to, there is no way I’ll be able to persuade your family to take anything I say seriously after what just happened. I was unprofessional.”

For the first time in her whole career, she’d walked out of a meeting.

“My grandmother knitted her way through the meeting, my mother was cooking and my brother was looking at your legs—” There was an edge to his voice. “So when it comes to unprofessional we are
way
ahead of you. I don’t care about that. I care about getting the job done. We’re just a family, Kayla. A family in crisis.”