The One with All the Christmas Trees: A Barnes Family Holiday Novella: The Barnes Family

By Reese Patton

A humorous and heartwarming tale of mismatch made on Christmas

Attorney Brandt Hayward plans on working through the holidays. A huge case landed in his lap and needs to spend his time formulating a perfect defense. Until his sister convinces him to spend the Christmas Eve with her and her friends. The last thing he expects to find is a smart and beautiful women with an aversion to men with white-collar jobs.

Paramedic Mallory Davies forgoes spending the holiday in her hometown because she has to work on Christmas Day. But instead of spending the evening eating a frozen turkey entree while watching A Christmas Story marathon, she gets a pity invite to spend Christmas Eve with a co-worker and his friends. The last thing she expects to find is a handsome and brilliant criminal defense attorney.

Can Brandt and Mallory find their way to the mistletoe before they lose their chance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: VAB Contemporary Romance
• Release date: Jan 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781948603003

Book preview

ONE

Mallory

Ihop off the bus and eye the numbers across the front of the buildings as I walk down the street. Snatching the piece of paper with the address from my pocket, I double-check I have the right address. I memorized it the day before when Christopher wrote it down and gave it to me at work, after he extracted my promise to show up. But none of the luxury buildings in the middle of downtown, right next to the capital building, look like a place where one of Christopher’s friends would live. Unless he has some secret identity he keeps hidden from the others at the station. Christopher is a fireman. Maybe he’s one of those super heroes in all the movies, except instead of playing at being batman, he plays at being rich.

The sound of laughter startles me from my wandering thoughts, until I realize I am the one doing the laughing.

Great. Not only am I spending Christmas away from my family, but I can also add crazy to the list.

The numbers on the paper match the numbers on the building—the tallest building in the city, but that’s not saying much since it has maybe twenty floors. Another glance at the paper I’m still holding gives me the exact number of floors. Twenty-four. How do I know that? Because I’m headed to unit number 2400. Of course, I’m going to the penthouse. Somehow, the jeans and sweater that looked so chic when I left the station don’t feel so appropriate now.

Well, crap on a cracker. Not that the cracker makes the crap any better.

With a deep breath in and long breath out, I reach for the door. Unfortunately, my timing couldn’t have been more off. Another hand reaches for the door at the same time. A hand belonging to a man I might find handsome if not for the tie around his neck. If my peripheral vision is anything to go by, he probably lives in the building. Any other time and I’d give him a second look, but as a rule, I avoid men who wear ties. Every man I have ever dated and who has worn a tie has disappointed me. It is currently a dating rule I live by. No men wearing ties, no matter how tempting everything else is. Ever.

The door opens before the man in the tie or I touch the handle.

Well doesn’t that just make things even better. Or possibly worse. I can’t decide.

A uniformed man opens the door for me and the tie man. Running is no longer an option.

Double crap on a cracker.

After you. A deep baritone voice comes from my right along with an out-stretched arm.

My gaze follows the long fingers to the callous-free hand and the wrist surrounded by a French cuff from which a very expensive looking watch peeked out. I know what I will find if I continue up his arm, covered in one of those ritzy wool coats businessmen wear, to peer at his face. What I can see in my peripheral vision plus a man with a voice that oozes sexiness equals a challenge to my no men who wear ties rule. He definitely lives here. At least I won’t have to spend the entire night avoiding him. An elevator ride, less than a minute of polite nods and hellos, and maybe a happy holidays or Merry Christmas and my moratorium against men in ties will remain intact.

The man holding the door clears his throat and lifts his eyebrows at me. Or maybe the man next to me. I can’t tell which. How long have I been standing in front of the open door studying the sexy baritone? Too long obviously. Politely mumbling out a sorry, I step into the atrium of the building, but keep my head lowered.

Just don’t look. Don’t let temptation cross my path. Stare at the ground and all will be good. I punch at the call button. There are two elevators, but neither has a display across their top so I can’t watch their progress to the lobby. Too bad. I have to continue staring at the floor instead of looking at the man who’s standing next to me.

Both elevator doors slide open at the same time and the well-dressed man steps into the elevator on the right. I take the left. The less time I spend with him, the better for my self-control and willpower.

After studying the button panel, all of my plans fly out the door. The elevator door. There isn’t a button with a twenty-four. I check it twice, but nope. No twenty-four. I lift my head and look out into the lobby. The doorman smiles and nods toward the other elevator. The one tall, rich, and sexy stepped into.

The amount of crap on the cracker surpasses the triple and quadruple marks.

My body lists forward. Somehow, I manage not to fall flat on my face. The doorman’s smile widens and his head cocks to the side. You need the other elevator to reach the Barnes, ma’am.

How does he know I am going to the Barnes? Come to think of it, how come he never asked who I was visiting? I don’t look as though I belong in the building. I don’t even look like I should be cleaning the condos in the building. And why am I focusing on how I don’t fit in the building when I need to focus on stepping into the elevator with tall, rich, and sexy? One… two… three…four… five… I don’t even make it to ten. I take a deep breath and step out of my secure, solitary elevator. And into the fire. If the elevator was a frying pan.

TWO

Brandt

The doorman holds up a hand with a raised finger. I understand the gesture, I’ve seen it enough from my assistant. It simultaneously asks for patience and promises the problem will be resolved quickly. When my assistant uses the gesture, those causing it usually ended up sprayed with water, or coffee, or whatever liquid is within reach of her hand. This man hired for his discreetness and politeness won’t resort to using water as means of motivation.

Instead he uses words. Ma’am, the Barnes live on the twenty-fourth floor.

Sure enough, the woman who caught my attention