Every December [Soon to be Self Published]

Chapter 9

Austin

The growing frustration is no joke. Being a host to a woman I can't take my eyes off is messing with my solo plans and there's nothing stopping her from pulling the plug on this and demanding I take her over to Ashley's. Maybe I'm making a big mistake.

I just...don't know what to do. This would be easier if I told her who I am. Would she understand why I didn't tell her? Trying this freedom-from-celebrity thing isn't the breeze I thought it would be.

Especially when...there are plenty of empty beds in this house. When was the last time someone made me nervous? 

The women I am with give me every detail of their lives up front, but Lydia has a few walls up. Not that I have any right to expect her to open up when I'm not even being honest. Watching a stupid Christmas movie isn't the answer. Unless that is all she really wants from me. Or am I supposed to make her a snow doughnut? Her enthusiasm for the season has taken a beating and yet she still doesn't want to miss out. I don't get it, but nothing has been normal this year.

This is much easier when people know who I am. They just give me what I want. Maybe then she'd be waking up next to me whispering 'Tis the season, but with her body wrapped around mine.

"Austin," Kayla's direct voice cuts through the phone.

My throat clears before that last thought takes flight and I push the phone against my ear. "I'm here. I hear you."

"Good. Everything's set for the press conference," Kayla confirms. "I've managed to pull strings and get it set up for late. Ten p.m. two days from now at the Hatfield Resort with limited media. I've earned a bottle 82 Iverness and at least a Poinsettia for this effort. You just remember to stick to the script. We don't want the people at the Gold Circle Award to know that you were late because you weren't sure you were going to show up and taking joy rides on a recreational vehicle because you were having cold feet. In fact, there's to be no mention of the snowmobile. You were running late and you drove fast. Leave all mention of cars or snowmobiles out of it, got it?"

"I know what I need to say. And once it's over, no more." A press conference is like a knife in the side but that comes with my life and the sooner I get this over with, the faster the media moves on to some other scandal.

"Also, Hartley contacted me."

Of course, he did. "You don't have to answer. He's not your client."

"No, but he's involved. I wanted to hear what he had to say. And... there's something you should know."

Sighing. Here we go.  "Go on."

"He's in New Hampshire."

Abrupt laughter sticks in my throat, my outrage exploding like a firecracker. What can I say to that? I pace in front of the large windows of my office, sweeping the driveway with eyes as if he's already here.

"I only wanted you to be aware," she comments, her voice strained. "I would never suggest the two sit down in front of the media together--"

"If you do, I won't be your client." I pull the phone away and glance at the time. My impatience running dangerously thin at Hartley's unwanted presence and the upcoming press conference.

"One more thing." Her tone is sharp. "Did you suddenly run out of pajamas?"

I stop pacing. Great. That's out. Restless, my gaze jumps to the window again. She's going somewhere with this. "No."

"Then, why I am looking at a photo of you shopping in the women's section at Target?"

"You must be mistaken." Now everyone knows where I am. How hasn't Lydia said anything? She must know. Not exactly how I wanted this to go.