Baby, It's Cold Outside by Heidi Rice, Kate Hardy, Aimee Carson, Amy Andrews
Book: Baby, It's Cold Outside by Heidi Rice, Kate Hardy, Aimee Carson, Amy Andrews
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coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Heidi Rice. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Liz Pelletier
Cover design by Libby Murphy
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition November 2012
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Gucci, Disney Channel, Lucky Charms, Reese’s Pieces, Hershey, Baby Ruth, Lego, Skype, Vanity Fair, Disneyland, YouTube, Cornell, Bollinger.
To Aimee, Amy, and Kate, my fabulous fellow Flirtettes, let’s do this again sometime, ladies!
Chapter One
Why did Christmas always have to be such a colossal pain in the arse?
Kate Braithwaite hurried along Fifth Avenue, the clatter of her boots on the sidewalk barely audible above the sleeting rain which, like everything else in her recently adopted city, was so much bigger and brasher than what she was used to in England. She dumped her ruined umbrella in a bin.
Shivering under her sodden coat, she tried to figure out where exactly she’d gone wrong with Christmas this year.
Knowing she would be alone on the day itself, she’d planned accordingly: she’d arranged a Skype chat with Benedict for two o’clock on the dot to account for the time difference between Manhattan and London; she’d forked out thirty dollars for a gourmet turkey dinner for one from Sinclair’s luxury food hall; and she’d stocked up on a demi-bottle of Bollinger and a couple of cheesy movies to while away her evening. She’d even bought a real miniature blue spruce a week ago and decorated it with baubles and snowflake lights to keep her spirits up. She’d been so enchanted with the result, she hadn’t even returned it to the flower store on Lexington when the needles began to drop off two days later.
And all for what?
So she could still feel sad and desperate and miserably alone on the big day, her thirty-dollar gourmet turkey dinner sitting forlornly in the fridge because she couldn’t bring herself to eat it.
She swiped the wet hair off her forehead and concentrated on the twinkle of lights a block ahead that outlined the art deco frontage of Sinclair’s, shining like an oasis through the gloom.
Work .
Warmth chased away some of the chill at the thought of her well-ordered desk in her well-ordered office on the sixth floor of the stately department store. She picked up the pace as icy water seeped under her collar and dripped down her back.
Opening the e-mail from Benedict over breakfast this morning had been her first mistake. A subject line marked “Sorry” should have been a warning to her. But she’d assumed it would be a message about rearranging their Skype chat—not a message to cancel it all together, followed by a two-thousand-word dissertation on the untenable nature of long-distance relationships.
Kate’s bottom lip quivered. She bit into it. Trust Benedict to dump her via e-mail on Christmas morning and then add insult to injury by patronizing her to death while doing it. Absorbing the festive finery of Sinclair’s window displays as she rushed past, Kate pushed aside the image of Benedict and the less-than-sexy frown of concentration he always wore whenever they made love.
However bad his timing, perhaps Benedict had been right to end their relationship. They’d been apart for six months—ever since she’d relocated to Manhattan from London after being contacted by a prestigious head-hunting firm—and she hadn’t missed him as much as she thought she would.
She turned into the sheltered alleyway at the back of the store, her boots echoing a little eerily on the rutted paving stones before she reached the metal security door
Copyright © 2012 by Heidi Rice. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Liz Pelletier
Cover design by Libby Murphy
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition November 2012
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Gucci, Disney Channel, Lucky Charms, Reese’s Pieces, Hershey, Baby Ruth, Lego, Skype, Vanity Fair, Disneyland, YouTube, Cornell, Bollinger.
To Aimee, Amy, and Kate, my fabulous fellow Flirtettes, let’s do this again sometime, ladies!
Chapter One
Why did Christmas always have to be such a colossal pain in the arse?
Kate Braithwaite hurried along Fifth Avenue, the clatter of her boots on the sidewalk barely audible above the sleeting rain which, like everything else in her recently adopted city, was so much bigger and brasher than what she was used to in England. She dumped her ruined umbrella in a bin.
Shivering under her sodden coat, she tried to figure out where exactly she’d gone wrong with Christmas this year.
Knowing she would be alone on the day itself, she’d planned accordingly: she’d arranged a Skype chat with Benedict for two o’clock on the dot to account for the time difference between Manhattan and London; she’d forked out thirty dollars for a gourmet turkey dinner for one from Sinclair’s luxury food hall; and she’d stocked up on a demi-bottle of Bollinger and a couple of cheesy movies to while away her evening. She’d even bought a real miniature blue spruce a week ago and decorated it with baubles and snowflake lights to keep her spirits up. She’d been so enchanted with the result, she hadn’t even returned it to the flower store on Lexington when the needles began to drop off two days later.
And all for what?
So she could still feel sad and desperate and miserably alone on the big day, her thirty-dollar gourmet turkey dinner sitting forlornly in the fridge because she couldn’t bring herself to eat it.
She swiped the wet hair off her forehead and concentrated on the twinkle of lights a block ahead that outlined the art deco frontage of Sinclair’s, shining like an oasis through the gloom.
Work .
Warmth chased away some of the chill at the thought of her well-ordered desk in her well-ordered office on the sixth floor of the stately department store. She picked up the pace as icy water seeped under her collar and dripped down her back.
Opening the e-mail from Benedict over breakfast this morning had been her first mistake. A subject line marked “Sorry” should have been a warning to her. But she’d assumed it would be a message about rearranging their Skype chat—not a message to cancel it all together, followed by a two-thousand-word dissertation on the untenable nature of long-distance relationships.
Kate’s bottom lip quivered. She bit into it. Trust Benedict to dump her via e-mail on Christmas morning and then add insult to injury by patronizing her to death while doing it. Absorbing the festive finery of Sinclair’s window displays as she rushed past, Kate pushed aside the image of Benedict and the less-than-sexy frown of concentration he always wore whenever they made love.
However bad his timing, perhaps Benedict had been right to end their relationship. They’d been apart for six months—ever since she’d relocated to Manhattan from London after being contacted by a prestigious head-hunting firm—and she hadn’t missed him as much as she thought she would.
She turned into the sheltered alleyway at the back of the store, her boots echoing a little eerily on the rutted paving stones before she reached the metal security door
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