Mistletoe by Lyn Gardner

large companies, Phelan, Willoughby and Nash had a grapevine filled with tidbits of information and amusing anecdotes about the partners of the firm. But while most were just rumors, one was not. Lillian Willoughby was as homophobic as the day was long.
    Hoping to calm the woman’s ruffled feathers, which were presently stuffed into an obscenely bright green dress, Gwen said quickly, “Diana’s my best friend, Mrs. Willoughby. My husband is out of town, and since my invitation was for two, I asked Diana to come along. I hope you don’t mind.”
    As if an invisible switch had been flipped, Lillian’s frown turned into a beaming smile. “Of course not, Gwen. Now, get rid of those coats and start to mingle. Lots of important clients here tonight, so do your best to make them feel welcome. Remember, you’re here representing Phelan, Willoughby and Nash.”
    Before Diana or Gwen could say another word, Lillian waddled across the shiny, white marble floor and disappeared through a large arched opening.
    “A bit full of herself, isn’t she?”
    Diana said to Gwen, handing her coat to a waiting member of the house staff.
    “You have no idea,” Gwen said, rolling her eyes. “But unlike Phelan, Willoughby’s taste in parties is a bit more upscale. Much better food and slightly better liquor.”
    “I thought you couldn’t drink at these things, especially since you’re here representing Phelan, Willoughby and Nash ,” Diana said, adding an air of snobbery to her tone.
    “Don’t remind me,” Gwen said with a giggle, locking her arm through Diana’s and leading her to the archway.
    “Now let’s go see what’s on the menu tonight.”

    ~~~

    After being introduced to all of Lillian’s clients, and making the necessary small talk associated with corporate Christmas parties, Jamie had found the bar first and the patio second.
    To her dismay, Lillian’s fondness for pageantry didn’t stop at mere decorations. Several glass urns throughout the house had been filled with potpourri, and coupled with the smell of the bayberry-scented candles lining the mantle in the reception area, the fragrance had become overpowering.
    Within minutes of entering the home, Jamie’s head began to pound, and soon after that, she began to sneeze.
    Walking in from the patio for the umpteenth time, Jamie closed the door behind her and scanned the crowd again.
    While most of Lillian’s clients were men in the process of getting a divorce, it seemed by the amount of women in the room, none of the men appeared to be grieving the loss of their wives. Paying no attention to those dressed in tuxedos, especially Ted Phelan, who was standing near a group of giggling women looking bored out of his mind, Jamie’s eyes darted from one cocktail dress to the next. A few times she paused when dresses plunging low in the front or high on the thigh came into view, but when none of them were wrapped around the body belonging to Diana Clarke, she quickly lost interest. With a sigh, Jamie headed back to the bar. Exhausted from sneezing, and with her headache in full swing, she had resigned herself to the fact that her evening would have to end early.
    As Gwen stopped to snag two glasses of Chablis from a waiter exiting the reception area, Diana continued inside. At first, she found herself impressed by the tall ceilings, and the fact that the room seemed to match the depth of the house, but when the smell of cloves, cinnamon and bayberry invaded her nostrils, Diana winced. Pushing past the pungent odor, she looked around and quickly came to the conclusion that Lillian Willoughby did not know the meaning of the word subdued.
    Lengths of red garland, similar to the snake wrapped around the balustrade in the entry, had been draped over all the windows and doors, and animated snowmen and carolers swayed on every available windowsill. More gaudy Christmas-themed spangle shimmered, shined, blinked and twinkled all around the room, and the massive tree standing in