“For how long?” I pressed. And for absolutely no reason, I felt myself bracing for her reply.
“That is a very good question, Paul Bunyan.”
NINE
The Kringle Inn
Kristen
“Knock, knock.”
I looked up from the set of spreadsheets I’d been staring at for the last twenty minutes while making absolutely zero progress. It was hard to generate money out of thin air.
I didn’t say I couldn’t do it. Only that it was hard.
But that wasn’t the reason my mind kept drifting.
Paul McCleer. Freaking Paul McCleer was the tree farm manager?
After I’d left him yesterday, I had immediately found the nearest computer and searched for information online.
There were articles upon articles about him throughout the years. Puff pieces about agriculture’s latest heartthrob.
Okay, maybe he was a little handsome, but heartthrob? The guy couldn’t even change a tire.
There were articles about his work to reduce greenhouse emissions through better farming techniques, and how he planned to convert other farmers to the preferred practices.
Like feeding the planet, that was also not a meaningless endeavor.
There was an article about his announced engagement to the CEO of a major social media company. Talk about a power couple. But then, six months later, there was an article announcing the end of their engagement.
Now he was looking for a wife to come live with him in his cabin in the woods.
I had to imagine that any one of a million women would take him up on the offer. Was he seriously thinking about using a dating app?
Why am I thinking about him? Why do I care? I’ve got so many other…
“Helloooo,” Jasmine crooned, her head inside my office door. “You were looking at me, but you weren’t really seeing me. Is everything okay?”
I shook off my musings. “Yes, sorry. Just have a ton of stuff on my mind. Come in, come in. I’m excited to get started.”
She clapped her hands with enthusiasm and sat down in the chair in front of my desk.
This was not like my office back in New York. Back there you had to ride forty-three floors to get to the second highest floor in the building. My office had been massive, almost five hundred square feet (yes, I’d measured when I’d been promoted) with a desk, a mounted sixty-inch monitor behind my desk for visitors, a couch, three guest chairs, and a full-time administrative assistant.
Now I was sitting in what amounted to a storage closet, just beyond the front desk of the inn, with a desk, a short couch, and one metal chair that barely fit inside the office if the door was closed.
At least I was still dressing the part. Silk blouse, sleek pants, fabulous shoes.
They might put me in a closet, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t look the part of an executive.
“Okay,” Jasmine said, opening up the laptop she’d brought with her. “So the goal is to fill the inn over the next few weeks. Given how late it is in the season, basically that means local folks. Spur of the moment people, who want a little extra holiday cheer. So I’m focusing on Denver and Boulder and the surrounding suburbs of both to attract customers. Which means I need some local feel-good stories. Things that might pique people’s interest. I’ve reached out to Kane Co.”
“Who?”
“You know, Kane Co. They make those super fancy glass blown ornaments? The company is actually located in Denver. And I know someone, who knows someone, who knows Joy Darling.”
“Joy Darling? That’s an actual name?”
