Page 15 of Love, Lies and Mistletoe
It was hard to manage jobs this time of year. October and November were a nightmare of logistics. There was usually no wiggle room, but Joan was an ace. He had lucked out when he hired her three years ago.
Joan got up to stretch. “TheChicago Tribunecalled too. Someone there saw theStar-Tribunearticle and liked it. They want an interview for their regional supplement.”
“Seriously?” He was flattered by his hometown newspaper’s feature, but Chicago was a different planet. “Now that’s a market I wouldn’t mind cracking.”
Joan froze with her arms over her head. “I’m not moving to Chicago.”
He grinned. “Then I guess we’re staying put.”
He’d often thought of moving to a bigger city. Scaling up would involve hiring a new and much larger crew and buying more equipment. He’d also have to consider his brand a little more, including a move to a more suitable building. In the Twin Cities, no one cared if he worked out of the sewer as long as he showed up when he said he would and transformed buildings and city blocks into electrical wonderlands. And then there was the social aspect to it. He couldn’t keep track of the invites anymore to the very businesses he serviced. There were fundraisers for this and holiday benefits for that, and he tried to attend as many as he could because it was good for business. The free meals were a big perk too; he couldn’t deny it.
Brant stuffed the messages in his pocket. He’d return calls after he and Jeff emptied the truck and unloaded pallets. He was almost through the office door when a thought popped into his head. He snapped his fingers and turned around.
“So what did you think about my invite? Will that work?”
Joan was back to typing. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“The Holly Days Tree Festival dinner during the first week of December. I thought you might like to come. Can’t remember the exact date offhand, but it’s in the text.”
“I haven’t had any texts from you since you left on Tuesday.”
“I sent it last night. It was kind of late.”
Joan’s puzzled look grew deeper as she picked up her phone and scrolled with her finger. She shook her head. “No text, boss.”
Now it was Brant’s turn to wonder. He pressed the text icon on his screen and the most recent text popped up.
Oh.
“Did you find it?”
I did not do that.
“Hello?”
Joan shrugged when he glanced at her. “Did you find it?” she asked again.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Jeff came into the office. “I’m going to head to The Mug. Anyone want anything?”
When Brant and Joan didn’t answer, Jeff stepped closer to Brant. “What’s going on?”
“I texted Joan an invite to the Holly Days dinner at the inn next month.”
“Only I didn’t get it,” Joan said.
“So what happened to it?” Jeff asked.
“I sent the text to Layla by accident.”
“Who’s Layla?” asked Joan.
Jeff covered his mouth, emitting several bovinelike noises through his nose.
Brant let out a long sigh. “The woman who was decorating the interior of Blueberry Point Lodge at the same time we were there.”
“And she hates his guts,” Jeff said between his fingers.
