The Mistletoe Promise

  I had just hung up the phone with the teacher when Zoey brought in a package and set it on my desk. All she said was “Here.”

  Happy for the distraction, I unwrapped the paper, then opened the box. Inside was a beautiful, ornate hand mirror. It was oval-shaped with a twisted handle. The frame was tarnished silver that looked almost pewter. I opened the note.

  Elise, Happy Day 7

  Thank you for an enlightening weekend. I’ve sent you a new mirror. Hopefully it works better than the one you’ve been using.

  —Nick

  P.S. This is an 1807 antique. The metal is silver. The woman at the antique shop said the best way to clean it is with a cup of white vinegar, a Tbsp of baking soda, and a pinch of salt.

  “So what did you get today?” Zoey asked.

  I held up the mirror. “A hand mirror. It’s an antique.”

  “It’s pretty,” she said simply, then left my office.

  About a half hour later I went out to use the bathroom and was in one of the stalls when Zoey and Cathy came in together. It was soon obvious that they didn’t know I was there.

  “So what do you think of all this?” Zoey asked.

  “All what?” Cathy replied.

  “Elise’s sugar daddy.”

  “Good for her,” Cathy said. “She needed something. Have you met the guy?”

  “No. But I’m not looking forward to it. You know what they say, the amount of money a guy spends on a woman is in inverse ratio to his looks. He’s probably some fat, bald guy with ear hair.”

  “At least he’s rich,” Cathy said.

  “Rich doesn’t make a man hot,” Zoey said.

  “No, but it can hide a lot of ugly,” Cathy said, laughing.

  I was furious. I was about to say something I would no doubt regret, but I calmed myself down. I waited until they left before going back to the office. When I got to my desk I looked up Nicholas’s law firm’s number and dialed. A professional voice answered. “Derr, Nelson and McKay.”

  “Hi. I’m calling for Nicholas Derr.”

  “Just a moment please.”

  The music on hold was Rachmaninoff, which I knew only because I was an Eric Carmen fan. A half minute later a young female voice answered, “Nicholas Derr’s office. This is Sabrina speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Hi, Sabrina. I’m calling for Nicholas.”

  “Mr. Derr is in a meeting right now, may I tell him who’s calling?”

  “It’s not important. This is Elise.”

  There was hardly a pause. “Elise Dutton?”

  I was surprised that she knew who I was. “Yes.”

  “Just a moment, please.”

  I was on hold for less than ten seconds before Nicholas answered. “Elise.”

  “Nicholas, I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “I’m pleased you called, unless you called to cancel lunch, in which case, I’m pleased to hear your voice, but not that you called.”

  I smiled. “No, I’m not calling to cancel. I just wanted to see if you would do something for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “Would you mind coming to my office today to get me for lunch?”

  “I would love to.”

  “I’m in office 322.”

  “I know.”

  Of course he did.

  “Thank you for the mirror,” I said. “It’s pretty.”

  “Like you,” he replied. “I’ll see you at twelve-thirty. Bye.”

  I hung up the phone. “Fat and bald with ear hair,” I said.

  Then I realized what I had done. He was going to meet perfect Zoey.

  Nicholas was punctual. I heard Zoey greeting him with her come-hither voice. “Hi. May I help you?”

  I waited inside my office, listening to the exchange. “I’m here for Elise,” he said.

  “May I tell her who’s calling?”

  “Nicholas,” he said.

  Long pause. “You’re Nicholas?”

  “You must be Zoey.”

  “Yes. I am.” I had never heard her sound so awkward.

  “It’s a pleasure meeting you,” he said.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Zoey said.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I assumed that I was just one of Elise’s many men.”

  Zoey said nothing as I walked out. Nicholas looked over at me and smiled. He couldn’t have dressed better for his appearance. He looked gorgeous in an Armani suit with a crisp white silk shirt and crimson tie. “And there she is,” he said. He walked up to me and kissed me on the cheek. “I hope it’s okay I came by early.”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  “Great. I was hoping you’d have time for me to take you to lunch. The owner of the New Yorker is a friend of mine, and he has a special table waiting for us. If you have time, that is.”

  Just then Cathy walked out of her office. She stopped when she saw Nicholas. She didn’t have to say what she was thinking. “Hi.”

  Nicholas stepped forward, offering his hand. “Hi, I’m Nicholas.”

  “Cathy,” she said, sounding unsure of herself. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” he said. He turned back to me. “So the New Yorker is okay?”

  “Of course,” I said, doing my best to sound magnanimous. “Let me get my coat.”

  As I returned to my office I heard Nicholas say, “The table I can get with a phone call, but Elise, I have to pray she can fit me in.”

  I walked back into the room, and he reached out his hand to me. “Come on, gorgeous.”

  “Bye,” I said to Zoey. “I might be a few minutes late.”

  “Take your time,” she said meekly.

  As we walked out into the hallway, I just looked at him. He was smiling.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Is that what you wanted?”

  “That was perfect. Are we really going to the New Yorker for lunch?”

  “Of course. I told you I’d broaden your culinary horizons.”

  The New Yorker was just a few blocks from the mall. The restaurant didn’t have a formal dress code, but everyone inside was professionally attired. It was the kind of place where movers and shakers met and business deals were made. Needless to say, I had never been there before.

  After the hostess had seated us at a table for two, Nicholas leaned forward. “So tell me what that was all about.”

  “The girls in the office have been intrigued by the gifts you’ve been sending. I overheard them talking this morning. Zoey said, and I quote, ‘the amount of money a guy spends on a woman is in inverse ratio to his looks. He’s probably some fat, bald guy with ear hair.’ ”

  “Did I dispel any of that?”

  “I think you left them speechless.”

  “Good,” he said. “Fortunately I plucked my ear hairs this morning.”

  “That’s just wrong.” I laughed. “Can I tell you something honest?”

  “Of course.”

  “I didn’t want you to meet Zoey.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I was afraid you might want to trade up.”

  “No disrespect, but that would be like trading champagne for Kool-Aid.”

  I grinned. “That’s totally disrespectful.”

  “Not to you,” he said.

  “And thank you again for the mirror. It’s beautiful. As is the thought behind it.”

  “Did I impress you with the cleaning tips?”

  “I was very impressed.”

  He smiled. “I thought you would be. So are you ready to order?”

  “No.” I looked through the menu. “What do you recommend?”

  “The tomato soup is always good,” he said.

  “Why don’t you just order for me?”

>   “I’d be happy to. Something to drink?”

  “I’d like a glass of wine.”

  “Okay,” he said. He ordered a glass of Chianti for me, a cranberry juice for himself, and our meal. That was the first time I realized that I had never seen him drink. I wondered if he did.

  As the waiter walked away I asked, “So what’s next on our agenda?”

  “It’s your call. You were going to come up with something for our weekend.”

  “I have an idea,” I said. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

  “Name it,” he said.

  “Do you sing?”

  “In the shower.”

  I nodded slowly. “That will do.”

  CHAPTER

  Ten

  The Golden Rule is a two-edged sword. If some of us treated others as we treat ourselves, we would be jailed.

  Elise Dutton’s Diary

  I had always looked forward to Fridays, but now even the weekdays were better. The whole office anticipated Nicholas’s daily gifts. The FedEx man delivered my Friday gift around eleven.

  “What is it?” Cathy asked as I opened the box.

  “It’s New York cheesecake. It’s really from New York.”

  Cathy read the label. “S&S cheesecake from New York. Zagat rated number one.”

  “I’ll get some plates,” I said.

  “Really?” Cathy said. “You’re going to share?”

  “If I ate that much cheesecake by myself, I would look like our Christmas tree.”

  “Bless you, child,” Cathy said.

  Mark walked out of his office. “Did someone say cheesecake?”

  “Elise is sharing the cheesecake her friend sent her.”

  He walked over and looked at the box. “S&S cheesecake,” he said. “I’ve heard of that. It’s the best. And pricey. They sell it by the ounce. Like gold.”

  I cut the cheesecake up with a plastic knife, and work stopped while everyone ate. Mark closed his eyes as he savored a bite. “Incredible,” he said. “If you don’t marry that guy, I will.”

  “Your wife might have something to say about that,” Cathy said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Zoey said. “I’ve got first dibs.”

  Nicholas and I didn’t have lunch that day because he was in court, but that evening he picked me up at my apartment at six.

  “How was your day?” I asked, as we walked to his car.

  “Good. We won.”

  “Do you always win?”

  “No. But more than I lose.” He opened the car door for me then walked around and got in. “How was your day?”

  “Good,” I said. “The cheesecake was a hit.”

  “It doesn’t get better than S&S.”

  “How did you know about them?”

  “I’m not as provincial as you might think.”

  “Believe me, I’ve never thought of you as provincial. You’re the most cosmopolitan person I know.”

  “Well, I’m definitely not that either. I just love cheesecake, and I discovered S&S from a client who sent me one last Christmas. That’s one of the advantages of having rich clients.”

  The holiday traffic was heavy as we made our way downtown to Abravanel Hall, Salt Lake City’s main concert hall and home to the Utah Symphony. The hall was designed by the same acoustical consultant who had designed the Avery Fisher Hall renovation in New York and the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. In the gold-leafed lobby was a thirty-foot-tall red blown-glass sculpture designed by renowned glass artist Dale Chihuly.

  The event I had chosen for us was a Messiah sing-in with the Utah Symphony, which basically meant that we were part of a three-thousand-member choir. To make sure we sounded good, the singing organizers brought in a few ringers, peppering the audience with about a hundred voices from the University of Utah and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. We were handed paper scores as we walked into the concert hall.

  “I thought we were going to hear a choir sing the Messiah,” Nicholas said to me as we found our seats. “I didn’t realize we were the choir.”

  “It’s more fun this way,” I said. “I asked if you sing.”

  “I just thought you were curious.”

  We sounded better than I thought we would. After the concert we drove over to Ruth’s Chris Steak House. I had the petite filet while Nicholas ordered the Cowboy Ribeye. He also ordered a tomato and onion salad to share, a seared ahi tuna appetizer (something I’d never had before), and a sweet potato casserole, which I could have eaten for dessert.

  “How do you eat like this and stay thin?” I asked.

  “Simple,” he replied. “I don’t always eat like this.”

  “I think I’ve gained a few pounds since I signed the contract. You’re spoiling me,” I said. “I’m not sure all this spoiling is a good thing.”

  “Why would spoiling you not be a good thing?”

  “Because in five weeks our contract is going to expire, and then where am I?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “Where are you?”

  I shrugged. “Certainly not eating here.”

  He looked at me for a moment, then said, “Do you know what I like most about you?”

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  “How grateful you are. In a world growing increasingly entitled, you are truly grateful. It makes me want to do more for you.”

  “You already do too much,” I said.

  “My point exactly,” he replied. “You’re a beautiful soul.”

  “Fortunately for me, you don’t really know me.”

  “No, you told me everything there was to know about you last week.”

  “Not everything.”

  He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I probably know you better than you think.”

  The statement struck me as peculiar. “What do you mean by that?”

  He paused for another moment before he said, “I’m just a very good judge of character.”

  “That may be,” I said. “But the thing is, you don’t know what you don’t know. No one’s perfect. Some of us aren’t even that good.”

  Looking at me seriously, he said, “What I do know is that everyone makes mistakes. That’s why forgiveness is so important. Unfortunately, so many of us are bad at it.” He let his words settle before continuing. “When I worked for the prosecutor’s office, one of my first cases was a man who had shot to death a clerk at a convenience store. We had video of the crime, and I thought it was an open-and-shut case. But because of a technicality we lost. As we were leaving the courthouse, the man slapped me on the back and said, ‘Thank you, Counselor.’ I said, ‘For what?’ And he said ‘For screwing up the case. Of course I killed him. But there’s nothing you can do now.’ ”

  “He confessed?” I asked.

  “Right there on the courthouse steps.”

  “Why didn’t you just go back in and tell the judge?”

  “It wouldn’t have done any good. It’s called double jeopardy. He can’t be tried again for the same offense. It’s in the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution. ‘Nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb.’ The concept was of such importance to the founding fathers that they actually made an amendment to the Constitution for it. But that’s in a court of law. In our hearts, there’s no such thing. People punish others over and over for the same mistake. We do it to ourselves. It’s not right, but still we do it.”

  I felt like he was reading my mind. He watched me silently. “Elise, you’re not as bad as you think you are. Remember that.”

  When I could speak I said, “So the man was never punished.”

  “Actually, his case turned out a little differently. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t leave well enough alone. He wrote a letter to the prosecutor’s office, bragg
ing that he’d gotten away with murder and stating very specific details of his crime. We reopened the case based on new evidence, and he was found guilty.”

  “Fool,” I said.

  “Yes, he was.” Nicholas changed the subject. “So the Hitesmans are very excited that you will be joining us for Thanksgiving. Do you still want to bake those pies?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Except the mincemeat.”

  “I’ve already ordered it. When will you bake the others?”

  “Wednesday night after work.”

  “Would you like some help?” he asked.

  “Making pies?”

  “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll keep you company.”

  “I would love your help,” I said. “And your company.”

  “Great. I’ll be there. I’ll bring dinner.”

  That night as I lay in bed remembering our date, I had a frightening realization. My feelings for Nicholas were growing bigger than the contract I’d signed. I wondered if he felt the same way. Not that it mattered. In spite of everything Nicholas had said about forgiveness and redemption, I knew there was no chance we could ever be more than friends. Not if he knew the truth about me. Not if he knew what I’d done. Not if he knew my darkness.

  CHAPTER

  Eleven

  Oftentimes, the hottest fires of hell are fueled from within.

  Elise Dutton’s Diary

  FIVE YEARS EARLIER

  June 2007 was hot. The whole world was hot. Greece reported their worst heat wave in history with eleven heat-related deaths, and the entire European power grid nearly collapsed beneath unprecedented demand for air-conditioning.

  It was equally hot in the western part of the United States. In Salt Lake City temperatures which normally would have been in the high eighties exceeded a hundred degrees. Our apartment’s swamp cooler struggled to keep things tolerable, and the first thing I did on waking was turn it on to full before getting ready for work.

  Dan never helped in the mornings. He said it wasn’t his “thing,” whatever that meant. I resented him for that. In spite of the fact that I worked longer days than he did, I would get up at least an hour before him to get ready, make breakfast, then get our little girl, Hannah, fed and ready for the day. The one thing Dan did that was helpful was drop Hannah off at day care, since it was only three blocks from his office.