Jaci Burton - Holiday Games

She’d lost herself in that night, that only night with him. And it had taken a goddamned eternity to get over him.

“Carolina.”

She jerked her head up. “What?”

He smiled at her. “What made you decide to launch your own line now?”

“Oh.” That’s right. He’d asked her that question and she’d zoned out, slipping into the past so easily, like she always did whenever he was near. “I couldn’t handle working for David Faber any longer.”

“What didn’t you like about working for him?”

After swallowing, she took a sip of water and laid her fork down. “Where to start? He’s demanding, which I can handle. Designers often are. The difference with David is that he’s high-strung all the time, which creates such a nerve-racking work place. And he’s such a jealous bitch, treating his designers like slaves, refusing to let them provide any input. It was stifling working for him, which was why I accelerated my move to designing my own line. If he’d once taken any of my suggestions rather than treating me like nothing more than a seamstress, I might have stayed with him, because the man is truly brilliant. But he’s so neurotic and so afraid someone’s going to steal his designs, he’s impossible to work with.”

Drew studied her. “Hard to work in an environment where your contributions aren’t appreciated.”

And just like that, he’d nailed it, when she’d thought for sure he’d just nod and say “uh-huh” or something like that. “Yes, it was. Not that I expected to take over or anything, but I had good ideas, dammit. Ideas that would have helped his line. Not myself, but him.”

“I understand. And it’s his loss, isn’t it? Because you’re going to create your own line now and kick his ass.”

Admittedly, she was shocked by the compliment. “I don’t know about that. But taking that step was freeing in a way I never thought it would be. At least initially.”

“And now you’re nervous because you’re on your own now and you don’t know if you’ll succeed.”

He was also annoyingly keen at identifying her biggest worry. “Maybe.”

“Don’t be worried. You’ll be great.”

She pushed her half-empty plate to the side. “How can you be so confident, when you know nothing about me?”

“Easy,” he said, standing and moving into the living room, where she’d shoved her sketches onto one of the side tables. He picked them up. “This. And this. They’re good, Lina.”

She took a deep breath as his gaze caught and held hers. “You’re hardly knowledgeable about fashion, Drew.”

“Maybe not. But I know what looks good on a woman. You’ve always dressed well. I think you have a keen eye for what makes a woman feel great about herself. And I’d bet you could do the same for a man. You’ve never lacked for confidence.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Hell, you even threw yourself at me back in college.”

Ugh. She couldn’t believe he’d brought that up. “Don’t remind me.”

He came back into the kitchen. “Do you know how much courage that took? It was a huge turn on, and it showed me how ballsy you were. You were just a girl back then. You’re a woman now. I don’t think anything can stop you from having whatever you want.” He brushed his knuckles against her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze again.

She lifted her eyes to his and, with him so close, the heat that always seemed to emanate from him surrounded her, enveloping her in a haze of not-so-forgotten lust and longing.

“That’s a nice thing to say.” He’d always said nice things to her—when he wanted something. Which made her wonder exactly what it was that he wanted now.

She studied him, the woman she was now not nearly as naïve as the young girl she’d been back then.

“Exactly what are you after here, Drew? A repeat performance from college?” She pushed her chair back and stood, creating distance between the two of them. “Because if you are, I can assure you it’s not going to happen.”

She made sure to keep eye contact with him, so he understood clearly her meaning. “Never again. Ever.”

Emma Burnett could have never imagined that going hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt would be so exhilarating.

She could barely contain her excitement as she looked over every aspect of her just-about-to-open new veterinary practice with a heavy dose of pride and more than a little trepidation.

It was six-fifteen in the morning. Her staff would be arriving soon. She grinned at the thought. She had a staff now.

“We’re here, Daisy. We made it.”

Daisy, her yellow Labrador retriever, thumped her tail and looked up at her, dark eyes filled with adoration. You had to love a dog because no matter what happened, they’d always love you back. You could have an awful day, be grouchy and in the worst mood, and your dog would still sit at your feet and be there for you.

Emma rubbed Daisy’s head and locked up her bag in her office, then closed the door, moving into the lobby. Daisy followed along, sniffing every square inch of gleaming tile Emma had spent the weekend polishing to perfection.

Sure, she could have had a cleaning service do that, but this place was hers and she wanted to do it herself. Then, after she’d cleaned, she’d inventoried, going over every scalpel, pair of forceps, IV pole, and thermometer. She’d inventoried all the drugs—twice—from antibiotics to pain medications, making sure everything was in order.

This place was hers. She still couldn’t quite believe it.

She swept her hand over the pristine reception desk, tapped her finger on the desktop computer she hoped was filled with appointments for the day, then moved on through the double doors leading to the back room where the sparkling instruments awaited her first touch.

Cages were ready, and so were the exam rooms. The OR was prepped. Everything was spotless and sterilized.

She was in debt up to her eyeballs, but, come hell or rising water from the creek down the road, this place was all hers now. It had taken years and more than a few major detours, but Hope Small Animal Hospital was now owned and operated by Dr. Emma Burnett, DVM.

She inhaled and exhaled, letting the dual feelings of satisfaction and utter terror wash over her. At least this time it was a healthy dose of terror. Not like before.

It would never be like before again. She’d lost five years of her life on that mistake, and now, at thirty-two, she was making a late start. But after going back to school and working with a veterinary group in South Carolina, she was finally home and on her own with a practice that was all hers.

A knock on the front door made her startle. She curled her fingers into her palms.

“Calm, Emma. This is your big day.” She hurried to the door, grabbing her keys out of her lab-coat pocket.

It was Rachel, her receptionist, along with Leanne, her tech. Her two assistants were the gas in the engine that drove this clinic. She smiled and unlocked the door. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’, Dr. Emma,” Rachel said with a grin, her arms laden with donuts and coffee. “Thought you could use these.”

“It’s so good to be back here again,” Leanne said, her long blond hair braided into two pigtails, her purple scrubs decorated with tiny paw prints.

Totally adorable.

“You’re my lifesavers. Both of you. Thank you.”

They sat in the tiny break room together and ate donuts, drank coffee, and went over the appointments for the day.

“You have a full day, Dr. Emma,” Rachel said.

“Really? That’s great.” She wanted to leap up and pump her fist in the air, but that would be so unprofessional.

“Doc Weston always had a full waiting room.” Leanne licked donut icing off her fingers. “Everyone was disappointed when he had to close so suddenly. So were we.”

“No kidding,” Rachel said. “Leanne and I were lucky to hook up with the Barkley clinic on the north side of town after Doc Weston closed, but Barkley sucks.”

“Understatement,” Leanne said. “The doctors there are dicks.”

Emma would not smile about that. Really, she wouldn’t.

Leanne nodded. “I’ve been spreading the word about the reopening. It’s like Field of Dreams, Doc. People will come.”

Emma let out a hopeful sigh. “That’s so good to hear.” She wanted to be busy. She needed to fill this place up with clients.

Since Dr. Weston had retired six months ago, the clinic had been closed and Hope residents had to go to the other clinic for animal care. Bruce Weston had been a wonderful veterinarian. He’d taken care of Emma’s terrier, Soupy, and her collie, Max, when she’d been a kid, and she’d loved him. She’d always been eager to come here and look at all the pictures of animal breeds on the wall of the exam rooms, check out the charts and the models of the insides of dogs and cats. She’d been curious and he’d always been more than happy to answer all her questions. Besides her utter love of animals, Dr. Weston had been one of the primary reasons she wanted to become a veterinarian. He was kind and patient, and had taken just as much care of the owners as he had of the animals.

She’d been sad to hear about his heart surgery and subsequent retirement, but happy for him now that he and his wife, Denise, were moving closer to their grandchildren in Colorado. She’d been ecstatic that he’d been amenable to her buying out his practice. It had taken a whirlwind trip from South Carolina back to Oklahoma so she could meet face-to-face with him to iron out the particulars once she’d learned his practice was for sale. He’d been generous in his price and had helped her work out the loan details so she could get it done.