Page 2 of Christmas in Bridger Falls

Finally, he stands and drops a folder onto my desk.

“What’s this?” I ask, staring at the folder like it’s a snake about to bite me.

“Your vacation dates have officially been approved by HR. And a letter of termination if you don’t take it.”

“So, you are firing me?” I ask quietly.

He smiles. “Only if you don’t take the vacation.”

I open the folder, and there’s a flight itinerary. And it’s paid for by him. “Rick, this is…too much.”

“No, it’s not.” He shrugs. “You do so much around here. Consider it a holiday bonus.”

“I can’t accept this,” I say softly.

“It’s all been approved.” He waves me off. “We’re not negotiating this, Jenna.”

“I didn’t request vacation time,” I object, still trying to win this, even though I know that I have no chance.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he deadpans. “I am not even sure you know how to take a regular day off, much less a whole vacation. When was the last time you went home to Bridger Falls? And not for work.”

I stare down at the papers, purposely ignoring his question. Going home is hard for me, and I only go home when I have to. It’s not that I don’t love my family. I love them very much. It’s just complicated. Going home brings up memories that I have to deal with. And I don’t like dealing with them.

Looking at the papers, I realize that the last page in the stack of papers is a proposal. And it’s blank in places.

“What’s this?” I ask, looking up at him.

“That’s going to be your next project, if you actually take the vacation. You get to pick your own small-town book series to turn into the next big hit on the screen. Dealer’s choice. Within reason,” he adds. “I do still have full veto. But…I think you’re ready to sit in the producer’s seat.”

No freaking way.

I have been dying to get creative control over a series. I pitch so many ideas, and the company never goes for any of them. Sometimes I get close, but then some exec pulls the plug, and it doesn’t happen. It’s so hard to turn a romance book series into a television series. This would mean I could choose something, make it happen, and see it through. This is huge for me and something I’ve been working so hard for. This is the dream.

“Wait a minute. You’re giving me time off. But then giving me work to do on my time off?” I ask, looking at him, confused but biting back a grin.

“I want you to relax,” he clarifies. “And I want you to spend time with your family. I want you to learn how to balance work and life. This is something to look forward to when you come back. But if you don’t follow through, I’ll kill your proposal, which comes with a promotion, by the way.”

I open my mouth and then close it.

Holy crap. Nope. Not arguing.

I can do this! Oh my gosh. I can do this.

Rick points at my computer. “And for the love of God, stop answering emails and working past eight hours a day.”

I blink at him. Eight hours is just a warm-up for me, but I don’t tell him that.

Instead, I say with a grin, “Sounds terrible, Rick.” But he knows he’s won.

Rick grins back. “This is exactly what you need. Time to rest. Now, Becky says she wants you to call her and update her over the holidays. We’ll miss you at Christmas dinner. She also said to tell you she’s already preparing some gifts to send to Wilder Ranch for you.”

I smile. “She doesn’t have to do all that.”

Rick’s wife Becky is just as amazing as he is, and I will miss being with their family over the holidays. But I haven’t been back to Bridger Falls since we filmed the reality show with my brother Jack last year. I miss them all. And despite the bad memories of past Christmases at the ranch, it’s time I went back and faced them. Who knows? Maybe I can make better memories to erase the scars of Christmas past.

Maybe this is what I need. And I get a fun new project to dream about.

I groan and stare at the ceiling as I try to drum up the energy to pack for my trip. I’m trading sunny Los Angeles for snowy winter in Bridger Falls, Wyoming. And I’m trying to figure out how many cozy sweaters I can fit into my suitcase because I’m going to need them. My phone buzzes on my end table. I glance over, expecting to see another executive with a problem that I need to solve. Then I remember that I’m in purgatory and on vacation time, and not by choice.