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“Mr. Whitmore, it’s her bachelorette party. The last thing she wants to do is wear a wig,” Willow chastised.
He shook his head. “She said the same exact thing.” Sighing, he watched his daughter dancing in the middle of the room, her hands in the air. “She hasn’t worked a single minute tonight besides standing next to the table of products and smiling for a few photographs.”
Willow said nothing. Was the man surprised? He knew what he was getting into when he made this arrangement.
“At least you seem to be an enterprising young woman. I’m sure your father is very proud of you,” Phil said with a nod.
“Thank you, sir.” Surprisingly, she realized she missed her dad, though she shouldn’t be surprised considering it was the holidays, and who else would she spend them with? Funny how she could forgive him for his faults so quickly yet hold a grudge against Nick for what felt like forever. Whereas Nick had seemingly ditched her as fast as he could, her dad had always been there for her. They were a team, the two of them. They always had been.
Yeah, he’d ruined her relationship with Nick, but he’d done it to protect her. She could forgive him for that. Ultimately, they were all each other had.
She wished she were with him. With no Christmas Day plans scheduled whatsoever, she wasn’t quite sure what she would do. Sheridan had extended the expected invitation but Willow hadn’t committed.
Maybe it would be better if she were alone so she could sulk and wallow in her thoughts and her loss.
Damn it, she wanted Nick back. She missed him so much her entire body ached with wanting him. He made her laugh. He made her angry. He made her smile. Oh, and he made her pant out his name when she came…
Yeah. She flat out missed him. Had never really stopped missing him, even after all of these years. But this breakup was even worse, because she knew he felt the same way. They were too stubborn, too fucked up to make it happen for real.
Sighing, she shook her head. Fine, she was the one who screwed it up. Who was too scared to give him a second chance. She couldn’t blame him for walking out. She would’ve done the same.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” Phil said, interrupting her thoughts. “Though I did want to give you this before I forgot.”
He handed over an envelope, which she took with a frown. “You already paid your balance, Mr. Whitmore.”
“I know. It’s a bonus.” He flicked his chin at the crumpled envelope she clutched in her hands. “For all your hard work.”
“Thank you.” She smiled tremulously as he walked away, then tore open the envelope and peeked inside.
Holy. Shit. There had to be at least ten hundred dollar bills nestled within. Talk about generous.
“Let’s go hit the tables with all that cash,” Colby suggested, sidling up beside her after he served yet another drunk woman.
“You wish.” She stuffed the envelope in her front pocket. “This all goes right back into the business.”
“Party pooper,” Colby said with a smile then headed over to a cluster of people who had just approached the bar.
A cheesy Christmas song came on, the DJ spinning the tunes cranking it up to near-deaf decibels, and Willow realized one good thing about the wig: it muffled sound somewhat.
But not enough.
It seemed as if every partygoer was on the dance floor, jumping to the beat of the perky holiday tune. Just watching them filled Willow with irritation, and she leaned against the bar counter, her elbow resting on the edge, her chin propped on her curved hand. She was starving, and she was exhausted, which made her even more irritated. Considering they still had hours to go, she was in for a long night.
And then she had to turn around and fly home first thing tomorrow. Thank God, the flight wasn’t that long, but why in the world had she scheduled it so early? And what was she going home to, anyway? A cold, empty house? So depressing.
Merry freaking Christmas.
The cheery song segued from one to another by some boy band, and the crowd went wild, yelling and screaming as they bounced up and down. Even Colby was dancing behind the counter, shaking his head to the beat, mouthing the words to the song.
She wanted to roll her eyes but couldn’t be bothered with it. She’d turned into the ultimate Scrooge.
The crowd suddenly parted and more than a few people started chatting animatedly, waving their hands, standing on tiptoe as if they were trying to see something. The song abruptly ended, and the crowd stopped dancing as the DJ made an announcement.
“Looks like we have an unexpected special guest this evening, folks! San Jose Hawks football star, Nick Hamilton!”
Willow’s arm went out from under her on the counter and she stood straight, glancing around the room. Did the DJ really say Nick was here? But where? And what the hell was he doing here?
Anticipation rode through her, and she tried to squash it down. She was probably hallucinating. Just because the man was constantly in her thoughts didn’t mean she could magically make him appear.
