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Together, the threesome headed up toward the exit and down the hallway of city hall. Zoe was already whipping out her phone and dialing by the time they reached the glass entrance. A bright light blinded them the moment they stepped outside. Donovan angled his head to see better. A few dozen white vans were positioned at the front of the building with twice as many reporters standing in front of them, microphones, booms and recorders facing them.
An anger bubbled inside Donovan. Why couldn’t these reporters show up for the competition at the beginning and stay? There was plenty of room for everyone...maybe not their equipment, but still. Imagine the confidence it would have given the students to see their hard work be recognized not just by their colleagues but by the outside world. Donovan understood British’s passion for the kids.
“It’s going straight to voice mail...” said Zoe. Her words trailed off at the sight of everyone standing in front of them.
Donovan hated the spotlight. He sensed the heat of the lamp on his scar and felt it amplified by the world. He turned around to leave.
“Mr. Ravens,” someone called out.
Naturally, Will stepped forward. He was the head of RC and knew what to say in front of an audience. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a surefire cocky chuckle. “Are you here to get the Black Friday scoop on our items?”
Coming to his aid, Zoe appeared by Will’s side. “Of course not, sweetheart,” she said to him. “I’m sure everyone’s gotten wind of the exciting things brewing inside city hall.” She smiled like the dazzling director of creative design that she was. “You guys, come on and see the brilliant young minds of our future leaders.”
Good job, Donovan thought. The girls needed the spotlight, especially if they were to walk outside any moment now with their trophy in hand. As much as he wanted to see them win, he needed to get to the bottom of this surprise Tracy might have. He scrolled through his phone to find the emails he’d never looked at. Cell service in the building was poor. The attachment was large and kept pausing, probably due to the satellite of the news crews.
“We’re here for the Sexy Santa,” someone yelled.
Will turned to glance at Donovan, who was completely confused until he remembered the photographs taken at the winter carnival last weekend. A few shots were still floating around town. He thought it was local. The Southwood Santa, he believed, was what the waitress called him at the coffee shop across the street from the gown shop.
“Excuse us for a moment,” Will said. He motioned for Donovan and Zoe to huddle together at the doors of the entrance to city hall. Beyond the glass, they spotted a crowd coming toward them. “Let’s take this opportunity to market our new men’s line. We have those lotions and colognes coming out for Christmas.”
“No,” Donovan declared. He craned his neck to find British’s curly head coming their way.
“Are you listening to me?” Will asked.
“Not really,” he huffed in response.
“Dana and Eva are our PR people,” said Zoe. “They’d agree that any publicity is good publicity, Donovan. They know you as the Sexy Santa. You could promote the perfect stocking stuffer for people.”
“Hell no.” Donovan wasn’t sure how many ways he needed to make himself clear to them. “I am not taking this opportunity to put the shine on British and her team to sell products for Ravens.”
“Think about the girl you pointed out,” Will pleaded. “Stephanie, the one you said was going to be a future employee of ours. Talk about the chemistry put into our products.”
“Definitely,” Zoe said excitedly.
In the reflection of the bright lights of the cameras behind them, a glare glazed the glass doors. Donovan couldn’t see inside but he did see Amelia Reyes shouldering her way through the crowd with the help of the guy who worked at the real-estate office next door to the dress shop where they’d held interviews this week. Nate Reyes, that was it, Donovan thought. Nate had a few other people behind him.
“Amelia.”
“Donovan,” Amelia breathed heavily, holding her cell phone in the air. “The tracker works.”
What the hell was going on?
“What tracker?” Zoe and Will chorused.
The crowd behind them grew louder. Nate and his group made a blockade of sorts for privacy. Now Donovan felt trapped. He wanted to see British.
“There’s a Sexy Santa Tracker website,” Amelia explained. She showed her phone to them and, sure enough, on the screen, there was a cartoon figure of Amelia standing next to one of the photos from the winter carnival in front of city hall.
Will reached for the phone for a better view. “This is creepy.”
“Stalkerish,” Zoe added.
An incoming call blurred the photo. Donovan caught Christopher Kelly’s name flash across the screen. Why was the president of MET calling Amelia after nine in the evening? Tonight’s reality show. What the hell happened on the show?
“Donovan, you have to believe me,” said Amelia, “I approved one version of your segment.”
This did not sound good. He waited for Amelia to explain what happened but the reporters and now ever-growing crowd of onlookers had started oohing and aahing too loudly to hear her answer. Suddenly, Tracy appeared, decked out in a red, skintight, damn-near-see-through catsuit, and sauntered up the steps. She wore a pair of oversize black glasses and a white scarf over her head, which she pulled down to let the material fall across her shoulders, making her look like an adult-star version of Mrs. Claus.
