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Still, he could hear the disappointment in Noelle’s answer. A part of her felt rejected. Cast aside. He knew that sting. It made him want to pull her into his arms for a hug, which was unsettling, since he didn’t do comfort. And even if he did, she would deny the feelings.
Meaning they shared another trait in common as well: neither liked to show weakness.
“Look on the bright side,” he said instead. “She could have fired you.”
“You don’t fire family.”
“Speak for yourself, sweetheart. Not everyone is as family oriented as you are. There are as many people on the other side of the line who value profits over DNA.”
She tilted her head. “I’m curious? Which side do you fall on?”
James didn’t even have to pause and think. His answer was that reflexive. “The side that doesn’t believe in family period.”
* * *
Noelle stared at him. Unbelievable. No sooner did she catch a spark of warmth, then his inner Grinch came along to snuff out the flame.
“You do know how ironic that statement sounds, coming from the heir of Hammond’s, right?”
Ask anyone in the industry and they’d tell you, Hammond’s Toy Stores was the epitome of old-fashioned family values. Their history put Fryberg’s hundred-year-old tradition to shame.
James’s lashes cast shadows on his cheeks as he studied the palm of his hand. “Things aren’t always what they seem,” he said.
“They aren’t? ’Cause I’ve studied Hammond’s.” And the last time she checked, Hammond’s sure looked like a fifteen-decades-old success story. The Boston store dwelled in the same building where Benjamin Hammond originally opened it. Over the decades, the store had become a touchstone for people looking to recapture childhood innocence. Their window displays and decor was like walking into a magical piece of frozen history. And at Christmastime...
Noelle had seen the photos. It was the Christmas Castle, Santa’s workshop and Rockefeller Center all rolled into one. “There’s too much heart in your branding for it to have been pulled from a hat.”
His reply was somewhere between a cough and a snort. “I’ll let the marketing department know you appreciate their efforts. They put a great deal of effort into creating that ‘heart.’”
She could feel the air quotations. There were exclamation points on the sarcasm.
“I hate to break it to you,” he said, “but my family has made a small fortune selling a fantasy.”
“For one hundred and fifty years? I don’t think any company can fake their corporate culture for that long.”
“Maybe once, a long time ago, someone believed in it,” he said in a softer voice. “My grandfather or someone like that.”
His fingers traced the plaid pattern on the chair arm. “Who knows? Maybe back then, life was different. But holidays are all manufactured now. There’s no such thing as a ‘family Christmas’ except on TV. Divorce, dysfunction... Most of the world’s just trying to get through the day without killing each other.”
Noelle didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t call him on his sarcasm, because he wasn’t being sarcastic. He delivered his words in a flat, distant voice tinged with hopelessness. It took squeezing her fists by her sides to keep from hugging him. What was it he had said about glass tumblers?
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“For what?”
Good question. She wasn’t sure herself. “That you don’t like Christmas.”
Hammond shrugged before returning to his pattern tracing. “Don’t have to like it to make money off it,” he said.
“No,” she said, “I don’t suppose you do.” And Hammond did make money. Lots of money. So, he was right. Who cared if he liked Christmas or not?
Except that the notion left her incredibly sad. Noelle didn’t know if it was the cynicism of his words or something else, but this entire conversation left a pang in her stomach. She couldn’t look at Hammond without wanting to perch on his chair and press him close.
To chase away his sadness. Talk about silly. Twenty-four hours ago she disliked the man and now here she was thinking about hugging him? As though a hug from her would solve the problem anyway. She didn’t even know if he was sad, for crying out loud. Imagine what he would think if she suddenly nestled up against that hard torso.
That she was crazy, no doubt.
Still, possible personal demons aside, she wondered how long it would take before Hammond’s cynicism bit him in the behind? She didn’t care how good a marketing team he had, a store that didn’t believe in its own brand couldn’t last. Sooner or later the phoniness, as he put it, would seep through.
