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After hotel-room coffee and a protein bar in my room the next morning, I shoved my phone into my bag and left, wiping furiously at the butt of my pants as I took the stairs to the first floor, hoping some of the glitter that seemed to coat every item I owned might let go, though everything I’d ever learned about glitter told me it was hopeless.
Cormac Whitewood was in, which was easy enough to discover when I arrived at the office—just one small room inside the storefront under the awning. There was a tiny reception area, but no one occupied it, and when the bell on the door chimed, Cormac called, "come on back."
"Hi," I said, poking my head into the small windowless room. Talk about a need for decorating, sheesh—the place looked like a cell.
"Hi," Cormac said, standing up from the desk and running a hand through a thick mop of dark hair. He looked a little bit like his brother, same penetrating eyes and thick hair, but Cormac was taller and fairer, and the atmosphere around him didn't seem quite as intense as it did around Callan. Still, he didn't seem like a jovial guy. "Can I help you with something?"
I pasted on a bright smile and stuck out my hand, which Cormac shook. "I'm April Hall," I said. "I was hoping I could chat with you for a quick second about something I need a little help with. I wasn't sure where else to go."
"Have a seat," Cormac said. "My curiosity is piqued. I don't get the sense this is a bookkeeping issue."
I laughed, the sound false in my own ears. "No, it's not. It's actually about your brother…"
Cormac stood back up quickly, and pointed at the door. "If you're a reporter or a fan, you're going to have to get your information somewhere else. The poor guy came here for some peace and quiet, can't you just let him have it? He's been through enough." His face was dark, stormy.
"No, no, sorry. I'm not a fan. Or a reporter." I stood. "Could I just talk to you for a quick minute? And then I promise I'll go if you want me to."
Cormac lifted an eyebrow and sat back down, crossing his arms. "Go ahead."
"Okay, well. Here's the thing." I took a deep breath and tried to still my spinning mind. I wasn't a reporter, but I was pretty darned close if you looked at it from the perspective of someone who didn't want any publicity in their lives. "So I'm out here for work," I began. "I'm from California."
"Long way from home," Cormac said, something in his face softening slightly. "Me too," he said, but didn't offer anything else.
"This place is quaint, isn't it?" I said, leaning forward. When Cormac didn't say anything else, I sat up a bit, continuing. "So the thing is, I got sent out here to do preproduction for this show that's on DecorTV calledHoliday Homes."
I had been worried that uttering the word TV would end this whole conversation in a matter of seconds, but Cormac's lips had parted just slightly and he'd uncrossed his arms. "I know that show, actually. My wife—" he cleared his throat and looked down before seeming to regain himself. "My wife used to love that show."
"Oh, yeah?" I grinned. Maybe I’d find an ally here after all. "I hope I'll do a good job this year for her, then." Maybe this was exactly what I needed.
He cleared his throat again and his smile thinned. "She won't care. She died in January."
Oh God. Oh shit, why had I forgotten about the article I’d read? "I'm so sorry." I swallowed hard, trying to get the foot I’d just swallowed out of my windpipe.
"Not on you," he said lightly, but the bitterness in his voice was toxic.
I didn't know exactly how to continue, but barreled ahead. "Well, so you know it's all about the houses, then. And I came into this whole thing late—all the contracts on the selected homes had been signed, and the participants all agreed to decorate their homes for Christmas by the first week in December so the camera team can get the shots they need to send back to the hosts in Los Angeles."
Cormac was nodding, watching me.
"And, well, whoever used to own Singletree Manor signed our contract. And then they sold the house, and the contract, to your brother. And he signed it."
Cormac's face cleared as understanding dawned. "And now he's refusing to participate."
I sighed, nodding. "I asked him nicely," I said, feeling a little bit lame.
"Yeah, that won't work with him."
Clearly. "What will work? If I can't get him to agree to feature Singletree Manor on the show, I'll lose my job. And my whole career, actually. This is kind of my last chance." There. Now I’d told all my dirty secrets to a complete stranger. I really couldn't sink much lower.
"You know you have some glitter in your hair?" Cormac said, taking me completely off guard. "Kind of caught in the front part there." He moved his hand above the left side of his face to show me where, and I batted at my bangs, wishing I’d never laid eyes on that enormous basket of glittery Christmas terror—or had just left it alone on the table.
"Thanks," I said, trying to pull my bangs down so I could see any clinging glitter. Finally I gave up and pushed them back. The universe was determined to force me to be festive, even if it was completely against my will.
"Yeah, so, Callan…" Cormac trailed off. "He's probably not going to be willing to open up the house to a bunch of cameras at this point."
"I got that."
"And you can bring him lawyers all day long, trying to enforce that contract, but his agent will probably help him out of that."
