Snow fell outside, blanketing the night in sparkling white and giving the city a stunning, almost storybook appearance. Men and women stopped their holiday shopping and stared at the glittering window displays. Children squealed and lifted mittened hands to capture the large, fluffy flakes floating down on their upturned faces and waiting tongues.
It was enough to make a man gag.
Mackenzie St. Clair turned away from his high vantage point at the window, back to the partygoers milling around the spacious, elegantly decorated ballroom on the top floor of the Hirsch, Tesler & St. Clair building. He couldn’t help his grin. It still got to him. Having his name on a building.
Let the everyday people below have their winter wonderland. It couldn’t compete with the elegance and glamour of the annual employee Christmas party of Seattle’s most prestigious efficiency consultant firm. Snowfalls were commonplace. This party? Hardly. Everyone knew that.
Or at least, almost everyone.
Mackenzie had noticed one young woman, dressed in a stunning sequined gown of electric blue showcasing her slim figure. It wasn’t the dress or her shape that caught his attention, but the fact that she’d pressed her perfectly made-up nose against the glass of a tall, beveled window and stared at the sparkling display like a kid seeing Santa for the first time.
Another woman, this one dressed to the nines and a hard edge to her expression, came up beside the gawker. “Andrea, get a grip. It’s just snow.”
Mackenzie stepped back, a large decorative tree blocking him from the two women’s view. He, on the other hand, could still see the two friends. At least he assumed there was a friendship. It was hard to tell with women. Sometimes they just hunted together.
At Miss Nines’s tart reprimand, Blue Dress swiveled around. “But it’s so beautiful! Even you have to admit that, Maris.”
OK. Nines is Maris, Blue Dress is Andrea. And she talks in exclamation points.
“Actually”—Maris arched dark, perfect brows—“I don’t. Nor do you, unless you want everyone at the party to know just how new you are to the city.”
That hit home. Even from this distance Mackenzie caught the flush that crept into Andrea’s cheeks, and she glanced around.
“Oh, don’t worry.” Maris brushed a crumb from her sleeve. “I was able to stop you before you made too much of a fool of yourself. But, really, Andrea you must learn to get some control. You’re working at one of the largest, most successful firms in Seattle now. Don’t you think it’s time you started acting a bit more . . . well, professional?”
The woman’s gaze swept the room, and Mackenzie inched back a step. He had no trouble recognizing that glint in her eyes. Pure calculation.
“Believe me, darling, men like these won’t have the patience for sweet, naïve little girls. They’d chew you up in a second.”
Sad, but true. The men in Mackenzie’s employ knew it was a dog-eat-dog world. Especially in the current economy.
“I know.” Andrea’s sad, wistful sigh struck Mackenzie. Hard. She sounded just like—
He shook the thought away. He’d come to this party to forget the job he’d just finished, not be reminded of it. Time to find someone else to entertain him. He started to move, but caught the sparkle of Andrea’s blue dress as she moved back to the window. She lifted a hand, pressed it to the glass.
Like a caged bird longing for freedom.
“But it’s so beautiful—”
“For heaven’s sake!” Maris took the younger woman’s arm in a firm grip and propelled her toward the buffet table. Mackenzie waited a beat, then followed, picking up a plate and lingering just far enough away that they wouldn’t know he was listening.
“Look around you!” Maris’s cold, rational tone was even more familiar. Mackenzie used it all the time.
“This is your chance, Andrea,” she went on. “These men are sophisticated, intelligent, and ridiculously well paid. Some are even single.”
From the corner of his eye, Mackenzie saw Andrea glance around. “But does any of that really matter if he doesn’t”—she shrugged—“you know, make your toes curl?”
Mackenzie fought a chuckle. This girl was so . . . innocent.
“Like him, for example.”
Maris turned to inspect Andrea’s supposed toe-curler, and Mackenzie realized with a jolt that they were looking at him.
She turned back to Andrea, then cast her gaze to the ceiling. “Oh, good grief. Anyone but him.”
Mackenzie frowned.
“Why? He’s very clearly wealthy—”
Darn right.
“Yes, quite.” Maris picked up a crystal punch glass. “That’s Mackenzie St. Clair. As in Hirsh, Tesler, and . . .” She pursed a lip. “He’s one of the partners.”
Andrea’s brows lifted. Well, at least she was impressed with that bit of news.
“Really?” She studied Mackenzie again. “That’s Mackenzie St. Clair? I thought he was an old man.”
Oh, give me a break!
“Only at heart, dear. Only at heart.”
Andrea, seemingly his saving grace, tipped her head. “Not handsome, but good-looking—”
Hmm. Well, he could live with that.
“—tall, broad-shouldered, wealthy—”
He was really starting to like this woman.
“—single?”
Maris snorted. “Count on it.”
That woman, he could do without.
“Well, then, what on earth is wrong with him?”
Yeah. Do tell.
“Oh, not much. Just that he’s cold as ice, unfeeling, demanding. You know, basically inhuman.”
Mackenzie’s fingers tightened on the plate as he pretended to select another canapé.
“Come on! He can’t be that bad.”
“Probably worse.” Maris sipped at her drink. “Look, Andrea, I’ve been with this company for almost five years, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to stay as far away from that man as possible.”
Now there was some good news.
“I thought he was supposed to be the best of the best.”
“Oh, he is that. No better efficiency or management consultant in the field.”
Finally, some recognition for what he’d accomplished.
“When a company calls him in, they know they’ll get their money’s worth, and then some. He knows exactly what to do to bring a company back to life and fiscal viability. And he doesn’t let anything get in his way. Not compassion. Not consequences to others. Not anything.”
Andrea visibly shuddered. “He sounds perfectly horrid.”
He did, at that. Was that what people thought of him?
“Bingo.” Maris ladled more punch from a crystal bowl into her glass, capturing one of the floating cherries as she did so. “I was assigned to work for him a few months last year, when his regular secretary was out on maternity leave.”
Mackenzie took another sideways look at the one called Maris. She’d worked with him? Why didn’t she look familiar? At least her name should ring a bell—
“It was an interesting job, but not one I’d care to take on for long.”
“Too much work?”
“For one thing, the man never got my name right. Kept calling me Mary.”
Of course. Mary. Now he remembered—
Maris grabbed a toothpick and speared an hors d’oeuvre. “How hard is it to remember someone’s name, for heaven’s sake? For another, too much hostility. I received dozens of calls from angry people. ‘Idiots and malcontents,’ St. Clair calls them.” She pursed her lips again. “Among other things. But they all had one thing in common: they wanted to give the man a piece of their minds. Several left messages. I recall one in particular, from an older man who wanted to . . . let’s see, what did he say? Oh, yes, ‘rip the devil’s heart out.’ ”
Andrea’s eyes widened. “How did Mr. St. Clair react when you told him?”
“He didn’t even blink. But I wasn’t too surprised. I mean, it was hardly a believable threat.”
“Why? Wasn’t the caller serious?”
Maris brushed back a stray hair. “Oh, he sounded quite serious. But he made a tactical error.”
“What was that?”
Maris angled a look across the room at her distinguished employer. “If there is one thing Mackenzie St. Clair does not have, it’s a heart.”
Mackenzie set his plate down on the buffet. Hard. Enough was—
“Heartless and hopeless, huh?” Andrea gave another sad sigh. “I pity the woman who falls for him one day.”
Maris almost choked on her punch. “Trust me, dear, she’d have to be a total saint. Either that, or a total fool!”
Mackenzie pinned Maris with a narrow-eyed glare. Andrea noticed it first, and went still. Maris looked at her companion, then followed her wide-eyed gaze. When her eyes met Mackenzie’s, she stiffened . . . then paled.
That’s right, ladies. Heard every word.
He held her gaze captive for a heartbeat longer, then walked toward them, stopping when he was right next to them. Both women stood like gazelles frozen in fear, waiting for the death strike.
He smiled and leaned his head close to them. “Enjoy the party, ladies.” With that, he straightened and moved on, leaving them staring after him. But he could tell it had worked.
That spark of fear in Maris’s eyes asked if his intended message was, “It will be your last.”
It was well past midnight when Mackenzie finally quit his company’s Christmas party. His two partners pressed him every year with the fact that his presence at such events was important, a “morale builder.”
Clearly, some of his employees disagreed. As much as he’d tried to brush aside Maris’s comments on his humanity—or lack thereof—he was more than irritated.
Morale builder, my foot. Monumental waste of time is more like it. He stepped out of the elevator onto the marbled floor of the lobby, his mood growing darker by the minute. “Just like Christmas. And the whole month of December.”
“You were saying, sir?” The doorman didn’t wait for an answer. “A good evening to you, sir. Your car is waiting.” The man knew him well enough not to offer the ubiquitous “Merry Christmas” as Mackenzie exited the building.
He handed the parking attendant a five-dollar bill, then slid onto the leather seat of his Infiniti, sinking into its familiar comfort. This was more like it. Quiet. Solitude. A totally controlled environment where he was alone, isolated, not expected to make inane conversation with people he didn’t know—or care one whit to know. Especially perky ones in shiny blue dresses.
The half-hour drive to his house went by quickly. That was one benefit of driving at midnight: Seattle’s normal gridlock was over and done with. Another benefit of the late hour was that, at least for tonight, he wouldn’t have to watch people bustling about, caught in the frenetic shopping fever that this time of year seemed to spawn. It was barely the beginning of December, but Mackenzie had had his fill of watching adults and children alike staring at Christmas displays in storefront windows as though they’d never seen such a wondrous sight before.
“Same ridiculous displays every year.” Shaking his head, he reminded himself he was free. For an entire month. Until three years ago, he’d hated the arrival of December. The moment that month dawned, his job became next to impossible. Something about the Christmas season made people in business lose their nerve.
Not Mackenzie. He thrived on bringing new life to a company on the edge of bankruptcy. Sure, he’d made enemies along the way. That even bothered him . . . at first. He’d agonized over cuts and layoffs, wondering how people would react, how they would survive.
Then he’d lost the client for the firm because, the man said, Mackenzie wouldn’t make hard decisions.
“He’s so worried about the employees that my business is going down the tubes!” the angry owner had fumed. Back then Mackenzie had only been with Hirsch and Tesler for a few years, so he figured a pink slip was coming. Instead, the two older men took him out to lunch. They said they’d been watching him, that he held great promise—but that he needed to toughen up.
“You’re not a babysitter, Mackenzie.” There’d been such confidence in Abe Tesler’s quiet tone. “Corporations don’t call you in to help them deal with their people. They want you to save their businesses. No matter what it takes.”
Hard lesson, but he’d learned it. Within the next year he’d become the most-requested consultant at the firm. Three years later, he’d been offered partnership. And he’d never looked back.
Well, really? So why do you keep remembering scenes from the job you just finished?
Mackenzie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. OK, so he had to consider the emotional impact once in a while. It helped him with his strategy.
That’s what you call it? Strategy?
Hey, sad but true. Sometimes people had to be sacrificed to keep a company afloat. Management understood and followed his recommendations to the letter. It was the others who got emotional—
Oh, you mean the people whose lives you’ve just ruined?
As though on cue, the images of the consultation he’d just completed flooded his mind. A smallish corporation with two hundred employees . . . when he first arrived, that was. By the time he left, they were pared down to half. Everything had been going according to plan until the last day. He’d been on his way to his car in the parking lot when an older man hailed him.
“Mr. St. Clair?”
Mackenzie had turned, and the man was there beside him. Though Mackenzie only dealt with executives at the corporation, he recognized this employee. Mr. Hendricks had been with the company for thirty years. He was in his late 60s, just shy of full retirement. Though he wasn’t a tall man, his straight back and square shoulders bespoke confidence. And the man’s face always seemed so . . . kind. Probably why he’d never gotten higher than supervisor.
Mackenzie had come across him several times in a hallway or office, always with someone who’d just found out he or she had gotten “the news.” It appeared he was consoling those people. Mackenzie found that interesting, since this man had been one of the first to be let go. Early retirement, they called it. Because of this man’s seniority, Mackenzie had made sure the man was as well taken care of as possible. Not full benefits, by any means. But he would be better off than most. He now probably wanted to thank Mackenzie.
Mackenzie faced the man. “Yes? It’s Hendricks, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Sir, I understand you decided who kept their jobs and who didn’t?”
Uh-oh. Mackenzie squared his shoulders. “No, not true. I made recommendations, that’s all.”
“Did they follow your recommendations?”
Of course they did. To the letter. But Mackenzie wasn’t about to tell this man that.
Mr. Hendricks nodded again. “I can see from your expression they did.”
Irritation singed Mackenzie’s nerves. “Listen, I’m sorry you lost your job, but the company did take good care of you—”
“They did, and I’m grateful.”
That stopped Mackenzie. That and the sincerity in the man’s gaze. He really was grateful. So what was this about?
“I’m not worried myself, Son. I’m worried about you.”
Son? Mackenzie frowned, irritated once more. “Me?”
“I’ve been watching you these last few days.”
“Watching me?” He sounded like an idiot, echoing the man’s words. But none of this was making sense. “Why?”
“What you do, it can’t be easy. You impact lives, Mr. St. Clair. And I’m guessing that impact is almost always negative. As it was here.”
Mackenzie crossed his arms over his chest, readying himself for an onslaught of condemnation. But this man’s eyes held no anger. All Mackenzie saw was . . . what? Concern? “Please, Mr. Hendricks, what is it you want to say to me?”
“You didn’t seem affected by what took place here. I looked for some glimmer of compassion, something to show you understood what people were going through, and it just wasn’t there.”
What did the man want? Mackenzie sobbing in a corner for doing his job? “I wasn’t hired to feel anything.”
“What happened to you, Son? What made you this way?”
Mackenzie couldn’t have been more stunned than if the man had punched him in the gut. “What?”
“It’s one thing to keep a professional demeanor, but that’s not what you’re doing. You simply . . . don’t feel. And that’s not good. Not for the people you impact. But more important, it’s not good for you.”
Mackenzie was feeling plenty. Mostly anger. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hendricks, but you don’t know a thing about me.”
The man smiled. Smiled! “No, I don’t. But someone else does. Someone who has given me a glimpse into the emptiness inside you. Who prompted me to say something to you.”
Oh, this was too much. “Are you saying God told you to talk to me?”
“I am.”
Mackenzie shook his head. “Well, then, you’ve done your duty. And I have someplace to be, so if you’ll forgive me, I’m leaving.” He snatched the car door handle.
“I’ll do more than forgive you, Son.”
The quiet words stopped Mackenzie, and he glanced over at the man standing there.
“I’ll pray for you.”
I’ll pray for you. The words had been so full of compassion and concern. I’ll pray for you. How arrogant could a person be? Like that man had any idea what Mackenzie needed.
I’ll pray for you. I’ll pray for—
Stop! Mac beat a fist against the steering wheel. What was wrong with him? He didn’t let things like this get to him. It had to be the time of year. The minute this month hit, even his normally attentive, acquiescent executives balked.
“I can’t fire him, it’s Christmas!”
“Let her go? How can I let her go now? It’s Christmas!”
“What do you mean, ‘downsize’? Don’t you know this is Christmas? What will they do? What will they think of me?”
Mac rubbed his aching temples. What was this fascination people had with this time of the year? Yes, it was the celebration of Jesus’ birth. That accounted for Christmas Day. Maybe even Christmas Eve. But why couldn’t people keep things in perspective? He had faith, but it stayed where it belonged—in church on Sunday morning.
He saw the worst in humans every day. Let a company fall into serious financial trouble, and its executives scrambled, abandoning honor and integrity, in the name of the bottom line. Let a rumor of cutbacks float on the air, and employees began saying one thing to a person’s face then cutting that person down to the quick when he left the room. Mac started out believing in the importance of treating others fairly and with honor, but those things couldn’t endure when a company faced financial ruin. Far better to concentrate on the nitty-gritty. Logic was the name of the game, not compassion.
Do what had to be done, and let someone else worry about how those involved felt about it.
Which only made his inner wrestling match that much more infuriating. OK, it had to be December. This month-long indulgence in frivolity hidden under the guise of “holiday cheer” was enough to drive a man crazy. Particularly him. That’s why, a few years back, he went to his partners with a proposal. Rather than beat his head against the Christmas spirit, Mac would take the month off. Use the time to review the past year, to evaluate the direction of his professional and personal life, and prepare for the coming year. The partners were all for it.
So far it had worked well. Every December he ended up with a list of goals that he tracked throughout the year. It made life much easier, more organized, more logical.
That’s what he needed now. To immerse himself in analysis. Logic. Goals. Maybe that would shut the inner voice up.
You think it’s that easy?
He’d make it so. He turned his car onto his street and snorted at the holiday frippery on the houses and lawns. At least a few of his neighbors showed some restraint, sticking to white lights on the trees and elegant wreaths on the doors. Others, however, had gone all out. Ornaments and lights dangled from the eaves of the houses, and Santa or crèche displays leaving scant inches of lawn without some kind of holiday raiment. All of which had the irksome effect of turning Mac’s normally quiet, refined neighborhood into some kind of mutant carnival gone wild.
Couldn’t these people find a better way to utilize their time than putting plastic reindeer on their lawns?
He pulled into his driveway, noting with a certain measure of satisfaction that his home alone retained its bare, unadorned sophistication.
If only the rest of the world would fall in line.
But as he eased out of his car, Mackenzie knew he was asking too much. The rest of the world would never see things his way—especially during the peace-on-earth, have-a-holly-jolly holidays. They were too busy sopping up good cheer to see straight.
Mackenzie cast one last glance at his neighbors’ lawns as he drove into the garage.
“Thank heaven Christmas comes only once a year.” The dark words matched his mood as he punched the button to close the garage door.