Christmas With The Marine. Candace Havens

budget?”

      “We have eleven hundred dollars, but I was going to add a little more if we needed it.”

      “I think that should be plenty. I’ll pick these gifts up for you and meet you at the high school tomorrow. See ya.”

      “Hold on. Don’t you need money for the gifts?”

      “Not yet. You can give it to me tomorrow. How gullible are you giving your money to a stranger?”

      “You just helped me buy a couple thousand dollars’ worth of toys for children. I’m pretty sure I can trust you.” She didn’t bother to turn around.

      What kind of person went and bought all those gifts without taking the cash?

      Look on the bright side, he told himself, at least you’ll see her the next day. That idea for the gift wrapping was awesome. The whirlwind that was Ainsley had saved him. Again.

      “Thanks,” he said belatedly. But it was to air. He hadn’t even seen where she’d gone.

      Hmm. She was so beautiful and kind. Hard combination to find sometimes.

      But so out of his league.

      Yes, she was. And he had a feeling she was going to fuel a whole lot of fantasies for a while.

      Yep. Enjoy your dreams. Since that was about the only way a guy like him was going to get a woman like her.

      * * *

      AS HARD AS she tried not to, Ainsley stole a look in her rearview mirror at Ben. That man was too gorgeous for words with his muscles, chiseled jaw and close-cut Marine haircut. Her mouth had gone dry when she’d seen the big muscled man in a uniform searching for dolls, of all things. He’d been so serious, trying to find the right gifts for kids, as if he was on the mission of a lifetime. He’d been so enthusiastic about making sure those children had a great Christmas that it had been contagious. It had been the most fun she’d had in a really long time.

      He had a heart.

      It was something she was pretty sure had been missing from the last three guys she’d dated, two of whom her parents had picked out for her. She’d never trust them again. The men they pointed out to her were all narcissistic jerks, every one of them. And she couldn’t imagine any of them, losing a bet or not, shopping for gifts for a bunch of kids and the elderly.

      That tugged at her in a way she couldn’t ignore.

      No. No more men. The next two years I’ll be focused on growing my business.

      Ben lifted his arms to close the back of his SUV and his shirt pulled loose from his jeans. Those abs. Chiseled was the only word that came to mind. Like they’d been carved in stone.

      She sucked in a breath.

      Oh, my. She fanned herself and waited for him to pull out of the parking lot before backing out her hybrid. That was a M-A-N.

      Though it had been work she’d had a good time today. She and Ben had laughed as they questioned some of the toys’ characteristics. Like a doll that pooped, and one that had the creepiest voice as it called for its mama. It made them both shiver, and then chuckle out loud.

      After they’d picked up the gifts for the girls on the list, they’d been to the aisle with all the Matchbox cars.

      “I bet you had a ton of these when you were a kid,” she’d said.

      He’d held one of the sports cars with reverence. “No...” His voice had been a whisper and then he’d frowned. And that’s when she’d noticed he didn’t have a lot of experience with toys...at all. Everything seemed new to him.

      What kind of childhood had he had?

      It made her feel selfish because she’d never wanted for anything. Ever. She’d wanted to ask him about his past, but it didn’t seem right. And she had the sense that it might make him sad. They only had a few hours together and she hadn’t wanted to ruin it.

      It also felt good to help someone in need. Okay, she did that every day. Her job gave her the greatest joy, as she helped her clients find the perfect gifts for their loved ones, employees and friends. But making kids and old people happy—that was a different level of giving.

      Her phone rang. “Accept call,” she said.

      “Hello?” Bebe said. Her trusty partner’s British accent came through loud and clear. Ainsley wasn’t sure what she’d do without her best friend—the woman was a master scheduler and kept their finances in order. She also wasn’t afraid to talk to a client about a bill, which was something that made Ainsley really uncomfortable. Talking about money always did. Bebe had started as an assistant, but had quickly become her partner in crime.

      “Are you there?”

      “I’m here,” she said as she left the parking lot, her mind still on the Marine. “And, yes, I know I’m running late. I got caught up doing some charity work. I’ll drop Bob’s presents off for you to wrap, and then I’ll head out to Clinical South.” The head administrator wanted to discuss gifts for the staff, and for any of the patients who would be stuck in the facility over the holidays.

      This really was their busiest time of year and she’d spent too much of her packed schedule helping the hot guy.

      “That’s why I’m calling. They actually pushed you to tomorrow. I’ve been trying to call for the last hour. Did you leave your phone in the car again?”

      No. She’d been distracted by the glorious man in uniform.

      “I didn’t hear it ring.”

      “I swear I’m going to put ‘The Imperial March’ on your phone so you hear when I call. Anyway, Craig Price at CIM wants to meet with you about gifts for his staff. He had a four o’clock open. Can I tell them you’ll be there?”

      She sighed. Craig was an ex. One of the several narcissists she’d dated, though he hadn’t been as bad as some of the others. He was married to his job, though, and when he thought it was okay to go six months between calling for dates, they parted ways. But his technology company, CIM, had over four hundred employees—that was a pretty tidy commission for her company.

      But Craig. Ugh.

      “I know he’s a prat, but that commission pays the mortgage for a year. I’d go, but I’m meeting with the Funky Monkey folks at three. They have a bunch of new merchandise they’re bringing by.”

      “I wish we could switch,” she said. She loved the boutique called Funky Monkey more than just about any other. The owner, Amy, was one of the most creative people she’d ever met.

      “I promise to nab something shiny for you. Craig specifically asked for you. Maybe he wants to apologize for being such a fool. And hello, we promised ourselves a Christmas bonus this year if we made our goals, and we’re so very close.”

      She had a point. And this was business. In the two years she’d been operating, she’d had to handle much worse. Some of her wealthiest clients, a few of whom were her parents’ friends, felt entitled and had to be treated that way. Even after she’d grown up around that sort of wealth, their attitudes chewed at her gut. But she wasn’t dumb. The client was always right. Even if they were jerks sometimes. Well, as long as they paid their bills.

      “Yep. You’re right. Yes, I can do four. Do you have suggestions? Did they give you a budget?”

      “Yes, on both counts. His assistant gave me the rundown on what type of gifts and how much they wanted to spend for each level from the board on down.”

      Ainsley did love it when they were organized. “Okay, good. That makes our job easier. Can you print out the ideas and put a book together for me?”

      They did most of their presentations on a laptop or tablet, but clients liked to have something they could hold in their hands and peruse. It was a trick she’d learned early on. Folks tended to buy more when they could feel the pages. Weird,