A Mistletoe Kiss With The Boss. Susan Meier

touched Dean’s arm to prevent him from replying. “So what you want is a promise in writing—”

      “An agreement. I want this to be a normal charitable contribution. Not money given to me personally. But a charitable contribution.”

      Dean nodded. “Okay, we’ll write an agreement that states I will put the first three hundred computers in your soon-to-be-developed schools.”

      “Yes.”

      He held out his hand to shake hers. “Deal.”

      She took his hand. “Deal.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      STELLA TURNED OUT to be a thirtysomething hipster with short hair and big glasses, a long sweater over black leggings and tall boots. Standing in the middle of a huge dressing room in an exclusive boutique, Kristen watched Dean’s assistant frown at the red dress she’d asked the shop manager to bring in her size.

      “Sweetie,” she said, then took a sip of her designer coffee. “If I were you, I’d get a black gown. Something I could wear again and again. When you’ve got a rich man footing the bill, you shop smart.”

      The boutique manager rolled her eyes.

      Kristen winced. “I just want something acceptable. I don’t want to break the bank.”

      Stella sniffed. “Dean Suminski’s bank can’t be broken.” She motioned Kristen back into the curtained-off section of the dressing room. “Try the black one I picked out.”

      Kristen stepped between the two colorful strips of fabric that blocked off the changing area. When the boutique manager arrived with the black dress, she shrugged out of the cute red gown and into the elegant black one.

      “Oh.”

      She hadn’t meant to comment, but the tiny squeak had slipped out. Black satin, sleeveless and formfitting from her chin to her hip bones, the dress flared out from thigh to floor and made a beautiful swishing sound when she moved.

      The boutique manager, Jennifer, sighed. “I hate to call that little twit out there right, but this dress is perfect.”

      They found black shoes of an appropriate height, so the dress wouldn’t need to be hemmed, and stunning white-gold earrings and necklace that sparkled against the simplicity of the dress. Then Stella had Dean’s driver take them to a hotel on Broadway, where she was led to a suite.

      “Get a nap,” Stella said. “I’ll be in the front room when your dress and shoes are delivered. I’ll arrange for a hairstylist and someone to do your makeup.”

      “I have makeup in my purse.”

      “That big, black ugly thing? I wanted to burn it.”

      “My purse might be old, but my makeup is fine.”

      “You’ll be photographed. With my boss. It’s my job to make you look perfect for tonight. You will not be wearing over-the-counter.” She shooed her into the bedroom. “Get that nap. Your body’s about ten hours ahead of ours. You’re probably exhausted. I won’t have you looking tired in photos.”

      Feeling like a wayward child, Kristen walked into the bedroom, hating to admit that bossy, opinionated Stella was right. She was tired. But she was also happy. Going on one date was a small price to pay to get the computers she’d need. Aasera would have been so proud.

      Plus, it wasn’t like she’d accepted a date with Dean Suminski for real. She didn’t have to fawn all over him or make goo-goo eyes. She also wouldn’t have to laugh at his jokes, since he didn’t make them. He was as serious as a person could be. Probably because he was a genius.

      That thought caused her face to scrunch. She had no idea what a girl going out with a certifiable genius was supposed to do. But she could be polite...actually, she could be friendly. Which was probably what Dean Suminski really needed—a buffer. Someone outgoing enough that his seriousness wouldn’t be so off-putting.

      She could handle that.

      As she slid under the covers, she remembered that Dean’s friend Jason had said something about her job being to make him look normal. So that’s what she should focus on doing. Behaving normally, so he would too.

      She would do her best, even if he had declined her offer for him to visit Grennady and consider it as a place to relocate. He wasn’t planning to move his company, he’d said. So she’d had no choice but to accept that. But at least she’d tried. And he’d really listened.

      She had to give him points for that.

      She woke hours later when bossy Stella walked into her room with her iPhone blaring Spanish music. “It’s one of my Zumba tapes,” she explained, proudly displaying her trim body. “I’m sure you have an exercise regimen to be so thin and fit.”

      “No,” Kristen said, rolling out from under the covers. “Tossing hay keeps me fit.”

      “Tossing hay?”

      “For the cows. Not just for them to eat, but for their beds. I live on a farm.”

      Stella’s eyes widened. “No kidding. A real farm?”

      “You have farms in the US.”

      “Yeah, I know. I’ve just never seen one. Or known anyone who lived on one,” Stella said. She pointed to the bathroom. “Get your shower and be out in ten minutes. Hairdresser is already here. Makeup artist is on her way up.”

      Kristen walked into the bathroom and gasped. Everything was marble or glass. Eight showerheads peeked out at her. Fluffy white towels were arranged in baskets like bouquets. The soap smelled like heaven.

      Too bad she only had ten minutes to enjoy it all. She couldn’t even try the jets. Too much temptation to linger. She simply washed in the sweet-smelling soap and cleaned her hair with shampoo the scent of oranges.

      After wrapping her wet head in a towel, she slid into the fluffy white robe on the back of the bathroom door. She stepped out into the sitting room of her suite to find at least ten people all talking at the same time.

      When they saw her, everybody shut up for about three seconds, then started talking again.

      “Who told her to wash her hair?”

      “I like her eyes. I think we can go bold with them.”

      “I want to see the dress before I even think about makeup.”

      “We should do an updo.”

      “Does she have jewelry we should consider?”

      Like an orchestra conductor, Stella raised her hands, then made a chopping motion. “Everybody shut up.” She turned to Kristen. “You...in the chair.”

      Kristen walked over to the salon chair that had materialized in her sitting room while she’d been sleeping, sat down and turned herself over to the professionals.

      Almost two hours later, Stella helped her slip into the black gown. She fastened her sparkly white gold necklace, then gave her the earrings. When they were in place, she handed Kristen a box.

      “This is a gift. From Dean. He doesn’t like to make a big deal out of these things, but he appreciates your help tonight.”

      As she took the box, a weird feeling enveloped her. It was one thing to keep the gown she’d need to help pull off his charade. Quite another to take a gift.

      “I can’t accept this.”

      Stella sighed. “You have to. He wants you to wear it tonight.” She held up her hand. “Wait.” Racing to a table by the door, she picked up another box. “These first.”

      She opened the box to find long black dinner gloves. “Gloves?”

      “It’s