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  Mistletoe, Mayhem And Mr. Right

  Rylee Ridolfi

  Mistletoe, Mayhem And Mr. Right

  Paisley Cottage Books

  Paisley Cottage Books, New Jersey

  Mistletoe, Mayhem And Mr. Right

  Copyright @ 2019 Rylee Ridolfi

  Cover Art: Josefina Fernandez

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States. Not part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  For information regarding permission, contact the Rights and Permissions Department,

  Paisley Cottage Books

  [email protected]

  Revised edition of Molly, Mistletoe and Mr. Right @ 2015

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ridolfi, Rylee

  Mistletoe, Mayhem And Mr. Right

  Ebook

  1.Novel: Romance 2. Christmas

  I. Ridolfi, Rylee

  Paisley Cottage Books

  This book is dedicated to my amazing husband Joe. Without his belief in me, unwavering support and willingness to supply me with endless amounts of ice cream during the writing process, none of this would be possible.

  A special thanks to:

  My mother, Lee Duffy and my daughter, Ashley Ridolfi for always encouraging me to write.

  Grace Silverman for all her support and for sharing my endless enthusiasm for the Christmas Season.

  Nicole Bucciarelli for her expertise in graphic design.

  Table Of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sometimes the things you desire most are right under your mistletoe.

  Prologue

  Molly McKenna had never been referred to as the beautiful sister, rather, the youngest McKenna had accepted her title as the smart one, but for this one night, everything would be different. Tonight, she would let down her tight bun, toss her glasses, and attempt to walk in stilettos with the grace of a newborn reindeer.

  Reaching over to the desk, she slid on her red cat eyeglasses. “One last look,” she said observing her reflection in the full-length window. A slight smile crept across her face. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. Her once milky white skin now glowed in Jamaican Summer Nights spray tan. Her fiery red corkscrew hair lay smooth like strands of silk on her bare shoulders. And the dress in emerald green sparkled in sequins from the halter on her delicate neckline down to her shoes. Oh, and those shoes. She marveled at the way they sparkled with each beam of light. Diamond encrusted stilettos with the thinnest of ankle straps. She was certain they cost more than her whole wardrobe. Steadying herself in those skyscrapers would prove to be a real challenge, but not nearly as challenging as foregoing her glasses.

  Startled by a thunderous boom that shook the walls, sending paperweights, staplers and mugs vibrating in tandem across the desk, she nearly fell flat on her face. The resurfacing of the parking lot began long after hours when the halls of the prestigious advertising firm had emptied. The blasting of concrete, the shaking of walls, floors, and desks may unnerve some, but not Molly McKenna. The unsettling noise suited her mood just fine. She, herself, was feeling a bit unsettled. It proved a welcome distraction from the high-pitched voices in her head telling her to take those diamond-encrusted Louboutin’s off and abort this crazy scheme that she had somehow gotten herself into. How could being on the arm of the man she had shared a passionate love story with for the last three years possibly be a mistake?

  The fact that, until now, that love story happened solely in her head, or that the only thing she had shared with him was a mere two seconds of eye contact most days, seemed somehow insignificant. How did she agree to deceive the man she loved? How did she think she could pull off a charade as preposterous as this? After all, Sebastian Tate was bound to recognize her as his faithful assistant of three years.

  This undoubtedly was an error in judgment, a temporary lapse when the brain didn’t connect with the heart.

  Trying to reconnect her brain, she quickly decided to abandon the mission was her only option. She grabbed her purse off the desk and took two hurried steps toward the door before it opened. There he was, his piercing blue eyes and distinct dimples lighting up his face like fireworks. Molly tossed the glasses to the floor, she leaned against the sturdy desk to steady the quaking of her twig legs as they teetered on top of her merciless heels.

  “I apologize for the late notice. My assistants tell me none of my friends were available for the last-minute date to the Manning’s Gala. I’m just glad they were able to hire an escort in the eleventh hour,” he said, not looking up from the pile of papers. When his eyes glanced over the stack of papers and he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes traveled from her head to the tips of her dazzling stilettos. A surprised smile tiptoed across his face. “You’re my date?” he said with raised eyebrows.

  Mayday, mayday, abort mission resounded in her head. He knows it’s me. How silly—of course, he does, just because I’m under a pound of makeup and my hair is down from its usual tight knot, without my glasses or the fact that I look completely different than my work self isn’t going to fool him. He loves me too. No, she stopped the dialogue rolling in her head, maybe not love, but undeniably he knows it’s me, Molly McKenna, faithful assistant. It’s true, she thought, after three years he still didn’t really know her name, but he knew her soul, she had convinced herself. In fact, he came amazingly close to knowing her name on a few occasions.

  “Yes, it’s me,” she said biting down softly on her bottom lip.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, walking closer. “I mean, I didn’t expect the agency to send over such an exquisite woman. This evening just got a whole lot better. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll call my driver to pull the car around.” He disappeared to the hall and her pencil legs swayed beneath her, threatening to give way.

  “Told you it’d work,” said Hunter, her friend and coworker of three years who was waiting just on the other side of the door.

  “I can’t do it,” Molly said, attempting to walk in heels as stealth as an elephant.

  “Yes, you can. Just put one foot in front of the other, and soon you will be walking in heels like every other woman in New York City,” said Hunter.

  “Not that part, maybe a little bit that part, but I’ll never pull off a sophisticated beauty hired to date the most eligible man in the city.”

  “Sure, you will Red, you’re doing awesome and you have no choice. If we don’t find a woman to be on his arm, we’re both fired. Remember old man Price’s promise?”

  “I’m no good at dating, and I think it is fairly evident that lying and deceit are better left

  for those who, I don’t know, have experience in that sort of thing.”

  “Red, you have been dreaming of this moment since the day you stumbled into your interview three years ago. This is your dream come true!”

  “True, he is so Sebastiany,” she said, her eyes closing dreamily.
>
  “Ok, that’s not a word, now let’s focus. Say as little as possible. Stay away from the witch, and most importantly—leave by midnight. We need to get those shoes back to the studio before the actors get in. Kyle and I’ll be nearby in the car if you need to escape.”

  Scratching the row of hives emerging around her neckline, Molly repeated, “Midnight,” and stared down at the crystal-encrusted stilettos.

  Chapter One

  Where it all began, three years earlier

  Molly felt her blood pressure mount with the flash of each elevator button as it descended to the first floor. She waited for the mirrored elevator doors to open. She caught a glimpse of her reflection and realized it would probably be a good idea to remove her knee-length hooded parka which her mother referred to as an “Alaskan ice fisherman’s coat before entering the prestigious Waters and Price Marketing Firm.”

  She remembered her mother’s rant about how brutal New York winters could be. After removing her parka, she again checked the reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was what they were looking for. Questioning her choice of black polyester stretch dress pants with matching blazer, which now seemed like the wrong decision. Her crisp white button-down and sensible ballet flats somehow seemed so perfect in the dressing room mirror, despite the critical seventeen-year-old sales girl who asked if she was attending a funeral. Little did she know, Molly’s bathing suits had more fabric than the spandex napkin the salesgirl wore as a skirt.

  “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” rang out from her purse. Fumbling, Molly answered, “Hello.”

  “Hey little Sweet Potato, you ready to go get that big New York job?” asked Maxie, the middle of three McKenna sisters. “Maxie, I’m not sure what I’m doing here.”

  “Molly, you are brilliant. You have earned this. Just breathe.”

  “But New York? I’m sort of a small-town girl, or at least I was until the uptown move.”

  “Molly, New York is where the best marketing firms are located. I know your real dream is Christmas Village, just learn from the best and then put it to work for you. Are you wearing your compass?”

  Molly clasped her fingers around the small gold locket with a compass on the front. She opened the tiny locket and inside saw the large M inscribed for the family name. She remembered her Nana Bunny McKenna’s words when she gave it to her. “You are loved and no matter where you go or how far let this be a reminder that an army of people believe in you. If you ever get lost or need a reminder of just how wonderful you are, look at your compass and remember we are with you until you return home.” Molly let her fears diminish as a smile from within warmed her.

  “Yes, Nana and the whole gang are with me. Thanks, Maxie for talking me off the ledge. I love you.”

  “Love you Sweet Potato. Meggie and I want a call as soon as you know anything.”

  Molly silenced her phone and began her ritual. “This is it. Your big chance, the thing you have worked painstakingly toward, for the last six years. You can do it. Breathe,” she whispered to herself as a bead of sweat bubbled under her collar.

  The bell rang signaling the arrival of her elevator. Molly climbed in hesitantly. A wave of claustrophobia set in as the doors closed. The air seemed scarce and the silence of the small cavity unnerved her. Floor three a pencil thin man stepped in humming. The distraction helped momentarily until he stepped off on floor seven. Alone in silence she repeated her self-imposed pep talk at a quickened tone as she climbed the towers of Waters and Price Marketing firm. Armed with a fresh Master’s Degree and a resume highlighting her many accomplishments, this was her shot to break into the extremely competitive world of advertising.

  Floor ten blinked once followed by a sluggish stop. The doors opened and a curvy brunette in five-inch heels and a form-fitting sweater dress stepped in. Chomping hard on her gum, she hiked her dress up a few inches further. The brunette examined her image in the elevator mirror, then bent over from the waist and flung a mop of over-teased hair into Molly’s face. She pulled out a tube of lipstick and applied a swipe of frosted pink to her plump lips.

  Who even wears frosted lipstick, snow angels? thought Molly.

  Turning toward Molly, Frosty gave her the once over, asking, “Were you looking for accounting? You missed it—floor seven,” she said, swishing her berry flavored gum forward with her frosted lips before blowing a bubble.

  Again, with a quick check in the mirror, Molly pushed her heavy-rimmed black glasses back on her nose and made absolutely sure every strand of her auburn hair stayed neatly tucked in her ballerina bun.

  “No, actually I’m going to Waters and Price,” said Molly, wondering what she meant by her question.

  “Really?” said the girl, smacking her gum as the elevator doors opened onto the twelfth floor.

  Molly gasped for air when the doors opened. She made it. She survived the elevator ride without pushing the button for the first floor and high tailing it out the massive front doors. Nothing could stop her now. Not even frosted lip girl’s negative tone.

  Her idol, Evan Waters, would be just on the other side of those doors, waiting to welcome her into the firm. Evan was known in the industry as the leading expert in all things advertising. She had studied him in school, followed him in seminars and read everything she could possibly get her hands on about his profile. Often referred to as “The Shark” for the sometimes out of the box tactics he used to land a campaign, he’d created some of the biggest campaign slogans of all time. Mr. Waters was her mentor, her guru, and hopefully, soon, her new boss.

  In her head, she practiced those all too important first two minutes. “Hello, Mr. Waters. I’m Molly McKenna, a graduate of the Wharton School of Business, cum laude.”

  Too much. “Mr. Waters, I’m Molly McKenna, it’s an honor to meet you.” Too kiss uppy.

  “Hello, I’m Molly McKenna, here to interview for the ad exec position.”

  Her mind raced and her heart pounded as she stepped off onto the black marble home of Waters and Price. The walls painted a stark white, were adorned with framed images of past slogans. White leather sofas with black and white patterned chairs greeted clients. A single five-tier chandelier hung over the waiting area. No Christmas decorations, not even a single string of lights, no Christmas trees, no garland, no holly, not even a glimmer of mistletoe. She found the lack of spirit extremely unsettling

  Molly loved Christmas. Her birthday fell on Christmas Eve. She had always considered this her lucky month. She couldn’t imagine a better time to interview at Waters and Price.

  The staff, who appeared better suited for a modeling agency, stopped and took a full-length check of Molly. Unfazed, they quickly returned to business. A slim brunette with sky-high cheekbones greeted her.

  “May I help you?”

  “Mr. Waters’ office please,” Molly managed to choke out.

  “Down the hall, make a left, first office on the right.”

  “Thanks,” Molly answered coaxing her legs to head in that direction.

  Everything seemed to be just as she had imagined. Realizing she wasn’t delivering flowers or takeout the staff seemed mildly interested in her. Holding her head up high, she tried not to notice the staff giving her an uncomfortable once over, followed by muffled whispers.

  None of that would bring her down. Mr. Waters was the only one she needed to impress, and with a resume like hers, it was a slam dunk.

  Turning the corner, she took a deep breath before heading down the next corridor.

  “First door on the right,” she repeated to herself. Before she could take another step that very door opened. Out popped a deranged looking version of Mr. Waters—his white wavy hair ruffled, his cheeks blood orange and his eyes wild. In his hands sat a large potted plant. He began the approximate ten-foot track toward her. A hive the size of a golf ball emerged on her lily-white neck, followed by a small colony not far behind. Not exactly how she envisioned their introduction, but she’d go for
it.

  “Mr. Waters, my name is Molly McKenna.” It came out sort of like a whisper.

  Stopping just short of her, he said, “You! I should’ve known. You’ve been after my job for years. You slimy bastard,” he growled, his eyes even more demonic than just seconds ago.

  With the emerging hives, her neck was nearly as red as his face. “Yes, I want your job, no, the job, not, I…” Nothing was coming out despite her attempt to connect her brain with her mouth. She clawed mercilessly at the hives.

  Mr. Waters took the large potted plant and slammed it hard to the marble-tiled ground. A plume of dirt engulfed her. Wiping the remnants of dust from her now fogged glasses, she realized he was looking past her. She hadn’t noticed someone had come up behind her, and in fact, was the person to whom the rage had been directed. Turning, she saw him. Sebastian Tate, in the flesh. Not actually in the flesh, that would be more than she could handle, but in an Armani suit. His dark wavy hair and crystal blue eyes twinkled. Mr. Tate had visited as a guest speaker her last semester at Wharton. Intelligent, gorgeous and sexy, he left a lasting impression on her, as well as every other girl and a few guys in the room.

  A half-smirk crawled across Tate’s face, revealing one incredible dimple, and then, the voice. In his impeccably sexy Australian accent he said, “Sorry old man, but you brought this on yourself. Greed is an ugly thing, mate.”

  With that, Mr. Waters lunged at Sebastian, Molly tangled smack in the middle before two guards grabbed and restrained Mr. Waters.

  “You’re coming with us,” said one of the guards.

  Sebastian took a look at Molly, her dust-covered face with glasses on sideways. Her now less-than-perfect suit was rumpled, resembling someone who just survived a twister. He noticed she was carrying a briefcase. He reached out his hand.

  “Hello, I’m Sebastian Tate. You must be here for the job. Price mentioned someone would be coming over.”